Dylan
It’s the next day, and I’m soaking in the bathtub, trying to wash away the tension clinging to my body. The warm water surrounds me, and I let my head fall back, closing my eyes. I wish I could stay here forever, floating in this peaceful quiet. The events of last night are still heavy on my mind, like a weight I can’t shake. Everything feels raw—Jacob’s fury, Matthew’s sadness, Ford’s protectiveness. I thought I was past it all, that Brock was just a bad memory I’d left behind. But seeing him again had opened a wound I didn’t even know was still there.
As I soak in the warmth, my phone buzzes on the edge of the tub. I reach for it, wiping a few drops of water off the screen. Giver of Life.Of course. I stare at her name, feeling that familiar tightening in my chest. Part of me wants to ignore it, let the call go to voicemail, but I know I can’t avoid her forever. Especially not after Matthew talked to his dad. Gideon must have told her. There’s no escaping this conversation now.
I take a deep breath and hit the green button, bringing the phone to my ear.
“Dylan,” she says, her voice sharp and direct, no hesitation. No soft greeting. That’s Holly for you—straight to the point. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
The frustration in her voice is obvious, but beneath it, there’s something else, something that sounds almost like hurt. And it stings. I don’t understand why she feels likeshe’sthe one that got hurt here.
I swallow, trying to keep my voice steady. “What do you mean?”
“About Brock,” she snaps, her tone hardening. “I heard from Gideon. Why didn’t you tell me what he did to you?”
“What do you mean, why didn’t I tell you? I didn’t think you’d care.”
Holly pauses on the other end, and for a moment, there’s silence. Then, she speaks again, her voice softer but still laced with disbelief. “I thought you were just messing around with him, Dylan. I heard the rumors, but I didn’t know it was… that.”
I close my eyes, the heat rising in my cheeks. Of course, she heard the rumors. Everyone did. “You knew?” My voice is barely above a whisper, and I can hear the tremble in it. “You heard what people were saying and didn’t think to ask me what actually happened?”
“I thought with your dad gone, and our home life spiraling out of control, maybe you were acting out,” she says, her words tumbling out quickly, like she’s trying to justify it. “I didn’t know how bad things were with Brock. I just thought—”
I cut her off, my voice shaking now, anger bubbling up to the surface. “You thought I was acting out? You assumed I was just some high school whore, messing around with some guy for attention?” I can feel my heart pounding as the words spill out of me. “He was my boyfriend, Mom, but that doesn’t mean I wanted what happened. You could’ve asked me. You could’ve been there for me.”
When she finally speaks, her voice is small, almost apologetic. “I’m sorry, Dylan. I… I didn’t know.”
My grip tightens on the phone, the apology hanging in the air. I’ve waited years for her to say those words, but now that she has, they don’t feel like enough. “It’s a little too late for that,” I say, my voice flat. “You should’ve asked me back then. Instead, you just assumed the worst.”
“I didn’t mean to—” she starts, but I cut her off again.
“Mom, I needed you,” I say, my voice breaking, the tears I’ve been holding back threatening to spill over. “You weren’t there for me when I needed you the most. I went through that alone. And now… Now, you’re calling because you feel guilty? Because you heard the truth from someone else?” I let out a bitter laugh. “It’s too late. You can’t just say sorry and expect it all to be okay.”
“I know I messed up,” she says quietly.
I can hear the emotion in her voice, and part of me wants to believe her, to forgive her. But the other part, the part that still feels raw and wounded, doesn’t know if I can. Or if I even want to. “I appreciate the apology,” I say, my voice softening slightly. “But it’s not going to fix everything. It’s not that simple.”
“I know,” she says. “But I want to try. I want to make things right between us.”
I sigh, leaning my head back against the edge of the tub, staring up at the ceiling. Do I want that? Do I want to open that door again, let her back into my life after everything? Part of me does, I think. But the other part… I don’t know. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” I admit quietly. “It’s going to take more than a phone call to fix things.”
“I understand,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “But I’m here. When you’re ready, I’m here.”
I don’t say anything, just let the silence stretch between us. Finally, I exhale, the weight of the conversation pressing downon me. “I have to go,” I say, the exhaustion creeping into my voice. “I… I need some time.”
“Okay,” she says softly. “Take all the time you need. And, Dylan… I really am sorry.”
I hang up without saying anything else, letting the phone slip from my hand onto the floor beside the tub. I stare at the ceiling, my heart heavy, my mind racing. I want to believe her. I want to believe that she’s trying. But the hurt runs too deep. It’s not something that can just be patched up with an apology and a promise to do better.
Maybe I’ll be ready one day. I’ll want to try to rebuild that relationship. But right now, I just feel… tired. Tired of the past, tired of the hurt, and the way everything seems to keep coming back up when I just want to leave it all behind.
I’ve moved on. I have Ford, Jacob, and Matthew. I have a life now that’s mine, a future that doesn’t involve the shadows of my past.
I close my eyes, sinking deeper into the water, letting the warmth soothe me. I just want to live my life without these ghosts haunting me. I came too far to let it all get messed up now.
But as much as I want to move on, I know it won’t be that simple.
It never is.
