Brynne, do you hear me? I love you.
My throat squeezes as I force a swallow down the constricted tube. I don’t know what to think, what to believe. I try to gulp passed the tears I feel building, will them to go away, but my emotions are more powerful than my control. My lashes wet as they spill over, making their way down my cheeks.
The look on his face. The way he glanced at me over his shoulder, his beautiful face crinkled, lined with concern and frustration. I can only imagine the horrified look I gave him back, and I wish in retrospect I had given him a smile or some sort of encouragement.
“It’s going to be okay, Brynne.”
“Brady’s back,” I smile, but the jazz that should be leeching out of my tone isn’t there. It’s dampened with the loss of another man, another one I love.
“He is,” she smiles, more brightly than me. “He’s home and he’s safe and we’ll be seeing him in just a few minutes. And Fenton will be okay too.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Nah, I do.”
“We don’t even know why they whisked him away, Pres. Duke isn’t answering, the staff and the restaurant looked and seemed as clueless as me. No one will tell me anything.”
“Just don’t get overwhelmed.” She looks at me out of the corner of her eye and snorts. “Well, no more than you already are. Just take it one step at a time. Fenton is a big boy and you can’t fix any of that, regardless of what it is. So let’s go see Brady and wait for Duke to call you back. And for the record, that’s a super awesome name.”
My head lies against the cool glass again and I watch my best friend nod her head like she’s got it all figured out. It’s an act; most of Presley is just that. But it’s why I love her.
She turns the car into my parents’ subdivision and I unbuckle my seatbelt, my hand already on the door. I watch the houses tick by as we near the end of the cul-de-sac. The car doesn’t hit a full stop before I’m out the door and running up the flagstone steps.
I burst into my childhood home, a small white split-level my family has lived in since before Brady was even born. It smells just like always, like I’m going to walk in and have a roast on a random Sunday afternoon. Like warmth and food and heavy doses of cinnamon and vanilla with a touch of bleach. All I need to round out the scenario is a baseball game playing on the television.
Instead, I hear something even better. Robust, booming laughter from the kitchen.
The door slams behind me, tears coursing down my face as I run down the hardwood hallway, slipping on the stupid woven rugs my mother buys on clearance somewhere every year. Almost falling into the wall before I can catch my feet and turn the corner, I dash into the kitchen.
I run blindly to my brother, sitting in his chair at the kitchen table. I can barely even see him, to see that he’s in one piece, and too thin, and a little scarred from his journey. He’s there. And as I lunge into his arms, he stands and I almost knock us both over.
“Brady!” I sob, my arms around his neck. He smells faintly of himself, of the boy that used to hold me down and dangle spit over my face.
“Brynne,” he says, wrapping me in a huge bear hug. He’s much smaller than he was a few months ago and the bones in his back are easily felt beneath my hands. I pull back, laughing and crying at the same time, wiping my eyes so I can see him.
“You’re home,” I choke out. “You’re really here!”
Tears flow down his face too, but a smile that’s as wide as the room shows his joy. And it makes my heart burst.
I shove him gently on the shoulder. “You should’ve listened to me, you fucker!”
“Brynne!” my mother admonishes, a laugh in her voice.
“So I’m back for a full five minutes and you’re already starting with the name calling. Thanks, little sister.”
“I can’t believe my eyes,” I declare. “How did you get here? How did this happen? Senator Hyland?” I look at my parents and they sit in their seats, smiles as wide as Brady’s on their faces.
“Hi, Presley.” My brother looks past me, his eyes settling softly. He sidesteps me and encompasses Pres into his arms. She gives him a quick hug, murmuring something in his ear, before releasing.
“Does anyone want anything to drink? Coffee? Wine? Water?” My mother motions for us all to sit. She looks more content, more peaceful, than I’ve seen her in so long. Even with her tear-streaked cheeks, she’s radiant.
“I’m good,” I say, sitting across from Brady. Presley sits next to him and shakes her head at my mother. “So, how did this happen? Where were you? Were you okay? How did—”
“Breathe, Brynne,” my father rumbles. “Let’s do this one step at a time. He might not want to tell us everything right off . . .”
Brady takes a long second to look across the table. He takes my mother’s hand in his and squeezes it, making her tear up again.