Long Road Home

by Marie Meyer

  “The twentieth.” The serious, all-business Marine replaces the joking, good-natured Bull.

  “I will make it point to see you guys before you leave, you have my word.” I run a hand over my fresh military cut, the stubble scratching against my palm.

  “I know, man. Now, go take care of your mom, she needs you.”

  “Thanks. Tell Vin and Taz I’m sorry.”

  “Will do.”

  I silently pound my fist against the steering wheel. “Later, man.”

  “Yeah, see ya.”

  Pulling the phone away from my ear, I disconnect the call, and bury the disappointment of not seeing my boys tonight. I’ve got to stay focused on Mom, she’s my priority now.

  I grab my bag, swing open the door, and climb down. I make quick work of unlocking my house and jog down the hall to my bedroom.

  Unpacking my gym back, I pull out my holster and unlatch my revolver, pulling the lockbox from my bottom drawer. I don’t take any chances when it comes to my firearm; when it’s not with me, it’s locked away. Working in the city, I’ve seen one too many accidental shootings. Most of them involving kids. Those are the worst calls.

  Placing the sealed box back into the drawer, I pull out a pair of mesh basketball shorts and a Green Bay Packers T-shirt. I strip out of my gym clothes, slide on the shorts and T-shirt, slip on a pair of athletic sandals, and grab my wallet and keys from my pants pocket before I’m heading back down the stairs and out the door.

  * * *

  I knock on Mom’s door and give her two or three seconds to answer before I’m fingering through the keys on my key ring. Unlocking the door, I push it open. “Mom?” I call. The house is quiet and dark. I step inside and close the door, saying her name again, louder this time. “Mom.”

  “Cayden?”

  My name, weak and garbled, floats from somewhere upstairs.

  Hitting the stairs, I go in search of her. Usually, after a chemo day she likes resting on couch in the living room, but tonight, she must have moved back to her room.

  I give a few taps on the door and push it open. Following the muffled groans into the master bathroom, Mom’s kneeling beside the toilet. I rush to her, scooping her sparse, shoulder length salt-and-pepper hair into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. “Aw, Mom, why didn’t Lacey stay with you until I got here?”

  Lacey Andrews, Mom’s neighbor and best friend. When I can’t take Mom to her chemo appointments, Lacey steps up. Having been neighbors for so many years, they’ve been through a lot together, from raising kids to losing their husbands around the same time. I know it’s killing Lacey seeing Mom like this, but her friendship, and the fact that she’s willing to help out when I can’t, keeps Mom fighting. Mom, more than anything, doesn’t want to let Lacey or me down. That’s why she puts up such a good fight.

  “Lace had to get home; Parker was coming over with the baby.”

  I twist her hair at the nape of her neck, so that it will stay put while I go in search of a washcloth. As I stand, a large clump of Mom’s hair remains in my hand. Cancer, a weapon of mass destruction. And there’s fuck all I can do against this enemy. “How long ago did she leave?” I ask, wrapping Mom’s hair in a tissue and tossing it into the waste can.

  “Not too long,” she answers weakly.

  Pulling open the closet beside the vanity, I grab a washcloth and run it under the cold water. Once it’s thoroughly soaked, I ring it out and crouch down beside her, dabbing, wiping away beads of sweat on her forehead and cheeks. She leans into the washcloth, the hint of a smile at her lips. “Thank you,” she mutters.

  “Any time.” I smile back and toss the washcloth into the sink, hook-shot style. “Here”—I put my arms at her waist—“let’s get you into bed.”

  With a labored grunt, she braces herself against my arms and lifts her tired body off the bathroom floor.

  “Why don’t you let me carry you?” I bend my knees, ready to sweep her into my arms, but she shakes her head.

  “No, Cayd. I can walk.”

  I roll my eyes. She’s always been so damned independent. It took both me and Lacey to convince Mom that she would need help once chemo started—she was positive she’d be able to drive herself to and from appointments.

  Mom shuffles toward the bed, and I keep my hands at her waist, giving her something strong to cling to. Reaching for the comforter on her antique four-poster, she pulls back the cover and climbs between the sheets.

