And Dave.

I remember Dave.

Slowly, it all comes back to me. I remember why we were there in the first place.

I ruined her.

Destroyed every ounce of strength she had.

I wanted her to hate me.

I wanted her to leave me.

I took away her smile.

I stole the calm in her eyes.

And I replaced them both with fear.

I rest my head back on the pillow and look her in the eye. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay,” she whispers, her lips warm and wet as she leans forward, taking my hand and kissing it. “We’ll get through it, Dylan. Always.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

* * *

A few weeks ago, if you’d asked me what moment in my life caused me the greatest shame, it would’ve involved a flash bang, a picture of Riley and Dave behind the camera. Now, it’s the presence of my family, Riley plus two cops as they proceed to tell me that my license has been revoked for thirty days—not that it matters with my broken leg. What matters is why. I keep my eyes on Riley as they go through the standard process, her eyebrows bunched in confusion. They’d tested my blood alcohol level once I arrived in the ER. I was 0.09. One point above the legal alcohol limit. I lied to the officer that night—the same one standing silently next to his partner who’s doing all the talking. He probably feels guilty—that it’s his fault it happened. That, maybe, he should’ve given me the sobriety test instead of letting me walk away. I’ll keep his secret—I’ve ruined enough lives. None more so than the girl standing by my side, her grip on my hand loosening with each word spoken.

Eric shouts, moving closer to the cops. “My brother earned a Purple Heart serving this goddamn country and you’re going to …” I tune out the rest when Riley turns to me, the tears in her eyes clouding but not at all hiding her disappointment. I don’t look away. I won’t. I want her to see me. To know that I’m sorry. That I regret it. That I love her. That I need her.

Every one leaves. Everyone but Riley.

She doesn’t talk to me. Doesn’t look at me. But she stays by my side, my hand in hers.

And in my mind, in my heart, I can feel it. She’s slipping away from me.

Hours pass. Dad returns.

He won’t look at me either.

I sit up when Holly walks in, her smile tight when she sees me. “How you doin’ there, Marine?” She smiles sadly as she stands by the bed. “He’s okay,” Riley answers for me.

Dad gets up from his seat and moves the chair next to Riley’s offering it to Holly. She takes it, her eyes on mine and Riley’s joined hands.

Then she sighs, scooting her chair closer to the edge of the bed. “Guys.” She pauses, her mouth opening and closing a few times. Dropping her head, she heaves in a breath. “I know this is bad timing. But we need to talk. Well, I need to. To both you. And I’m just going to say what I need to say and I’d like for you to only interrupt if anything I say is incorrect and if it is, I apologize. Okay?”

I look at Riley, whose eyes are lowered and I nod, my heart racing, making the beeping of the monitor more frantic.

“Maybe now isn’t a good time, Holly,” Dad says.

Holly glances up at Dad, and then at the monitor, and then back to me. Riley stays quiet, as if she knows what’s about to happen. She squeezes my hand, trying to comfort me. It doesn’t work. Her eyes… I need her eyes. She won’t look at me.

“I’m sorry, Mal,” Holly says, “but I think it has to happen now.”

Dad nods.

My heart races faster—so painfully I find it impossible to breathe.

She says, her hand on my arm, “I went by your house to collect some things for Riley because she refuses to leave your side.” She swallows loudly, her eyes on mine. So much like Riley’s, but not at all the same. “I went to your bathroom and I saw the shattered mirror. It looks like direct contact with something, most likely a fist. I’m going to assume that you caused it, and again, interrupt me if I’m wrong…”

She waits for me to say something.

I don’t.

I can’t.

“Dylan?” Dad says, and my entire body goes slack. My head falls back on the pillow and I gaze up at the ceiling because there’s only so much shame a person can handle before it becomes too much.

I’m filled with it.

Holly says, “I’m going to be honest with you. It scared me, Dylan. It made me afraid to think that my daughter was living in a home with someone who would do that—but not just that—it made me afraid to think that she’d be in that situation and not tell me about it.”

“Mom, stop,” Riley cries.

Holly doesn’t. “I know she loves you. I know we all love you. And I know you saw her suffering from the aftermath of a death and that you were able to help her get through it just by being there, so it worries me that you didn’t think it okay to come to us—any of us—if you felt like you were struggling. I’m not afraid to admit that that fear caused me to snoop around your house, Dylan. I saw the bottles of beer in your fridge, which doesn’t make sense because you know my daughter and you allowed that in a home you share with her.”

Her words crush every ounce of hope I’d wished for. Every ounce of dignity I had left.

“And then I went out to the garage and saw a jar on the floor, like the ones she used when she wrote those letters to Jeremy.”

Riley’s chair scrapes against the floor as she stands quickly. “No!” I look over at her, her eyes frantic.

Holly continues, “I didn’t think anything of it at first, but I’m a mother and I care about her. So I picked it up and I read it. I won’t apologize for doing it.”

“Mom,” Riley cries, her hands covering her face. “Please don’t!”

Dad’s on the other side of the bed, his hand on my chest to stop me from moving.

I won’t move.

I can’t.

Holly reaches into her purse, pulling out a folded piece of paper before handing it to me.

My fingers shake as I unfold it, unaware of the devastation it’s about to cause.

To me.

To her.

To everyone around us.

To the lives we’d built and the promises we’d created.

Riley’s watching me, tears flowing fast and free. She’s shaking her head and I don’t know why. Not until I read her words—words written from the hate I created.

Dylan.

I love you.

I miss you.

You left me last night. I checked your online bank statement and there was a payment listed for a hotel ten minutes away. I called the hotel. They said it was charged for two nights. It’s strange—when you’re not with me, I feel the longing swelling in my chest, but when you are with me… I can feel your presence crushing my heart.

I figured you booked a hotel because you hate me and you couldn’t stand to be around me.

That, or you’re cheating on me.

And right now, I don’t know which is worse.

I read the letter over and over, focusing on each and every word until Riley’s loud sob pulls my focus away from the letter and up at her. “I didn’t mean it,” she cries, her hand back on mine. “Please, baby, you have to believe me.”