“I’ve thought about the boy. He never came here; never set foot in this house.” Dad says quietly.
“Small favors,” Mom starts.
He didn’t need to. I brought him here while I grieved; didn’t I? After all, Brennan was my soul. Every dream I ever had.
Before I was targeted.
Instead of coming home with grand plans, I’d run from college. I hadn’t needed to explain much. Whispers had already reached Willow Creek. What my parents were concerned with was how my eyes were so swollen from crying, I could barely see. How my heart was shattered into pieces I didn’t know how to reassemble.
It took a long time for me to figure out how to find my strength again—my will to fight.
When I did, I went after the company who refused to take down the photo with a vengeance. It helped, but none of us can forget the man I was in love with walking out on me because he refused to believe me.
My mom rubs slow circles on my back. “How do you think he looked?”
“Older. Then again, I guess we all are.”
“Amy,” my mother admonishes gently.
I know she’s asking about him being hurt because despite the way our relationship unraveled, I didn’t wish him physical harm. “Tired, maybe? But… still him.”
My dad’s mouth tightens. “Did he talk to you?”
“He tried.”
There’s steel in my father’s voice. “He doesn’t get to waltz back into your life like nothing happened.”
“I wouldn’t let him. I was very firm that I don’t need anything from him.” But even as the words pass my lips, one question lingers.Was it worth it?
Up until a year ago, I would have been certain he’d say yes. Now that he can’t play professional hockey? Maybe regret is what led him here.
When I say as much to my parents, my father’s jaw hardens. “He can shove his regret…”
“Ted,” my mother chastises my father before leaning back to study me. “How are you feeling?”
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. “Like I survived one tornado only for another one to come racing down the plains in the exact same spot.”
She nods. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
I stare at the framed photos on the wall. Me at five, gap-toothed and grinning on the first day of school—with a brand new pair of boots. A few frames down, I’m standing between my parents on move-in day at college completely unaware of how my life would eventually change because of fame.
“He hurt you,” my dad states factually. “We lived it with you.”
“He didn’t have anything to do with it, but his abandonment hurt the most,” I qualify.
“Because he didn’t believe in you when it counted most,” Mom soothes me.
“He didn’t upload the photo, but he made choices that gutted you,” Dad adds.
The familiar ache of betrayal blooms in my chest. “I thought I made peace with everything at least until I saw Brennan’s face again.”
“You built a life,” Mom agrees.
“I stayed. I healed. I moved on—mostly.”
They don’t disagree. They’ve watched me accomplish so much. But even healing to this degree doesn’t mean forgetting that I was left at my darkest hour by the person who used to gaze down at me with adoration and promised to love me forever.
Regardless of the obstacles life put in our path.
