After I find the strength to pull myself together, I stand up and walk through the front door. I feel significantly lighter and heavier at the same time. Lighter because I've finally made the decision to put myself first, and to stop letting others control and dictate the way I feel about myself. Heavier because I know that no matter how many times I apologize to Greyson, he'll never forgive me. He'll never see me the same way again, and even though we've been out of each other's lives for ten years, I still want him to look at me the way he used to – like I'm the most important person in his life. He was my best friend for twelve years, and although I married someone else, I can honestly say he's the one that got away. Besides my father, he's the only man who's ever made me feel whole, and one hundred percent loved. No matter what.

I want that feeling back, even if we're not together.

When I walk into the kitchen, my mother is at the counter doing another crossword puzzle. Her strawberry blonde hair is a tangled mess and there are dark circles under her eyes. She looks like she hasn't slept in days.

"Hi, Mom."

She looks up from her puzzle, a tired smile spreading across her face. "Hey. What are you doing up so early?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I walked down to Dawson's Beach."

"Oh. I didn't even realize you weren't home," she says, closing up the paper and rubbing her fingers across her forehead. "Mother of the year."

"No...it's just – you were...it was early, and you weren't awake yet," I stutter. I take a tentative step toward her. She was angry with me at the hospital for what I did, and she went straight to bed when we got home, so in this moment, I don't know what to say to her. "Is dad at work?"

"No. He actually took the day off. Your sister and Jamie are back from London and after your father spilled the beans about your hospital stay, Adelaide insisted they see you as soon as possible. So, they're coming for dinner. Your father is at the grocery store."

"Oh. Okay."

I pull the Keep your Standards, Chin, and Heels High mug that Adelaide got me for Christmas one year from the cabinet and fill it to the rim with coffee. It's still not an iced caramel macchiato from Starbucks, and it still makes me cringe when I drink it, but it gets the job done.

I quietly side eye my mother as I sip my coffee. Her chin is in her hand as she stares at nothing in particular while she bounces her pencil eraser off the island countertop. The tension between us is getting thicker by the second, and frankly, making it a little hard to breathe. I don't know what to say to her, or how to act. We haven't talked about what happened yet, and I know we should, but I don't want to upset her by bringing it up, and I have a feeling she feels the same way.

"Did Addie say if they had a good time?" I ask.

"Yeah. She said the weather wasn't great, but it's London. She wouldn't care if it was torrential downpour every day. She'd still have fun."

"That's true."

"I'm gonna make some breakfast. Do you want some?"

"Sure."

She stands up and removes a pan from the hanging pot rack. I watch as she pulls a carton of eggs and a pack of bacon from the fridge and tosses them on the counter. Her movements are frantic as she travels around the kitchen – like it's her first time in it – and just as I'm about to ask her if she's okay, she slams the cutlery draw shut and wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a hug.

"I was so scared. I thought I'd lost you."

"I know. I'm so sorry, Mom."

"I love you, Delaney. I love you so much. I can't ever lose you. Do you understand that?"

"I do."

She releases me and places her hands on my shoulders. "I'm just...I'm really angry at you. I don't wanna be because of what you've been through these last few weeks, but I am. I'm angry, Delaney."

"You should be angry with me. What I did was incredibly stupid. I'm so sorry I scared you and made you worry."

"That's not why I'm upset. I'm your mother, I always worry. I'm angry because you didn't come to me when things were getting dark. You didn't talk to me. I'm angry because I didn't raise you to be the type of woman who lets a man make you feel like you're anything other than the smart, beautiful, confident, independent badass you are. Fuck anyone who tries to tell you you're not."

I flinch. "It makes me really uncomfortable when you say that word."

"Well, deal with it because I need to prove a point." She brushes my tangled hair off my forehead and tucks it behind my ears, grabbing my face so I have no choice but to make eye contact with her. "Your father and I are your biggest fans, and we're here for you, so you come to us the next time you feel like you need help. Cry. Scream. Ramble on for hours without making sense. Just talk to us. Okay? Will isn't worth your life. No man is."

"I will. But I swear it wasn't a suicide attempt. It was a stupid, reckless mistake. I promise."

She presses a kiss against my forehead and points to a stool, silently telling me to sit. As she flits around the kitchen happily doing what she's wanted to do since I got home – make me breakfast – I think about the conversation my father and I had last night.

"Hey, Mom. Can I talk to you about something Dad mentioned last night?"

She turns from the scrambled eggs on the burner and glares at me. "What did I just say?"

"Last night when we got home, he mentioned how he thought it was a good idea if I see a therapist. What do you think?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. It matters what you think."

"I want your opinion."

"Well..." she trails off, causing me to hold my breath. She sets a plate of perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs, three strips of extra crispy bacon and half of a toasted bagel with cream cheese in front of me. It's more food than I'll be able to eat, but for the first time in weeks my stomach doesn't flip when I look at it. "I think it's a good idea. Talking to someone can be scary, but it can also be really liberating."

"I don't know. I'm not sure I wanna sit in front of a stranger and talk about my problems."

"It won't work unless you're willing to open yourself up to it. Unless you're willing to be completely honest."

"Yeah. I guess."

"You don't need to decide anything right now. Take your time and think about it."

As we sit and eat breakfast, I contemplate telling my mother about my interaction with Greyson on the beach but decide against it. I'll be going back to New York eventually and Greyson will still be here. I don't want to ruin the relationship he has with my parents. They love him like he's their own. No matter what's happened between us, I'll never take my family away from him.

"What time are Addie and Jamie coming?"

"Around four o'clock."

I shove the last bite of bacon into my mouth – savoring its greasy deliciousness – and wipe my hands on my napkin. "I can't wait to see her. It's been way too long."

