“Hey, son. I saw Moose at the house. He said you’d hurt your knee in some go-round with a local.”
Aw. Of course, news traveled like wildfire in Copper Mountain. Or Deke had called Moose, maybe. But the last thing Dawson needed was his dad thinking he had problems. He was just fine, thank you.
“Said you might need a ride from the hospital. We swung by, but they said you’d left. Figured I’d see you hoofing it on your own.” He smiled, winked.
But Dawson’s heart had stalled onWe, then hiccupped as the passenger door opened. And yes, he knew she was in town, but...
It’d been three years since he’d last seen his mother, and then ... then she’d been broken and angry, and he couldn’t bear to listen to her pain. Or watch the damage she was doing to herself to escape it.
Now, his mom looked ... healthy. She’d lost weight, and her blue eyes seemed brighter. She wore her blond hair back in a braid and a thick, creamy white cable-knit sweater hung to her thighs over a pair of leggings and mukluks.
“Mom.”
Her smile touched her eyes as she came over to him.
Caspian offered a small warning, but Dawson touched his head. “It’s okay.”
Maybe very okay.
She glanced at the dog, then stepped up and wrapped her arms around him. “I missed you.”
He hesitated just a second, then put his arm around her, smelled cinnamon on her skin. Probably a remnant of hanging out with Moose’s mom. “Hi.” He let her go. “You okay?”
“I am.” She touched his cheek with her mitten. “It took a while, but I realized I was tired of living my life angry. I had a choice. Stay in the darkness or look for the light.” She looked at his father. “Time for all of us to start living again.”
Dawson couldn’t move, just stared at her.
His mother bent to pet Caspian, as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb into the middle of his soul. “Who’s this?”
His comfort dog?
“Just a guy who needed a home.” His voice emerged roughened.
“Always the hero,” his dad said, still smiling.
And he didn’t know why he couldn’t just play along, but the words landed in a hard place, acrid and salty. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter, does it—you can do everything right and—”
“And the world still explodes around you,” his mother said softly. “Your sister’s death was nobody’s fault, Dawson. Not mine, not your dad’s, and not yours.”
And it all just ... raked up and spilled out. “She wasmurdered, Mom. It was somebody’s fault.” He didn’t know why the fury suddenly boiled inside him, raw and fresh and—
“I get it.” His mom held up her mitten as if to stop his flow of words. “For years, I lived in that fury. That injustice. And the truth is, terrible things happen. But we have a choice about how we want to let it all affect us. I chose ... I chose to let it destroy me and our family.” She looked at his dad, who’d come over, put his hand on her shoulder. “But the more I live in that pain, the less I live for today, and all I still have.” She leaned into his dad. “Like your father.”
He kissed her forehead.
Dawson just stared at them, rocked. What was going on here?
“And you, son.” She took his hand. “I hope I still have you.”
Oh no, he couldn’t breathe, and shoot, his throat turned scratchy. What the—
Caspian, of course, leaned against his leg.
Yep, good dog. Because he might just be having a panic attack.
“Maybe there’s stuff.”
He had to look away. What was his problem? He wasn’t seventeen again, losing everything. He’d grown up, learned to live with the ache.
