Page 12

Dylan

T he door swung open, Steven walked in, followed by my parents.

I froze. My mother’s hair now had silver in it, no longer the dark blonde I had pictured.

Her face was thinner, more angular. My father was leaner as well, not as muscular, with glasses perched where none had been.

How had they aged so quickly? My gut twisted.

I searched my memories for the last time I’d seen them but couldn’t come up with anything recent. How long had it been?

“Dylan,” Mom gasped, her poise crumbling as she rushed forward. She hugged me carefully, warm, trembling, like I was a kid again. I hugged her back, her perfume familiar and surrounding me as my mind raced. Last time I saw her, we were—where? A dinner? A holiday? Why can’t I remember?

Dad gripped my hand, his touch gentle, not the iron clamp I recalled. “We came as soon as we heard,” he said, voice thick, eyes wet behind those damn glasses. I grinned, warmth flooding me, but the gaps screamed. Their faces were wrong—too worn, too aged. My head was missing years.

Hadn’t Steven said they were here? No, he’d said they could be. Why wouldn’t they have been the first to know? “How did you hear?”

“Jennifer called us,” my mother answered, then looked to Jennifer as if for confirmation that she’d said the right thing.

A memory returned. All three of them were standing together.

So much anger and disappointment. My hand tightened too forcefully on Jennifer’s, and she withdrew hers.

I searched the faces of everyone in the room for something, some hint of what they could have done that would have enraged me, but the feeling faded before it produced a memory to anchor it.

“It’s good to see you, Dylan,” my father said in a deep tone. “Awake and alert, I mean.”

There were gaps in my memories, but I didn’t need to be reminded how lucky I was to have the parents I had.

My mother was quick-witted and always there when I needed her.

My father was a busy man, but he’d pushed me to excel because he knew that being born to wealth could make a person weak if they weren’t grounded.

Years of good advice and support from both gave me the work ethic that enabled me to make my resort chain as successful as it was.

Odd, but I didn’t have a single memory of them at any of my resorts.

What did I remember? They’d welcomed Jennifer into our family without question, loving her like the daughter they’d always wanted.

They’d taken Jennifer and me to Greece to celebrate our engagement.

The way they stood beside her now reminded me how easy it had been to imagine Jennifer officially being part of our family.

I caught Jennifer’s eye. She glanced down at her hand, then met my gaze. I shook my head once, and as she always had, she seemed to interpret my subtle cue correctly. The details of our journey back didn’t have to be shared.

My parents looked momentarily uncomfortable. Dad cleared his throat awkwardly, adjusting his glasses as if preparing to speak, then hesitated, leaving the question unspoken. Their stiff posture made it clear they knew something had changed between Jennifer and me.

“Steven said you were already making business calls,” Mom said, sitting by the bed, her hand over mine. “Don’t push yourself.” Her eyes sought Jennifer. “And be good to each other.”

Jennifer smiled, but her shoulders stiffened. “Always.”

I reached for Jen’s hand again. “Jen and I are going to head to my place in Connecticut while I rehab. I’m not completely opposed to resting, but Dad, you understand why I had to check in with my resort managers first.”

“I do,” my father said, but his eyes darkened. “Although I’ve come to realize that my priorities should always have been family first.”

“We’d love to visit and check in with you,” Mom said, voice soft. “If you’re okay with that.”

I blinked, stunned. “Okay? You’re my parents. Of course you’re welcome whenever.” The words felt right, but I remembered anger, raised voices that nagged, a heated conversation I couldn’t bring into focus, intense then gone again before I could interpret it. Mom’s smile trembled, tears brimming.

“I’m sure you’ve been well cared for, but we’ll bring in the best doctors,” Dad said, all business. “Boston neurologists, physical therapists—they’ll come to you.”

“Perfect,” I said, trusting them. They’d softened over time, their edges smoothed, not the stiff figures they once were.

No, that’s wrong. They’d cared for me. Always loving.

Always supportive. Which memory was true?

I struggled to bring up a definitive memory, but all I had was a feeling of being loved by them.

And then a wall. Looking to lighten the mood, I joked, “I’ll be up and around in no time.

I have your quick healing genes, Dad. Remember when you broke your arm skiing?

How long did it take to heal? Wasn’t it quicker than the doctors predicted? ”

My parents’ smiles froze. Mom’s lips parted slightly, and she reached for Dad’s sleeve, gripping it briefly as if steadying herself. Jennifer shifted abruptly, her breath catching audibly. The room’s tension thickened, punctuated by the faint buzzing of an overhead light.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“No,” Mom said quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s just...”

Jennifer’s grip tightened, her eyes dodging mine.

I was about to ask what I’d said wrong, when Steven shifted in the corner, phone lighting up. “I’ll be in the hall,” he muttered.

I nodded. My focus snapped back to my parents. They looked as worried as Jennifer did. Was I more seriously injured than I’d been told?

“We’re here, Dylan,” Mom said, her hand on my cheek. “And we love you so much. Thank you for letting us be part of your recovery.”

“Of course,” I said, throat tight. Dad looked on, eyes shining. What happened to my family? They loved Jennifer, loved me—what had I done?

Steven returned. “I’ve informed the hospital of your desire to relocate,” he said, his voice clipped, eyes on me. “They said no-go for at least another week.”

“Unacceptable,” I started to say, but stopped when Steven spoke over me.

“The neurologist wants you here in case there is brain swelling, sudden headaches, or seizures. You’re welcome to try to ride that out at home, but he doesn’t suggest it.”

Jennifer’s eyes widened then turned reassuring. “The cot is comfortable.”

“We’ll have something better brought in,” my mother interjected.

“Looks like I’m staying for a while.” I sighed. I didn’t want to remain at the hospital for one minute longer than necessary, but I also refused to put Jennifer in a position of fearing for my safety. “Thanks, Mom. That would mean a lot to me.”

The relieved look in Jennifer’s eyes was telling.

Steven added, “Good decision. That will also give me time to secure the location and bring in security.”

Security? I pictured my resorts—open trails, no gates, no need for guards, at least not for me. Since when did I need security? My pulse quickened, but I kept my face steady, not admitting I didn’t remember.

What the hell have I forgotten?