With All My Heart - Emilia Finn Page 0,62

I held on tight to my bonus babies, because they, too, were Bry’s gift to me.

The day Bry told me he’d be back soon… was a lie. Because he never came back to me. Police reports speak of an accident at the traffic lights in the middle of town, a ran red light, no malice, just a tragedy that implied the universe had declared Bry’s purpose fulfilled.

In my heart and soul, I knew it wasn’t fulfilled, because I was still waiting for him. Every day, every night, every lonely breakfast, and every noisy dinner, I sat in my seat, and the chair at the head of the table remained empty while the family he helped build waited for our nightmare to end and for him to come home.

But he never did.

I found the envelope filled with signed papers in the wreck of his truck once it was cleared and I was allowed in. The truck was a write off, but I was allowed to take the Saint Christopher’s medal that used to hang from the rearview mirror. I refused to think of how it ended up beneath the bench seat, so I took it and hung it on a chain around my neck every day from then until now. Because though Saint Christopher never kept my Bry safe, maybe when it’s my time to go, he’ll take me to my husband so we can be together again.

I took the yellow envelope from the truck and cried in my bed for days, because they were signed. They were stupid, illegal, and essentially useless in a court of law, but they were signed, and from that day forward, I neither saw nor heard of Wayne or Shirley Hart again.

Bry’s purpose had been fulfilled.

He saved me, and then he saved two little Harts who then grew to be the amazing people they are today. They both gave me grand babies, they both continue to sit at my dinner table whenever I need a little company, and through their love and devotion to me, they tell me every single day how much they appreciate me and Daddy.

Izzy was still so small when Bry was taken from us, but she doesn’t forget, and when I want to cry for my loss, she sits with me, she snuggles in and holds my hand, and she cries, too.

Because she’s my baby girl, and she misses the man who traded his life for Jon’s.

The years have passed since then. Lots of years, and lots of tears. I’ve changed, of course, and so have my babies. Weddings have been celebrated, as have anniversaries. Babies have come into this world – one of them is now named Bryan Kincaid, who lives up to his grandfather’s memory every single day just by being himself. My children have made lives for themselves, legacies that Bryan would be truly proud of.

My children have made memories, happy memories that last a lifetime, and for Bryan, they had them printed and mounted on the wall. Because that was Bry’s thing; pictures on the walls. Every wall. Every space. So there would always be a smiling face everywhere he walked in our home.

But being in a home filled with memories, even the happiest of memories, still hurts when the man who owns your heart is no longer here with you.

We were supposed to grow old together. We fought for each other, so it’s not fair he was taken because of someone else’s mistake. If they’d left just a minute sooner, or a minute later, it wouldn’t have happened. If he’d just left a minute sooner or later, my whole life would be different.

But that’s not how my story would be told.

Now I’m an old woman. Not frail in any way, but weary. So unbelievably weary as I drift through my years without my heart in my chest.

Sitting on the edge of my bed in the darkness but for the television lighting the pictures of my children on the walls, I hang up the telephone because my grandson wanted to talk to Grandma. To say goodnight before he went to bed, to tell me he loves me, because it’s his job as his generation’s Bryan Kincaid to remind me that I’m loved.

But when the line is disconnected, when he’s gone back to his family, his life, his photographs, I’m left all alone with mine, and the chain around my neck.

A long time ago, on my wedding anniversary long after Bry was stolen from us, my son danced with me. He’s tall like Bryan, handsome like Bryan, speaks, smells, and acts like Bryan, so on that special day, he danced with me, told me to close my eyes and pretend it was Bryan.

It was the most magical day of my life since before his daddy was taken from us, because for those few minutes, with my eyes closed, my husband’s cologne filling my senses, and a familiar song playing for us, I was with my one true love, and I held onto it for as long as I could, for I knew it was the only time I would have until the day we were reunited.

I miss my husband so much more with every passing day. It’s supposed to get easier, but it doesn’t. The pain is supposed to dull, but that’s a lie.

How can I possibly live, when my heart is buried in a cheap casket in the cemetery in town?

Lifting my tired legs from the cold floor and lying back in the bed I shared with my husband for the short time I had him, I clutch to the medallion around my neck and close my eyes.

I dream of him.

I pray for him.

Walking away from my home in the early morning sun on the morning of my eighteenth birthday, I walk the few blocks between my daddy’s home and the phone booth that is Bryan’s and my meeting point. We talked about it last night. Planned it. We promised we’d meet here and begin the rest of our lives.

And just as promised, Bry leans against his shiny Mustang as his dark eyes shimmer in the sunlight and his smile is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen on his face before.

Holding a bouquet of stolen daisies in his left hand and ignoring the clumps of dirt still stuck to the roots, Bry steps forward and pulls me against his chest.

“About time, Bert. I’ve been waiting forever for you to arrive.”

Acknowledgments

Sometimes, those who love us the most have to lie to us, if only to protect us. It’s not malice. It’s not deceitful in the true sense of the word.

It’s protection, because that’s the promise they made long ago at Piper’s Lane amid dirt flurries and crazy teens looking for a little fun.

Bry wasn’t looking for fun. He was there for her, and he refused to walk away until he’d secured her heart and made her believe he’d protect her for life.

But the thing is, he secured her heart and forgot to give it back. He took her with him, but in exchange left her with two new Harts. Two deserving, loving, but immeasurably hurt children that needed Nelly to be their mother.

There must have been a grander plan. A mission to make them safe.

Bry said it long go; there are only so many angels roaming this earth at one time. For him to make Jon and Iz safe, he had to barter his own life.

He had to go home again.

He didn’t know that’s what he was doing that day he drove out, but it’s what happened anyway. And if forced to replay that day and choose left rather than right, he’d still leave Nelly with those baby Harts.

He was their angel, and the plan was so much more than him and Nelly.

Though of course, that doesn’t ease the way our hearts hurt right now.

Rest In Peace, Bry. You can rest now, because she’s back in your arms.

Also by Emilia Finn

(in reading order)

The Rollin On Series

Finding Home

Finding Victory

Finding Forever

Finding Peace

Finding Redemption

Finding Hope

The Survivor Series

Because of You

Surviving You

Without You

Rewriting You

Always You

Take A Chance On Me

The Checkmate Series

Pawns In The Bishop’s Game

Till The Sun Dies

Castling The Rook

Playing For Keeps

Rollin On Novellas

(Do not read before finishing the Rollin On Series)

Begin Again – A Short Story

Written in the Stars – A Short Story

Full Circle – A Short Story

Worth Fighting For – A Bobby & Kit Novella

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