Time I’ll never be able to get back.
My throat convulses as I choke down a sob. I don’t want to break down or lose my shit. I want to be strong. I want them to see that I’m better now. That I’m happy—for the most part, anyway.
My eyes are on fire, my throat tight like someone’s wrapped it in barbed wire.
It seems like forever before someone speaks, or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just seconds.
Mom and Dad stare at me, and I stare back at them, and when Mom’s face crumples and she breathes out a near-silent “Oh my baby,” I find myself wrapped in her arms with tears pouring down my face.
She smells the same. Her airy, clean perfume and her cinnamon undertones. She smells like my childhood. Like the world I knew before Damien destroyed it.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
And then I’m being surrounded by Dad’s strong arms, being squeezed between the two of them.
Dad’s chest shudders against my back, and it almost makes me sick to know that he’s upset. He was the most stoic person I knew growing up. I never saw him cry. I never saw him upset. But I know what those shudders mean. They’ve worked their way through my chest too many times to count.
I want to go back in time. I want to grab eighteen-year-old me by the shoulders, shake some sense into him, and scream in his face to not listen to Damien. I want to fix this. I want to make this better and erase the years of fear and hopelessness they must have felt.
“I thought you were dead,” Mom whispers, her voice choked.
“I’m so sorry, Momma.” I shake my head, trying to get my emotions under control. “I should have—”
“No,” Dad says, cutting me off. “No should haves. All we have is right now, and we’re so damn glad we do.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stop the flow of tears. I’m pretty sure it’s useless. After what feels like a lifetime, Mom pulls away with a sniffle, and Dad follows.
Even though her face is wet with tears, she’s smiling and her eyes are bright. She places a hand on my face, her thumb brushing away my tears.
I glance away, looking for Hunter. He’s leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and tear tracks on his cheeks, but when he catches me looking, he smiles. The little nod he gives me feels like he’s telling me he’s proud of me, and it makes warmth bloom in my heart.
Pushing off the wall, he comes closer. “How about we all sit down? Does that sound good?”
I nod because my throat feels like it might actually explode if I try to talk, and Hunter leads us to the couches. He sits down on the end of one, and I really want to sit in his lap, but I’m not sure if he’s okay with that.
When I hover beside him for a second, he smiles softly at me, then wraps his arm around my waist and tugs me into his lap. Thank fuck. Holding me around the stomach, he squeezes me to him.
Mom and Dad sit down on the couch across from us. Dad’s arm rests on the backrest behind her, and she leans into his side. It makes me happy to see that they still love each other so much.
I’d once thought that Damien was that for me—my love like theirs—but the more time I spend with Hunter, the deeper I fall in love with him—in a place Damien never even reached, and in ways I didn’t even know I could feel—the more I realize it’s actuallyhim.
He’s my great love story. He was always supposed to be.
Mom clears her throat. “I don’t know where to start. I have a million questions.”
My stomach clenches. “Ask away.”
“How are you?” she asks, her eyes locking on mine.
“Better,” I answer truthfully. “For a long while, I wasn’t. You were…” My voice cracks, and I scrunch my nose up. “You were right… About Damien, about all of it.”
Mom gives me a sad smile. “I hope you know it brings me no joy to be right.”
“I know, Momma,” I whisper.
Hunter rubs his hand down my spine in a soothing gesture.
Her face crumples. “You look so grown-up now. You still had a baby face the last time I saw you. You’re a grown man now.”
