Damn Wright (The Wrights 2)

In the fifteen minutes between deplaning and pushing through the exterior doors to stand at the curb, anxiety crawled to the surface. He felt acutely misplaced here, in the midst of America’s flagrant abundance. Everything from the sleek, modern terminal to the line of pristine luxury vehicles streaming along the pickup lanes felt extreme. Opulent. Excessive.

After living in places where running water was an extravagance, he experienced an intense sense of shame for having come from such wealth. An odd feeling of guilt for having the luxury of leaving the warzone for safer, more comfortable surroundings when ninety percent of the Syrian population would never have even the whiff of a better life.

A car horn blared, and Dylan jumped. His heart slammed against his ribs. Every muscle in his body tensed. It took his heart a full three minutes to return to a normal rhythm. Another five for his muscles to release. He’d been jumpy since the attack in Manbij. And he’d never recover from losing Amir.

To distract himself from the loss, he pulled out his phone and did what he always did when he needed a lift—he tapped into Instagram and brought up Emma’s feed. She always lived in the back of his mind, but Amir had pushed her forward on the last day of his life. And now, only a few miles away from her instead of a few thousand, a dam had broken and all the memories they’d made together spilled into his head.

She’d posted two new pictures since he’d left Syria. The first was of Emma with an ER nurse, heads together, big smiles, bright eyes. His heart kicked. Her hair had darkened over the years, shifting from strawberry blonde to a now-luxurious copper. But her eyes were still the color of the Pacific Ocean, light freckles still peppered her nose, and she still grabbed his heart by the throat the same way she had from the first moment he’d seen her, over a decade ago now.

The second image was one of a trauma room, trashed in the aftermath of an emergency. Blood drenched the gurney, sprayed the floor, soaked supplies. The words Life = 1 Reaper = 0 were printed across the image.

Dylan tried to smile, but everything he’d been through over the last month—laying Amir to rest, supporting his wife and children through their grief, making sure Marisha was secure financially—had stolen his ability to find an ounce of happiness in anything.

He did feel proud of Emma, though. So damn proud. He might have lost his right to feel pride in her accomplishments the day he lost his mind and sent her away, but every time he saw Emma grow or achieve or celebrate something in life, he knew he’d done the right thing all those years ago. The only growth that stabbed him in the gut was the fiancé.

The day she’d posted a photo of herself and one of her colleagues in an embrace, her left hand extended with the rock of Gibraltar on her ring finger, Dylan had lost his last spark of desire to live. He had let her go for that very reason, so she could move on and find a good husband. But watching her do just that through photos had decimated him.

In a sick kind of irony, losing her had been the reason he’d become so successful. He’d been a dead man walking for years. With nothing to live for, it was easy to throw caution out the window. To go after stories no other sane journalist would cover. That recklessness might have rocketed him to the top of his career in record time, but it had also gotten Amir killed. And now, it had brought him home to face Emma and fulfill Amir’s last wish.

So he was here to face her. Let her have her say. Find the guts to apologize for betraying her in the worst possible way. And let her go. Really let her go. Dylan hadn’t believed his heart could feel any heavier, but the thought of severing that last invisible tether with Emma turned his chest into a slab of granite.

But, first things first—his sisters.

He, Gypsy, and Miranda all had different fathers. He and Gypsy had lucked out in the dad department, and they’d been turned over to their fathers when their mother’s drinking and drug abuse was uncovered. But Miranda didn’t have a father, so she’d been shuffled between the foster system and her addict mother.

Their fathers had gone the extra mile to keep him and Gypsy connected by meeting up on holidays and during vacations. To their credit, they’d tried to include Miranda, but their mother had denied their requests out of spite.

He wondered just how bitter Miranda would be now, after he’d let the fallout of their mother’s addiction rest on his sister’s shoulders.

His phone pinged with a message from his younger sister, Gypsy. We’re here. Look for a blue Jeep.

Dylan took a deep breath and refocused. The cool fall air felt good on his skin. A cute cobalt-blue Jeep with a black hardtop pulled to the curb, and Gypsy grinned at him from behind the steering wheel. Dylan’s heart lightened a little.

Gypsy got out of the car and ran to him, squealing with joy. Dylan caught her and hugged her hard. And for an instant, one blessed instant, all his pain evaporated.

“Oh, man,” he said, eyes closed, soaking in the feeling of unconditional love, “it so good to see you.”

He set her down and held her at arm’s length. She wore jeans, boots, a long-sleeved, untucked flannel, and an ear-to-ear grin. But the smile didn’t hide the fatigue in her eyes. He glanced down the rest of her, searching for something to explain the tired expression, but she looked great.

Thinking about Miranda reminded Dylan of just how many bridges he had to repair while he was home.

“You sure that little munchkin you sent pictures of is yours?” he asked. “You don’t look like you had a baby just a few months ago.”

“He’s right here.” She beamed, gesturing to the Jeep. “Waiting to meet his uncle Dylan.”

Uncle Dylan.

The words fisted his heart. He’d been Uncle Dylan to Amir’s three kids. Kids Dylan already missed.

Gypsy took hold of Dylan’s sleeve and pulled him toward the car. She opened the door, then took his duffel and rounded the back of the Jeep. “Say hello to your nephew.”

Dylan stepped up to the car and leaned in to get a look at the baby. He was in a car seat that looked like it would survive Armageddon. Dylan knew car seats existed and why, but he realized in that moment this was the first time he’d ever seen one in use.

Cooper’s big light green eyes stared back at him, and Dylan instantly fell in love. He couldn’t understand how the extremes of joy and loss could exist in his heart at the same time, but the joy of meeting Cooper and the pain of losing Amir and his family filled equal parts of his soul.

“Hey, little man.” Dylan slid a finger into the baby’s tiny hand, and Cooper’s fingers curled around it, soft and warm. A similar feeling squeezed his heart.

In the next instant, regret swept in. His mind filled with all the joys Amir would miss out on with his own kids. How those kids would have to grow up without their father.