Mended (Connections, #3)(73)

And once again my mind entertains thoughts of wanting to kill him.

She goes on. “The rest happened so fast. Damon told me Dylan was in the hospital, I’ll never forget the icy-cold edge to his voice. I looked at my hands and saw red stains and I screamed. Just then the phone rang and he answered it. The expression on his face darkened as he hung up the receiver. In that instant I felt like I had to get out of there. For the first time I was afraid of him. As I moved, the room started spinning, but I managed to make my way to the door. I swung the door open to the family room, the room I had been in the previous night. He caught me before I crossed the threshold and told me Dylan had died and I cried as I ran out of his bedroom and the nightmare of the previous night set in. The last thing I remember is the floor rushed up to meet me and unconsciousness consumed me.”

My mother pauses and seems to snap out of whatever trance she was in. “When I woke up I was home alone. He had brought me home. I remembered everything then. Dylan had gotten up and a few minutes later I heard a thud. I ran into the living room and there he was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. He must have fallen and hit his head on the coffee table. A syringe was on the floor next to him. Damon came in as I hovered over him and found us. He called for an ambulance and they came and took Dylan to the hospital. Damon stayed with me. Dylan died of an overdose before Damon made it to the hospital. Nick flew back for the funeral and we went for coffee and started talking. We kept talking even after he left again and we ended up reconciling while he was still on the road. He even asked me to marry him over the phone. He was always so impatient. God, I loved that man.” She pauses again, taking another breath and squeezing my hand. “After Nick left again to get back on the road, Damon kept coming around, but his mood was darker, grimmer. I thought it was because his brother had died and I didn’t want to turn my back on him. One day he asked me about Nick and I told him we were back together. It was like a switch went off. He started blaming me for Dylan’s death. He’d call me and ask if I wanted to go to dinner one minute and when I’d say no he’d ask if I wanted to go to jail. I knew what he was doing—he was trying to scare me into marrying him. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong—but I still worried.”

“What made him finally leave you alone?” I ask.

“He didn’t right away. First, he tried to convince me to marry him, and when that didn’t work he threatened me. But my father overheard our conversation and when he asked me about it, I broke down and told him everything. My father intervened and after that I never heard from Damon again—I honestly don’t know what happened.”

My ribs ache from breathing so erratically as I listened to my mother. I take a good look at her for the first time since sitting down next to her. She’s wearing tan linen pants that look like they’ve been slept in. Her white blouse looks rumpled and is covered in coffee stains. Her naturally long brown hair is messy and her eyes are swollen. Seeing her like this . . . I can’t fight what’s in me. I want to be mad, upset, yell at her, curse the day she gave birth to me, but she’s my mother and I love her. I’ve always looked after her, protected her, and I can’t change that now.

The words just slip out. “It’s okay. I understand why you didn’t tell me,” I tell her.

She takes a deep breath and her tears start to wane, but her chest seems to be heaving at a greater rate. I draw her into my arms and kiss her hair.

“We’re going to be okay, Mom. Don’t cry.”

She wraps her arms around me in return and rocks me back and forth. In her comforting arms everything I’ve been feeling melts away. This woman loves me for who I am. After a beat, I pull away and wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“Xander, Nick will always be your father. Please tell me you know that.”

I don’t say anything.

“I wanted to tell you about Dylan, but once you knew, you couldn’t unknow it. And I just knew it would have mattered to you so much more than it should have. You were always my and Nick’s firstborn. You were his son and he loved you.”

My words come out as the question of a young boy. “Did you love my father, my real one?”

“Nick’s your real father, Xander. Dylan and I had a short and turbulent relationship and he died before he ever knew about you. So Nick—he is your real father.”

“Did he know? Nick, I mean?”

“Yes, of course he knew.”

“How could it not have mattered to him?” I ask, looking into her eyes—the eyes that none of us had inherited. Mine are more brown, like his, I’m sure, and River’s and Bell’s are greener, like Nick’s.

“Your father and I loved each other, and the time we were apart took its toll on both of us. Once we were finally back together, we vowed we’d never let anything tear us apart, and I tried to keep that promise.” She cries a little more and her words trail off. She doesn’t have to finish. Walking over to the mantel, she lifts a crystal-framed photo of River, Bell, and me. “When I told your father I was pregnant, he stared at me for the longest time. We both knew whose baby it had to be. I expected anger, or worse. But instead he put a protective hand on my belly and with a calm and certain voice he said, ‘We’re going to have a baby, Charlotte, so now you have to marry me.’ That’s what he said.”

“How do you not hate me?” I ask her.