“Oh, Dylan. You didn’t.”
“I did.” The reality still stung like a thousand hornets. “The only way I could get her to leave was to break her heart. I told her I didn’t love her, told her to go away and, when even that didn’t work, I banned her from my hospital room.”
“Ah, Christ, Dylan, you’re killin’ me.”
He nodded. “Killed me too. And, you know, even when they moved me to an extended-care facility, she still came every fucking day for an entire year. She sat out in the lobby for hours, studying, hoping…believing…I’d change my mind. My nurses used to beg me to see her.”
“You hardheaded son of a bitch.”
He smirked, and tears slid down his cheeks. He wiped them away with both hands. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time.”
“What happened?”
He exhaled, sinking into the chair. “I won, which ultimately meant I lost. Everything. She came home, moved back in with her parents, finished her bachelor’s degree.”
“What about you?” she gestured toward him. “You’re strong, well, together, successful. After those kinds of injuries? How did that happen?”
“I was determined to get well, get on my feet, make something of myself, and return to Emma whole. Or as whole as humanly possible. Unfortunately, by the time I had my shit together, she was in medical school.”
“And you were a foreign correspondent.”
He nodded.
“That is the most gut-wrenching story I’ve ever heard in my entire life.” She blew out a breath. “How are you now? What kinds of issues do you have from the accident?”
“Neuropathy, mostly. The burns damaged my nervous system, so I’m always in some level of pain. I’ve got a bunch of plates and pins all over my body. The only part of me without a scar is my face. But I was relentless about physical therapy, and it’s made a real difference. I’ve also found some great alternative, holistic pain management methods that work for me. I’ve grown as used to chronic pain as anyone could.”
“How in the hell did you pay for all that medical care? The surgeries, the rehab, it had to be insanely expensive.”
“It was, but lucky for me Germany requires all residents, permanent or temporary, to carry some kind of health insurance. If they hadn’t, I wouldn’t have spent the money. I was young, invincible, you know.”
She smiled. “You always were a bit of a daredevil.”
“So, I picked up an insurance plan that covered both health and accident insurance for foreigners, and the price was based on an adjustable scale dependent on your income. Since I didn’t make much, the insurance didn’t cost as much. My dad gave me some money as a wedding present, so that helped. Then, when he was killed in action, I inherited everything he had, which ended up going toward the medical costs insurance didn’t cover.”
“Wow, that’s”—she winced—“tragically fortunate. Sort of. I mean—”
He nodded. “I know what you mean. I’ve spent countless nights trying to untangle that universal mystery.”
A moment of silence lingered between them, and Dylan’s mind drifted back to a dark, confusing, heartbreaking time.
“So what’s happening with Emma now?”
Miran
da’s question pulled Dylan back to the present. He hadn’t realized until now, after seeing Emma again, that even his soul-searching and introspection hadn’t lifted the shadows on his soul. “She finally divorced me about four years ago. Is…or was…engaged to a surgeon. I’m not sure if that’s still the case or not.”
“What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
“Nah. Emma was my One. My Only.”
That statement never felt as real as it did now, after seeing her again. Holding her again. Kissing her again.
“What’s going on with this house Gypsy told me about?” Miranda asked.
“Yeah, I really want to talk to you about that.” He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. “Her aunt never had kids, but she was really close to Emma. So she put the two of us on the title as a wedding gift. She passed away a few months ago, but had dementia and went downhill fast over the last two years. She was hoarding, and Emma says the house is a mess.”
“You own half of it, then.”