Maddox’s text pops up beneath the video he just sent, but I’m already transfixed by the image of Dylan on Bluebell.His smile—God, I haven’t seen him smile like that in months.Maybe even years.
I hit replay, watching my son’s hands confidently holding the reins, his back straight, his face a picture of concentration that breaks into pure joy when Maddox’s voice calls out encouragement from behind the camera.I play it a third time, my heart swelling in that painful way that only happens when you witness your child discovering something that lights them up from within.
After Saturday’s lesson, Dylan wouldn’t stop talking.Words tumbled out of him during the entire drive home and throughout dinner.Details about Bluebell’s personality, Maddox’s instructions, how it felt to trot for the first time.My usually grumpy and quiet pre-teen, suddenly had diarrhea of the mouth.
The next morning, he was up early and helped me cook breakfast.We were just sitting down to eat when he dropped a bomb.
“He likes you.A lot.You should give him a chance.He’s a really cool guy, Mom.”
I stare at my phone screen, now dark.This is exactly what I’ve been afraid of—Maddox working his charm on Dylan the way he did on me.Creating a connection I can’t easily break.Making himself part of our lives.
But what if it’s okay?What if, for once, I let my guard down?What if I give Maddox the chance Dylan thinks he deserves?
These thoughts occupy my mind while I sit in front of the middle school.When three o’clock strikes, the usual chaotic flood of students streams toward the waiting cars and buses.I scan the crowd for Dylan.Five minutes pass.Then ten.The crowd thins, and my stomach tightens.
Dylan is nowhere in sight.
I park and rush to the front office, my heart beginning to race.“I’m looking for Dylan Cain?”
The secretary gives me a confused look.“His father picked him up about an hour ago.Signed him out early.”
“I didn’t authorize this,” I say, my voice rising.“I have primary custody.He can’t just?—”
“I’m sorry, Ms.King.His name is on the approved list.”
I curse myself for never updating it after his last stunt.My hands shake as I call Russell.It goes straight to voicemail.I try again.Same result.
Dylan doesn’t have his phone.The school has a strict no-cellphone policy so Dylan usually just leaves it at home, which means I can’t call him.
I speed to Russell’s apartment, running every yellow light, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.When I get there, there is no sign of his car.I pound on his door, anyway.Nothing.
Back in my car, I call Shadow, my voice cracking as I explain.
“Go home,” he commands.“In case he brings Dylan there.I’ll find him, Amelia.And when I do, I’ll fucking kill him.”
I have no doubt that he’s serious, and unlike all the other times he’s threatened to kill Russell, I don’t try to sway him.We’d all be better off if he just didn’t exist anymore.
The drive to my apartment feels endless.When I turn onto my street, I spot Dylan and Russell sitting on the steps outside our building, and relief crashes over me like a tidal wave.
I’m out of the car in a flash, running to Dylan, checking him over with frantic hands.“Are you okay?Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”Dylan’s face scrunches in confusion.Then he turns to his father.“You said she knew you were picking me up.”
I look at Russell, rage replacing my fear.The son of a bitch has the audacity to shrug.
“Misunderstanding.”
“You bastard,” I scream, not giving a damn who hears me.“How dare you?Howdareyou take him without telling me?Do you have any idea what you just put me through?”
Tears fill my eyes as I glare at him.
“You scared the fucking hell out of me.”
Dylan stares at his father, anger flitting across his features.“You lied.Mom didn’t know.”He plucks a bag from the steps and throws it at Russell.“Take your stupid video game and shove it.”
The nonchalant expression fades from Russell’s face as he narrows he grabs the bag and narrows his eyes at Dylan.“What did you just say to me?”
“You heard me,” Dylan snaps.“You don’t get to use me to hurt my mom.I never want to see you again.”
