Page 108 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
The look on her face . . . her yelp in surprise . . . Then she rushes the few feet to me and almost knocks me over with the force of her hug. And I just hold on tight, emotion taking over as so many things hit me.
How strong her love is for me. How she picked up the broken pieces of a seven-year-old me and helped put me back together. How she didn’t give up on me when so many others would have discarded me as damaged goods.
The things you forget when you’re in your day-to-day life. The things you appreciate when you step back into it with an all-new perspective.
What kind of person gets the chance to have two mothers love him as fiercely as I have?
A damn lucky one.
And it’s the expression in her tear-filled eyes and the smile wide on her lips when she pulls back that reinforces this fact and guts me all at the same time, knowing what I put her through.
“You’re here!” she finally sputters out before pulling me against her once more like I’m going to disappear again. And I do the only thing I can, laugh out loud and hug her tighter. The subtle scent of vanilla she’s worn for as long as I can remember fills my nose and makes me really feel at home.
Once her surprise is out of the way and she’s calmed down, then asked a million trivial questions, made a hundred observations—I look tan; I look good; where was I?—we sit down together on the couch. Silence descends as she gives me the time I need to say what I want to say.
Just like Getty does.
The thought flickers and makes me smile as I take a deep breath and lean forward with my elbows on my knees.
“I’m sorry,” I finally tell her with a nod of my head. Her violet eyes search mine when I look up and meet them. Voicing my feelings has never been an easy thing for me, even with her. Add to it the situation I’ve put myself in, and I don’t know where to begin. So I start with the truth. “A few months ago something was delivered to my house. . . .”
I proceed to tell her everything. The uncertainty I felt about the box. The shock over the autopsy report. The hurt that I hadn’t known. The betrayal I felt because they had to have known. The rash of emotions I went through. My fight with Colton. The hurtful things I said to him. My trip to the island. Helping to repair Smitty’s house. How it felt good to use my hands. And my unexpected roommate. Fighting with her. How by watching her go through her battles, I realized I held on to my anger like a shield. Wore it like a grudge. Used it to punish myself.
And then I tell her about finally opening the box. The unexpected letter. My mom’s wishes for me. Her wedding ring sewn in the dog.
Tears fill her eyes. Her hand covers her mouth. She nods while tears slide down her cheeks. Her expression tells me she hurts for me. That she’s proud of me. That she loves me.
But she doesn’t utter a single word before I blow out a breath and say the words that began the conversation. “I’m so sorry. All I can tell you is that Colton was right. I needed to step away from everything, to take a long look at myself and deal with my own shit. I’m sorry I didn’t let you in, Ry. But I was hurt. Thought you’d lied to me. Kept something so important from me, when now I know it doesn’t matter. Whether you knew or didn’t know, you were being a parent. You were protecting me from the bad things, just like my mom tried to protect me from the stuff in my house. That’s your job.” While I’m talking, Rylee reaches out and covers my hands with hers. A mother’s touch. A way to tell me she understands. “I told myself I couldn’t come back until I faced whatever the box held and finished the repairs for Smitty. I wanted to prove I’m a man of my word again. That I’m different from the man who hurt his family, his team, himself . . . and I did face it. It gave me the closure I never really knew I needed but now understand it was what I was always seeking. I still have to finish a few minor things on Smitty’s house, but I had to come back and face Colton. There’s nothing I can say to you other than thank you for giving me time, for letting me figure it out on my own, and . . . I’m sorry.”
Her lips spread in that soft smile that has been there encouraging me, comforting me, laughing with me for most of my life, and I immediately know it’s going to be okay. “You don’t need to apologize to me, Zander. A parent loves their child no matter what they do. That’s just how it is. While I wished you would have talked to me so that maybe I could have explained to you and forgone all of this, I’m glad now that you didn’t.” My heard jerks over to her, surprised by her words. “I think figuring the answers for yourself was ten times more powerful. It will mean more to you. You’ll trust yourself now.”
I nod my head. Clear the emotion clogging in my throat by taking in a deep breath.
“I knew, Zander,” she confesses softly. “But you are right. It was my job as your guardian and then your parent to protect you. Did it really matter for me to tell you about the autopsy findings? Your mother wasn’t going to survive whether you touched the scissors or not. So why add that burden to your already aching soul? I made the choice. I’m sorry it caused you pain, because that’s exactly what I didn’t want to happen, but I did what I thought and still think was the best for you.” She wipes a tear away and I hate the sight of it, that I’ve made her cry, but can’t do anything about it.
“I’ve missed you. I’ve worried about you. You were out of control when you left and I feared the worst, because I know pain like that can cause you not to care about yourself. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you whole and healthy . . . and changed.”
“I didn’t bring it with me, but I’ll show you the letter—”
“No.” Her smile is kind, eyes compassionate.
“No?”
“That letter is something you’ve waited over twenty years to find, Zander. It’s her gift to you. I don’t need to see it. The man before me who’s all grown up is all I need to see to know how powerful her words were. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She stares at me, eyes narrowing, and a knowing smile plays at the corner of her mouth. “I’m glad you met whoever this Getty woman is, because it means you didn’t go through it all by yourself, and as your mother, I’m so glad you weren’t alone.”
“I’m glad I met her too.” My mind drifts back to that first night we met and I can’t help but smile.
We talk a bit more about the island, about my brothers, catching up, and I promise her I’m here for a few days before I leave, but we completely avoid talking about the one person that I still need to speak to.
“Is he in the pits?”
Her smile is automatic. The love in her eyes genuine. “Yes. He already tested. He’s with Becks making adjustments or
bullshitting. One or the other.”
