Chapter 11

"He's emotionally distressed."

Dylan slows down when he hears Dr. Kern's voice. He lingers outside the doctor's office, wondering whether he should knock or just burst in like he doesn't care. The doctor seems engaged with another patient. 

"He's got this emotional baggage that has become too much for him to bear," the doctor says, his voice sounds too distant behind the wall. "Unfortunately, the only person he deems able to help him deal with everything is gone."

"We'll do anything to help." A woman speaks and Dylan's heart seizes when he recognizes the voice.

"That's what he needs to know. Dylan needs to realize he's not alone."

Dylan has a strong urge to walk away — to run back to his room but he knows that Dr. Kern will only send someone to escort him to his office. Losing the freedom to walk around on his own is the last thing he wants.

He taps on the door lightly, thinking it's the polite thing to do, then pushes it open as soon as he hears Dr. Kern say, "Come in."

His mother is the first person he sees and he feels like he's been punched in the gut. He only realizes that Tyler is with her when his brother gets up from his chair, exclaims, "Dylan!" and throws his arms around him.

Too shocked to see them both, Dylan remains frozen on the spot, wondering if Dr. Kern has summoned them for the damn family therapy without consulting him.

The thoughts running through Dylan's head must have been palpable enough on his face for Dr. Kern to read. "They came to visit since it's Christmas," the doctor says cheerily, a little too cheerily for Dylan's sanity. "Why don't you show them around, Dylan?"

With a skill honed over the course of five months, Dylan tunes the doctor out and faces his mother for the first time. 

"Hey mom," he says, voice guarded as if he's afraid he'll break something if he speaks any louder. 

Tears well on his mother's eyes and Dylan feels ten again even before she whispers, "Hey baby," and gathers Dylan in her arms.

The usual impulse to keep people at arm's length doesn't cross Dylan's mind. He surrenders to his mother's embrace. In the circle of her arms, Dylan feels he's home. 

The center is having some sort of party that he's not even aware of. All these months, he's been quite content in the sanctuary of his suite. That's where he decides to bring his mom and Tyler first since there are a lot of people in the common room. 

"It's called a suite but it's not really big. Really. Just a bed, a couch, a table" flows out of Dylan's mouth as soon as they amble into his room. "We dine at the kitchen downstairs, watch T.V. at the common room where nurses and orderlies can watch over us."

"This is awesome, man," Tyler says, his eyes sweeping around the room.

Peace seems to settle on his mom's face, a small smile gracing her lips. She looks older somehow – much older than the last time Dylan saw her. It hadn't even been a year. Shadows of weariness peek out from behind her blissful façade.

"It's good to see you, son," she says. Finally. 

"I missed you, Mom." Dylan isn't in the mood for hypocrisy. He gets enough of that in this hellhole that he craves for the honesty of his family.

Dylan's startled when Tyler blurts out, "Shit! I almost forgot," then rushes out of the room without another word. He offers his mom something to drink, ready to call a nurse to bring anything over. But she declines and lets her trembling legs lead her to the couch.

His mom is in the middle of telling him about his nephew's heroic home run at his school's Little League when Tyler returns with a guitar case in his hand. "Thought you might want this baby back," he says and lays the case gingerly on the table. "Open it."

Dylan does, even if he's tempted to throw the damn thing out the window. "Did Doctor Kern put you up to this?" That meddlesome old man. Tyler only shrugs. Well, it's Dylan's fault for letting the fact that he plays the guitar slip during one of their sessions.

Maybe he expects to see his old Gibson that has seen better days. When his eyes fall on the dark gray Martin that's resting against the dark red lining of the box, something stabs at him. Not disappointment just… a feeling he cannot name.

This guitar holds memories he deems sacred and sensitive, something he prefers to be locked in a box and buried in the deep corners of his mind, never to be revisited.  This guitar – it was a gift from Lance.

*

"Dylan. Don't you think that's too big? I think it's too big. I doubt if it will even fit through the door." Saxon complained relentlessly when Dylan brought the Christmas tree home, dragging all eight feet of it inside the house.

"Nonsense," Dylan said defiantly, bringing a frown on Saxon's face. "This is our first Christmas in this place, Babe. We deserve the best," Dylan wheedled and pressed his lips lightly on Saxon's cheek.

Despite his protests, Saxon spent hours and hours decorating the tree, blond hair all tousled. Dylan had to drag him away and carry him to bed. Dylan woke up the next morning to the smell of fresh pine that lingered from their living room. The house felt more like a home now more than it did when they moved in three months earlier.

Dylan had been offered a job managing a graphics design company so he took it. moved his ass and Saxon's to Winburrow and later coaxed Saxon to finish his college education.

Life couldn't have been more perfect. 

The week before Christmas, Dylan came home from work earlier than Saxon. He was sorting through the mail when he noticed a rolled-up magazine among the pile. There wasn't any return address. 

Dylan barely had time to ponder who might have sent it. He had ripped the paper that held the magazine together and his gaze fell on the cover. His heart stopped beating for a fraction of a second. A downpour of emotions flooded his chest as he read the caption above the photo of Lance and the auburn-haired girl: 'Lance Stradson is getting married.'

His fist tightened around the magazine, the pages creasing in his grip. The air grew thick around him and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't fucking breathe.

Unmindful of the chill, he dashed outside. Cool breeze pierced through his sweater but Dylan didn't have the desire to turn back and grab his coat.

Thick layers of snow blanketed their backyard, making Dylan feel like he was in another world. His feet sank in the soft white mantle as he made his way across the ground, aiming for the edge of the forest just behind his house — similar to the one in Reinville. He remembered the hiking trail that wound up to the woods where he and Lance used to take leisure walks to get rid of the pressure that their lifestyle brought.

Lance. Lance.

Lance was getting married. Dylan shouldn't fucking care. Why should he give a damn? Wasn't he over Lance already?

Dylan's chest constricted, trapping the oxygen inside. He fell on his hands and knees, boneless and weak. His eyes stung. But the stubborn urge to deny the pain made him push the tears back.

It shouldn't hurt this much. It shouldn't.

"Dylan?" 

Fuck! He was too lost in himself that he didn't even realize someone was approaching until he saw Saxon standing next to him through the corner of his eye.

Dylan didn't utter a single peep, just waited for the solace that Saxon could offer. 

The gloved hand caressing Dylan felt warm against his back, against his shoulder blades. Saxon hooked his arms around Dylan's torso and pulled Dylan into his embrace. 

The small crack on the floodgates that held his emotions at bay was ruptured and Dylan could no longer stop the tears that flowed uncontrollably down his face. 

"Saw the magazine," Saxon whispered and Dylan can feel Saxon's cool lips against the side of his head. "I'm here for you, Babe. I'm here for you. It's okay. Let the pain rip you apart. I'm here to put you back together… hopefully make you whole again."