  Out of breath from the short walk from the bathroom to her bed, she ekes out a feeble, “Thanks, hon’.” Even at her lowest, my mom has a class that sets her apart from all other women.

  I nod and pull the covers up to her chin. The humongous bed swallows her. For the first time, I can see the toll cancer is taking on her body. The hell chemo is putting her through. She’s sallow, her skin is pale, thin, almost see-through. The sparkle in her eyes has been replaced by dark shadows. It’s the worst fucking thing in the world watching someone you love being consumed by something so evil and unforgiving.

  I let out the breath I’m holding and run a hand over my buzzed head. “What can I get you? Do you need anything?”

  She looks up at me, and I can’t read the expression on her face. Sadness? “I know you’re busy, but I need some help tonight.”

  Laying my hand on her bony shoulder, I nod my head. “You need me to stay, I’m here. You’re not fighting this alone.”

  “Thanks, hon’.” She gives me a weak smile and closes her eyes, letting her head loll to the side.

  “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” I pat her shoulder and turn toward the door.

  “Cayden?”

  Turning, I say, “Yeah?”

  “Are you going to Blake’s wedding tomorrow?” If I know my mother, she’s beating herself up because she can’t.

  Blake Thompson was like another son to my parents. He and I grew up together, our parents the best of friends. For years, Mom used to babysit him. But when Blake and I got to high school, our interests took us in different directions. I was on the football and basketball teams, Blake was on the debate team and student council, so our paths didn’t cross often. We had our own sets of friends. But whenever our families got together, Blake and I would pick up our friendship right where we left off.

  Now, he’s a big-shot lawyer—those years on the debate team paying off—and he’s marrying his college sweetheart.

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Oh, good. I wish I could be there.”

  I walk back to her side and lay a reassuring hand on her arm. “He’ll understand.”

  The corner of Mom’s mouth pulls up in a legit smile this time. “Are you taking anyone special?”

  Of course. That would be the question that puts a smile on her face. I almost hate that my answer will make it disappear. Almost. Mom, an eternal romantic at heart.

  “Sorry to break it to you, but I’m going solo.”

  She sits up and rests her back on the headboard. “You mean, you couldn’t find one nice girl to take as your date?”

  Where is this burst of energy coming from? Energy enough to scold me for not dating. That’s a mother for you.

  I shrug. “I’m fine. Honestly, I don’t have time for any of that stuff. I’ve got to dedicate every ounce of my time to work if I want that SWAT promotion.”

  “Don’t lose yourself in work, Cayd. One day, you’ll look up and you’ll be all alone. Life isn’t just about moving up the workforce ladder. Some things are more important, like family.”

  “Yeah, I know. And I’m sure I’ll find someone, one day. But not right now.” As the words come out of my mouth, the girl from earlier today, Renata, floods back into my thoughts. It’s been a while since a woman has gotten under my skin. Her dark chocolate eyes aren’t easy to forget. Just my short interaction with her, I could tell she has spirit. I wouldn’t mind getting to know her. Too bad that won’t happen.

  “Don’t wait too long.” There’s a warning in her voice, but
how is that fair? Everything I’m putting on hold is for her…and my career. Besides, my job’s too dangerous. I couldn’t get involved with someone and have her heart broken if something happened to me.

  “I’m good, Mom. All I want right now is for you to get well. Once that happens, then I’ll kick my search for Mrs. Sinclair into high gear. Deal?”

  She shakes her head and sighs. “I just don’t want to see you alone. You’re not a spring chicken anymore.”

  “And when did twenty-five become decrepit?”

  “Lacey’s youngest daughter is only twenty,” she tempts. “She’s really pretty, too.”

  Mom the matchmaker. I bend down and kiss her cheek, knowing that I’m not going to win this argument, so I might as well concede and take the loss. “’Night, Mom.”

  She puts her hand on my cheek. “’Night, baby.”

  Walking from her room, I brush my hand over the light switch and close the door.

  Downstairs, I grab a blanket from the front closet and stretch out on the couch, flipping on the TV. Lacing my fingers behind my head, I close my eyes and listen to Jimmy Fallon write thank-you notes.

