“Then we won’t talk about it. Let me hold you?” She nods, and I do, painfully aware that my family is the reason hers is so broken.
***
Ty
It’s 4 a.m. when I hear her scream.
It’s not the first time she’s had a nightmare in my presence, but it’s surely the worst I’ve seen. I switch on the light and try to wake her gently. It doesn’t work. I turn on the TV in hopes that will rouse her, but no.
Two more lights and some music. And I hold her while she thrashes in my arms, my voice soothing and calm.
Jesus. She’s breaking my heart.
Finally, something breaks through and she blinks up at me, tears fresh in her eyes. “Where did they go?” she asks me, and I feel like she’s expecting an answer, but I don’t know what to say.
She asks me again, her voice pleading, “Where did they go?”
“Where did what go, baby?”
“His dreams. All of his hopes. His aspirations. He had a life. And goals. And thoughts. And fears. And a fucking future. Where did all that go? Did it just float off into the universe when he died? Like a dandelion that you blow into the wind? It just...it seems so wrong, on every level. He was a person. A wonderful, beautiful, frustrating, annoying, talented person.”
She turns to look at me, her face wet with tears, just as mine is. Hers are for her brother. Mine are for both of them.
“He was tall, did you know that? Way taller than Mom and me. He must’ve gotten that from our dad. And his hair was brown, like mine, but it got blond every summer because he was a lifeguard and the sun bleached it. He had big ears that stuck out and he hated them. When he got embarrassed or mad, his face turned red, and so did the tips of his giant ears and when I was in middle school, I used to piss him off on purpose just to tease him.”
I hold her tight, and listen to every word she says. Not for the first time do I think that Dylan James was someone I would’ve liked to know.
“He loved dogs and was scared of spiders. He loved hiking and suspense novels and chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream. His favorite holiday was Halloween and he loved those stupid haunted hayride things and he and Sam would always drag me along. One time, I was maybe fifteen? We went to one and I got so freaked out when this skeleton tried to touch me that I ran and fell and sprained my ankle.
“He loved cheeseburgers and put mustard on his French fries, probably just so I wouldn’t steal them. Hockey was his favorite sport and he loved the Pens, even though we lived close to Philly. He loved to skate and snowboard, but he hated skiing. He said his goal was to move way up north where it snowed more than half the year. He wanted a bunch of dogs and even though he never said it, I always knew he wanted a second chance with Erin, his high school girlfriend.”
She’s sobbing at this point, and fuck, so am I. I reach blindly for a box of tissues, glad I manage to grab a few, and wipe away some of her tears.
She looks up at me, her eyes haunted. “Do dreams die, too? Because that just seems wildly unfair.”
Oh, Phoebe,I think,not one fucking part of this is fair.
I smooth her hair away from her face, breathing in her soft scent. I ran her a lavender bath earlier, because the internet told me it would help. And it did, a little. The guys have all checked in via text, and I gave Booker Ian’s number and asked him to call. I swiped her phone and tapped out a text to Sam, simply saying I’m the guy she’s seeing, that she’s having a rough time, but she’ll be ok. I figured he’d be waiting for her to reach out, and I didn’t want him to worry.
Christ knows this family has been through enough.
“Are they still there?”
“Still where, baby?”
“Still there, in that basement. That’s where he died, you know. They moved him, but he was already braindead at that point. Did you know that?”
Jesus. My heart breaks. Just shatters all over the damn place.
I pull her close as her body shakes from the force of her sobs. Here, in the still-dark light of early morning, I give her the only words I have. “His dreams are with you, baby.” My voice is hoarse and it sounds foreign to my own ears. “His dreams found their way to you, love. And everyone who meets you gets a piece of Dylan, too. And we’re so damn lucky that you share him with us. And someday, baby, your kids will know all about their uncle Dylan. They’ll know how much he loved you.”
I hold her steady and rub her back, pressing kisses to the top of her head. I tell her I’ll take her to a Pens game. Hell, I’ll get her season tickets. I tell her we’ll go snowboarding and eat cookie dough ice cream, and adopt a dog from a shelter. She doesn’t hear me, though. Her eyes have drifted shut, her breathing has evened out, and her face looks as though it has finally found peace in slumber. My eyes are heavy, too. I grab my phone and tap out a quick text to Knox, asking him to go to my 9 a.m. and take notes.
As I fall asleep with my broken-hearted girl in my arms, I wish I could be the man she deserves. I wish I could be anyone but who I am.
I wish, in vain, that when I awake, I could be free of the family ties that weigh me down.
Chapter 18
