brought with her hanging neatly. At the end of the rack was the dress she had worn the night of the dedication dinner. I ran my hand along the lace, Mackenzie’s words replaying in my mind.
“I love you for you. I don’t care about the man you wanted me to think you were. I know the real Tyler, and I love all the sides of that man. I love the caring side, the controlling side, the side that takes, the side that gives, and the side that loves. And I’m so grateful you opened your heart to love me.”
The pain was back. It had never really left, but being faced with reminders of how I destroyed everything was too much and I sank to the ground, throwing back the scotch, her cross scorching my flesh. I needed the burn to dull the rest of the heartache coursing through my veins. I had distanced myself from any physical memories of Mackenzie, but now that I was back in Boston, it all came rushing forward and the remorse was overwhelming. I physically felt it in my throat, in my chest, in my heart.
I reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out the email she had sent me, reading it once more. I had lost track of how many times my eyes had read over her words, absorbing them, trying to find the meaning behind them. I put all my hope in the last line… The truth is, despite it all, I still love you. And I always will.
I prayed her love was strong enough to give me the forgiveness I needed.
Jumping to my feet, I shoved the email and her cross in my pocket, then dashed down the stairs, grabbing my bags as I rushed out of the house. The city of Boston was quiet and still as my footsteps echoed in the alley behind my house. I unlocked my Mercedes SUV and sped away.
As if on autopilot, I found myself making the drive out to my mother’s house. It was the only place I could think of that hadn’t been tainted by memories of Mackenzie. Pulling down the long driveway of the house we had lived in most of my teenage years, I continued past the fountain and put the car in park just outside the rear garage. My bag clutched in my hands, I ran up to the front door, trying to be as quiet as possible as I used my key to let myself in. Silence greeted me, the house still. I padded through the foyer, past the formal sitting room, and into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, I grabbed a bottle of water, my mouth salivating when I saw my mom had made her famous lasagna for dinner. My stomach immediately began to rumble and I pulled out the casserole dish, cutting out a small portion.
Just as I was retrieving my snack from the microwave, the overhead lights snapped on and I spun around to face the doorway.
“Tyler, baby,” my mother whispered almost in relief as she rushed toward me. She enveloped me in her arms and I bent down to match her short height. “You’re home.” She rocked me, planting a kiss on my cheek. “I’m so glad you’re finally here.” She hugged me tighter, her arms strong around me.
“Yeah,” I said, my loud voice echoing in the kitchen.
She pulled back abruptly, her eyes growing wide. “Shhh, baby. Quiet.”
I furrowed my brow, confused about why I had to lower my voice if she was awake. I nearly cringed at the thought that maybe she had an overnight guest. I was more than aware that she had occasionally dated since my dad died over ten years ago, but it still didn’t make the thought any more comfortable.
“Sorry, Ma,” I said, not wanting confirmation of my suspicions.
“Tyler, there’s something–”
I held my hand up. “I don’t want to hear it. There are some things better left unsaid.”
“What do you–”
“It’s okay if you have an overnight guest, Ma,” I explained, praying my face wasn’t turning a brilliant shade of red. I pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down. “I get it. I just don’t want to hear about any of it, okay?”
I avoided her eyes, shoveling the lasagna in my mouth as if I hadn’t eaten in days. Truthfully, I hadn’t. It had been months since I’d had a good meal, having to survive on the limited rations provided to the refugees at the camp.