  As I drift off to sleep, images of Renata once again invade my consciousness, and I know I’m in for some good dreams.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ren

  “Do you have the veil?” I shout as I lock the door.

  “Got it!” Lexie calls from the end of the hall. “Oh, wait! Dylen forgot her earrings.”

  Spinning on my heel, I carefully lay the plastic garment bag with Dylen’s dress across my forearm and fumble with my keys, unlocking the door.

  Kicking it open with my foot, I bound through the living room, down the hall, and into the guest bedroom. “Where are they?” Scanning the room, I notice the diamond studs lying on the dresser. Skirting the bed, I scoop them into my hand and dash out of the room. “If she forgot anything else, she’ll have to deal,” I mumble, grabbing the dress on my way out.

  I kick off my heels, pick them up, and shuffle down the hall hoping my hair and makeup aren’t in shambles.

  Outside, Dylen, Lexie, and Shae are already in the limo. Climbing in beside them, I see they’ve wasted no time in passing out the champagne flutes. “Time for some bubbly!” Shae says, fiddling with the top.

  With the neck of the bottle pointing in Dylen’s direction, Lexie reaches over and moves Shae’s hand, leaving the bottle pointing to the front of the limo. Lexie winks at Shae. “Just in case. We can’t arrive at the church with an unconscious bride.”

  “Right,” Shae agrees, twisting the wire cage and freeing it from the cork. Shae keeps a tight grip on the bottle, her thumb over the cork as she pulls the wire away. Twisting and pulling down on the bottle, there’s a soft pop, and the cork is out.

  “You opened that like a pro, Shae. I would have had it spewing all over the floor,” Dylen says, holding her glass out.

  Pouring some champagne into Dylen’s flute, Shae winks. “You can learn to do anything on YouTube.”

  Passing the bottle around, we fill our glasses. “To Dylen and Blake!” Lexie says. “May you have a long, happy life together.”

  “Oh, blah, blah, Lexie.” I stick out my tongue. “We need a better toast than that.” I raise my arm higher, hoping the car doesn’t hit a bump and make me spill. “To amazing sex and a lifetime of orgasms.”

  “Oh, yeah!” my friends cheer in unison.

  “I’m drinking to all of it,” Dylen says, pressing the glass to her smiling lips.

  * * *

  I button the last pearl on the back of Dylen’s dress and glance at her in the mirror. I’ve never seen a more gorgeous bride. “Dylen, I…” Words stick in my throat. She’s been my best friend for six years. I wouldn’t have gotten through college without her. And now, she’s getting married. Deep down, I know she’ll still be around, but everything feels so…different…like we’re not kids anymore.

  We stare at our reflections in the mirror, the enormity of what Dylen is about to do, hitting us like a speeding train. Dylen reaches over her shoulder, and I grab her hand. “Thanks, Ren, for always being there for me.”

  I glance at the ceiling, trying desperately to keep my tears from spilling over the rims of my eyelids and ruining my makeup. “Stop it! You’re making me cry.” I blow out a breath and step away from her, fanning my face with my hands.

  I feel Dylen’s hand on my shoulder. “I mean it, Ren. When my sister died, it was you that got me through.”

  I gather my wits, holding my tears at bay, and turn to look at her. “We got each other through that awful year.” With Dylen losing her younger sister three years ago, and me having gone through my own hell—being drugged and raped at a party—we clung to each other for strength.

  “But,” I shout, plastering on the biggest smile I can muster. “I refuse to dwell on the sad times, especially today. Tayler loved you and she would be so, so happy for you today. She’s here with you in spirit, Dyl.”

  This time, Dylen looks up, sniffling. “I know.”

  “Now, for some important business,” I say with mock seriousness.

  “What?” Dylen looks confused, a shadow of concern darkening her eyes.

  “Something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.” I count them off on my hands.

  Dylen nods, licking her lips. “Got ’em.”

  “You do?” Now it’s my turn to be confused. “What do you have?”

  Smiling, she points to her earrings. “These were Tayler’s. They’re not heirloom old, but I’m counting them anyway.”

  “They’re perfect.”

