“No.” I shake my head, rounding my Bronco to the driver’s side. “Bullshit. You don’t get to pick and choose when you careabout me, and when you blame me for what happened. You don’t get to decide I’m your son when it fits your narrative, or when you’re attempting to absolve yourself of guilt.”
My mom frowns at me, and a rivulet of sadness ripples through me at the sight. I’ve tolerated her apathy because I thought holding on to any shattered piece of our family would be what my brother would want—even if it meant I spent the rest of my life bleeding. Even if my parents couldn’t forgive me, even if they couldn’t look at me without disdain, and even if every interaction felt forced, I thought that my mother and I were on the same page.
A fractured relationship was better than none at all. A hateful father, resentful mother, and one guilt-ridden son was better than losing both of their children.
My throat constricts as I turn to face her. “I thought about killing myself. Often, actually.” I swallow, tears stinging my eyes. “I know you didn’t know that, because you never asked. I don’t even know if you realize it, but you have never asked how I felt after he died. How I felt about my father telling me it was my fault and never speaking to me again. How I felt about living in the house that my brother bought but never got to live in, only because the guilt burns hotter when I think about selling it, even though I can’t fucking afford it.”
My mother watches helplessly from the walkway, makeup streaking down her cheeks.
“It was Leo who waived the rent on my suite so I could cover the mortgage.” I nod toward my shop. “It was Everett who planned a memorial fundraiser because Dad wouldn’t allow me to work with the Foundation myself. It was their mother who invited me to dinner every Sunday so I’d feel less alone.” I clear my throat, choking on my words. “It was Darby, Leo’s fiancée, who helped me find a therapist. She still goes with me to every single appointment. It was my therapist who helped me workthrough my suicide ideation.” I wipe a thumb under each of my eyes, clearing my tears. “And it is because of Elena that I haven’t had those thoughts in months. It’s Elena who holds me in the middle of the night after I’ve had a night terror. It is Elena who makes space for all of the grief I cannot bear to hold on my own, even at the detriment to herself.”
“I…” A sob bubbles from her mouth, and she clamps a shaking hand over it. “I had no ide?—”
“The only blame Elena has to bear is loving me more fiercely than you could begin to comprehend. She stood up to you today for me, with courage I have never had, and in return, you destroyed her.” I shake my head. “I don’t value myself enough to protect myself from your aversion, but I value her enough to draw this line.” I slip into the driver’s seat of my car. “Do not speak to me again until you are ready to apologize to her, and until Dad is ready to apologize to me. We both deserve better than this.”
With the doors and top to my truck taken off, there is nothing to cut the tension between my mother and me. Turning the key and flipping on the ignition, I call back out to her, “And Elena was right. Zach would be ashamed of what you and Dad have allowed this family to become.”
She watches me with quiet tears, saying nothing as I back out of my parking spot and leave the boardwalk. Once I turn onto Main Street, I whip out my phone and shoot a text to the client I was supposed to meet with today. Luckily, he’s a regular of mine, and I know he’ll understand when I tell him an emergency arose, and I need to cancel at the last minute.
I have no idea where Elena went, but I know I won’t function until I find her and do everything in my power to make her okay again.
I rack my brain in an attempt at figuring out where she might’ve gone, and I have a gut feeling she didn’t head home.I can’t imagine she’d have gone to the beach or to seek out her parents or siblings. I turn down Pacific Avenue, driving up the hill until I reach Fred’s Deli.
Not only does this deli serve her favorite soup, but it’s also one of the only places that sells the passion fruit flavor of a Mexican soda brand she loves. I pull into the gravel parking lot and kill the engine before hopping out of my truck and rushing inside. A bell chimes on the glass doors, and from across about four aisles, I catch the very top of a messy brunette bun with wild curls flowing in every direction.
My phone is already blowing up with texts from her brothers—I assume because Dahlia gave them a heads-up. I respond and let them know I found her, and I’ll have her call them when she’s ready.
The cashier greets me, and I toss back a silent wave as I weave through the aisles toward her. I turn the corner, chest sinking when I catch sight of her. She’s staring blankly at a bag of pretzels in one hand, while she holds the bottleneck of that passion fruit soda in the other.
She hasn’t noticed me yet, sniffling as tears free fall down her cheeks, dripping from her chin and to the floor, landing on her worn Converse.
“Baby,” I whisper. Her head snaps up, whipping in my direction. It’s when her eyes meet mine that she crumbles entirely, a broken sob ripping from her throat. I close the distance between us, wrapping my arms beneath her shoulders as she falls into me. “I’ve got you,” I hush her. “I’m here.”
I lock my arms around her waist, holding her against me. Her tears drip onto the skin of my neck as she whispers, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She shakes her head. “I think I’m PMSing.”
“Maybe.” I sigh. “But even so, the emotion is warranted. That was awful, and I’m so sorry. I had no idea she was coming. I never would’ve let her confront you like that.”
“Everything she said was true. I’ve always known it.” She pulls back, turning away as she wipes her tears, like she doesn’t want to face me. “I’ve just never had someone else say it to my face before.”
“Elena,” I rasp, and she drops her head. “Look at me.” I snake my hand behind her neck and lift her head, forcing her gaze to mine. “None of that is true. Not one word she said. Do you understand me?”
A thousand shades of brown mingle inside her eyes, like a tapestry of shattered glass. Beautiful in color, but broken in form. A chill bites my skin at the devastation on her face, at the realization of how such beauty could hold so much pain.
She shakes her head, and my chest sinks. My throat tightens with emotion as I tug her against my chest, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, because I don’t know what more I can offer her. I don’t know how to reverse this damage.
“Can you go get in my truck, please? I’m going to go pay for your snacks, and then I’m going to take you somewhere.”
“Where?” she asks, her shuddering breath hot against my chest.
“A surprise. You’ll see.”
I slide my hands down her arms, gently pulling the soda and the bag of pretzels from her grasp. She lets them go, and when she steps back from me, I nod toward the front of the store. Elena complies, walking around the aisle we stand within. I watch her climb into the passenger side of my Bronco before I grab a soda for myself and a small jar of peanut butter.
I return to the car after checking out, setting the bag down at her feet. She doesn’t say anything as I pull out of the parking lot and take a left, following the hill that leads from downtownPacific Shores to the neighborhoods above it. I turn down the street I grew up on, Hillside Road, passing my childhood home and the tree I found Elena climbing all those years ago.
I don’t know who lives in that house now, but the tree is still there, and in the prime of spring, it’s blossoming brightly with the purple flowers she always loved. It gives me hope that the spot I’m taking her will also be in bloom.
It looks different now as I turn down the dirt road that leads to the power plant. Rather than a rugged knoll, it’s being turned into a new housing development. Some of the homes are already built, having finishing touches put on before the new owners move in. Others are still vacant, planned to be built next.
