Damn Wright (The Wrights 2)

ippled most adults. You both deserve to move on.”

The pain sank into her stomach and burned. “You’ve always been partial to Dylan.”

“He was a good boy, raised by a fine man. He would have made a wonderful husband. The strength he showed by forcing you to move on proves that. It was one of the most selfless things I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

“He was a coward,” Emma argued. “He saw himself through my eyes and couldn’t deal with his new reality. Instead of manning up, he pushed me away.”

“That’s not how I see it. The things we should do in life are always harder to do than the things we want to do. It would have been infinitely easier on him to keep you by his side, depend on you for everything. But he let you go because it was best for you, and he struggled through recovery and rehab on his own. That takes commitment and determination and perseverance. That takes character, Emma. And, so does facing his mistakes and being humble enough, vulnerable enough, to face you and accept responsibility for what happened.”

“I want you to know how sorry I am for what I did. For forcing you into a decision that wasn’t completely your own. For hurting you. But most of all, for failing you.”

His words floated through her head and squeezed her heart, but other thoughts had created a much deeper groove in her mind than this new one, and she didn’t know if she was capable of changing the fear and pain programmed into her subconscious. Or even if she should.

“It may have turned out that way,” Emma said, “but no one knew what would happen at the time. I married that jerk for better or worse, and when the worse came, he bailed.”

Her mother went quiet, her gaze distant. “We can only ever do what seems best in the moment. I believe he did that for you. I’ve always believed that. Maybe that’s why I have a soft spot for him. How could a mother not love a man who put her daughter’s long-term well-being first?”

That twisted Emma’s perspective in an entirely different direction and forced to look at the situation in a completely different way.

“You’ve been brought back together for a reason, Emma,” Debbie said. “Don’t be so stubborn and bitter that you miss out on the gift of the situation. Forgiveness might just be what sets you free to face the rest of your life at your best. Holding on to hurt and anger certainly won’t give you the life you want or deserve.”

Emma picked up the glass of iced tea, took a shuddering breath, and drank the entire glass. She had no idea how she’d span the emotional bridge Dylan had incinerated so long ago.

She set her glass down and worked up a smile for her mom. “I’ll think about it.”

7

Dylan had picked up a rental truck in town and now drove through the streets of the upscale neighborhood in the Nashville suburbs toward the top of the grade, where Miranda and Jack were building their new house.

He hadn’t spoken to Emma for days, but he could still taste her on his tongue. That one kiss had turned his life on its axis and given him a renewed and burning purpose.

Dylan reached the top of the street where it ended on a plateau with three-hundred-sixty-degree vistas of the Nashville area. He parked the truck he’d rented beside a battered Ford F-150 Super Duty and a BMW X5.

Dylan took a minute to admire the partially finished structure. He never would have guessed a house constructed from shipping containers would look so incredible. The metal boxes sat at different angles, defying physics and taking advantage of every view. The center of the house was two stories tall, with slabs of metal cantilevered over glass-railed decks to provide cover. Walls of glass collapsed accordion-style, meshing indoor and outdoor spaces into one open living area. The sheer elegance of it shocked Dylan.

Movement drew his eye. Miranda stood at the front door, waving. Dylan took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and reset his battle-worn barriers, hoping they’d hold for another hit. He might have made headway in righting his wrongs, but he still had a long way to go.

He stepped out of the truck and made his way toward the entrance, his gaze taking in all the construction equipment. A crane, two tractors, palettes of material, half a dozen trucks, a dozen workers.

Construction noise abraded his nerves. Hammering, metal on metal, metal on concrete. The buzz and screech of a saw cutting into cement. His mind slipped sideways, scrambling toward the past. To crews digging through rubble, pulling out bodies. So many bodies. The cement dust clogging lungs and slicking skin. The only bright spot, blooms of crimson blood.

A hand on his arm made him startle. He cut a look toward the person and found his older sister, a woman who’d been more of a mother to him than anyone else on the planet, despite being little more than a child herself.

“I’m sorry.” Concern creased her brow. “Gypsy told me you startle easily.”

He forced air into his lungs. “It’s just the construction noise. I’m still adjusting.”

She opened her arms and smiled. “Well, welcome home.”

Just like that, the years between them melted away. A sense of relief and gratitude swamped him, and he wrapped Miranda in a hug.

“We’ve got you, Dylan,” she murmured, hugging him back. Her words transported him back to childhood and the way she was always there for a hug and all the reassurance he’d ever needed. “I know you’ve been through a lot. But we’ve got you now.”

“I’m sorry about Mom.” All his regret surged forward. So much regret. So many mistakes. So much guilt. All toward the people he loved the most. “I was an asshole for not coming home. I’m really sorry.”

She pulled away with real concern in her dark eyes. “I’ll admit, I was angry about it for a long time. But not anymore. We can only do our best, and sometimes our best can be hard to find.”

“That’s an overly generous thing for you to say.”