  “My dress is new. I borrowed this bracelet from my mom”—Dylen holds her wrist out, showing me the tiny circle of pearls—“and my blue.” She touches her right side, the place where her bluebird of happiness is inked…the same place where I have a similar one.

  For the two of us, the last three years have been an uphill battle, albeit for different reasons, but the idea of getting tattoos was meant to give us strength, remind us that there is happiness and beauty in the world. I once read that the bluebird symbolized the sun in ancient Chinese culture.

  Since the day Dylen and I got our tattoos, I’ve drawn strength from the small bird on my side, knowing that I am strong, that one horrendous moment in my life doesn’t define me.

  I pull Dylen into another hug. Her arms are around my shoulders, squeezing me like I’m her lifeline, but really, she’s mine. What am I going to do without her?

  Tears pool in my eyes and one manages to escape. I don’t want to let go of Dylen, so I sacrifice my makeup to hold on to my friend for a few more precious seconds.

  Dylen sniffles and relaxes her grip, pulling away. She’s crying too. “Uhhh.” She stares up at the ceiling, fanning her eyes. “I can’t cry yet,” she says, giggling.

  “Come on, Blake’s waiting for his bride.”

  “Hey, Dyl, you planning on walking down the aisle anytime today?” Shae peeks her head around the dressing room door. “The wedding coordinator says it’s time.”

  With a quirk of her eyebrow, she gives me a conspiratorial wink. “Let’s get married.”

  I laugh. “Umm…I love you, Dyl, but you’re not my type. You should marry the great guy waiting for you upstairs.”

  “Right.” She nods. “Let’s go.”

  Trailing behind Dylen, I hold the train of her dress as she climbs the stairs, entering the back of the church.

  “Ladies”—a supermodel-tall blonde claps her hands—“let’s line up. You’re up next.” She holds Lexie’s elbow, guiding her to the place she wants us to gather. “Now Shae, yes…and Ren. Great job, girls,” she cheers, like we’re five and lining up for recess. She lays her hand on Lexie’s shoulder and speaks very slowly, “Now, wait for my signal before you take off down the aisle.”

  I turn my head and glare at Dylen. Is this woman for real? I mouth.

  Dylen grimaces, her teeth pressed together resembling the emoji with big, white tee
th. My mom hired her, she mouths in return, then shrugs.

  When Dylen was ten, her parent’s split. Her mom moved in with the much younger guy she’d been sleeping with, while her dad moved back to his hometown in Brittany, France. For years Dylen and Tayler would spend the school year stateside with their mom and their summers in France, with their dad.

  Never wanting to be outdone, Dylen’s mom and dad have always been in competition with one another—who could give the girls the best things. When Tayler died, it only got worse. I guess Wedding Coordinator Barbie is Dylen’s mom’s latest contribution to the “I’m better than your dad” war.

  I shake my head and wink, tossing Dylen an air kiss.

  “Aaaaannnnd,” Wedding Coordinator Barbie sings. “Go!” With a linebacker worthy nudge to the shoulder, Shae is propelled forward down the aisle, “Trumpet Voluntary” blasting from the pipe organ.

  Wedding Coordinator Barbie turns to me. “Ren, you’re next!”

  I walk up to the church doors.

  “And…go!” Barbie shouts, giving me a push.

  Geez! This lady needs to lay off the 5-Hour Energy.

  The organist does some finger calisthenics over the keys, the music swells and I take my place next to Shae at the altar.

  The familiar strain of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” fills the church. Dylen and her father wait at the doors for Barbie’s go-ahead, and they’re off. Dylen is glowing. I’ve never seen her smile so vibrant. Her eyes never stray from Blake.

  My heart swells for Dylen, bursting with love and joy, but it’s heavy, too—weighed down by awful nightmares of the past. I want very much to give my heart to someone, to fall in love and have my own happily ever after. But that would be asking too much of another person: to carry around my cumbersome heart.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cayden

  I shoot the banana peel into the trashcan, sinking the shot like a pro. It’s been too long since I’ve played basketball. I miss when the guys and I would get a game going on our R&R days in the sandbox. As I wipe the counters down, my mind drifts to Bull, Vince, and Taz. They’re headed back.