After a four-hour nap, I squeeze in a two-mile run, shower, and dress in a red, floral print mini dress. I style my wet hair into a braid, step into my white, slip-on Vans and head into the kitchen. I see my father cleaning the grill on the back deck through the kitchen window, and my mother is chopping vegetables and setting them up on a turntable tray. When she sees me, her eyes scan my body from head to toe and she smiles, most likely happy that I look like a person today – like myself.

"I ordered a peach pie from Maribelle's. Would you do me a favor and pick it up? Jo said she'd have it ready."

"Yeah, sure. Where are your keys?"

"On the hook by the door."

Maribelle's is packed with families, construction workers and even a few police officers having lunch when I walk through the door, but I see Jo behind the counter. As I make my way toward her, I hear a familiar voice call my name from across the room.

"Delaney James!" My eyes scan each table, but I don't see him. He whistles, "Over here."

Stephen McKinnie. Greyson's dad.

Growing up, Mr. McKinnie was like a second father to me. He taught me how to tie my shoes and when I was old enough to drive, how to change a flat tire. He taught me how to surf and bait a hook. He guided me in how to handle Greyson when he pitched a bad game – which wasn't always easy. I haven't seen him since I left for college. Unfortunately, he's on the list of people I care about, but didn't say goodbye to.

His hair has grayed, and he's thinner than he used to be, but his smile is as warm as I remember and his bright green eyes – identical to Greyson's – welcome me as I approach his table.

"Hi, Mr. McKinnie."

He stands from the table and wraps his arms around me, and as I hug him back, I can't help but notice how bony his body feels.

"Your father told me you were back in town, but I said there's no way that's true since you haven't been to see me yet."

"I know. I'm sorry. I've been busy. You know...catching up with everyone since I've been back."

What a lame excuse. He knows Adelaide and Jamison live an hour away, and most likely knows they've been in London, and he knows Greyson and Jo were my two best friends. Since Greyson and I don't speak that only leaves Jo to catch up with. Even the dumbest person knows that doesn't take six weeks to accomplish.

"No need to apologize. I'm sure your parents have been monopolizing most of your time. They've really missed you."

I can't tell if he believes me, but if not, he doesn't expose me for the liar I am.

"I've really missed them too," I say. "But enough about me. How've you been?"

"Okay, I guess."

"You guess?" I cross my arms against my chest and raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean, you guess? What's going on?"

He waves off my concern. "Oh, you know. Just the typical old man aches and pains. Nothing serious."

Mr. McKinnie and my father are the same age, yet if I were to ask a stranger, I'm almost positive they'd think Greyson's father is ten years older. My mind starts to race with what 'typical old man aches and pains' are, and I question if he's telling me the truth.

"You'd tell me if you weren't okay, right?"

"I promise." He makes an X over his heart with his index finger. "Cross my heart."

"I'm gonna hold you to that."

"How's New York? Are you running that city yet?"

A laugh bursts from my mouth. "No. Not exactly. New York is..." Do I lie? Or tell him the truth? "Okay, I guess."

He chuckles at the reverberation of his words. "You'd tell me if you weren't okay, right?"

"Cross my heart."

He drops his eyes to the table, and with an unsteady hand, lifts his cup of coffee to his lips. When I first saw him, I noticed he'd aged, but now that I've been standing in front of him for a few minutes, the cracks in his foundation are beginning to show. Ten years ago, his hair was full and thick with curls, and now it's dry and brittle, and sparse around his scalp. His skin is sallow. There are dark circles under his eyes. As long as I've known him, Mr. McKinnie has always been extremely active. He exercised daily, resulting in a strong, toned physique. But the man in front of me now is not strong and toned. He's frail and gaunt.

There is definitely something else going on with him other than aches and pains.

"So, wanna tell me the real reason you haven't been to see us?"

I nervously play with the hem of my dress. "I think you already know the answer to that."

"Hmm," he grunts. "I figured as much."

"He's not happy I'm here. I think it's best if we keep our distance."

He sighs and rubs his fingers along his jaw. "A lot's happened over the last few years. I'm not sure if you heard, but he got injured a while back. He had surgery but it didn't work, and he had to retire. He, well...he didn't handle it so great."

"Yeah. I heard about it."

"Being a baseball player is all he's ever wanted. It's all he's ever known, and when he lost it, he lost himself. He didn't know who he was, or who he was supposed to be. I didn't even recognize him when he came home. It was horrible. He'd belittle his mother and I until she was in tears. He'd scream, and yell, and curse at me. He'd throw things and punch holes in the walls. There was nothing anyone could do to help him," he says. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and sighs, a far-off look in his eyes. "And there was the drinking. All day, every day. There were times I couldn't find him for days, only to find out he'd been on a bender. It was bad. I wouldn't be surprised if he was pouring Jack Daniels on his Cocoa Puffs."

"Oh my - I'm so sorry. I had no idea it was that bad."

"There was something...dark in his eyes, and that darkness hasn't completely faded. Every day, a little more of him returns, but he'll never be the same."

My stomach drops and I feel the color drain from my face. Disappearing for days? Drunken benders? Violent behavior? This version of Greyson isn't the one I knew, and I'm having a hard time imagining it, but if what everyone says is true, it's worse than I realize.

"I wish I could have been here for him, and for you and Mrs. McKinnie," I say, swallowing around the lump in my throat. "I'm sorry for how I left all those years ago. I never meant to hurt anyone. I just – I had to go."

"Delaney, stop. Never apologize for doing something that can ultimately make your life better. Do you hear me?" I nod obediently. "You did what you had to do – for you. We've never been angry or blamed you for the choice you made, and it may not seem like Greyson understands, but in his heart, he does. Trust me. No matter what, you'll always be a part of our family."

"Thank you." I clear my throat in an effort to suppress the emotion that's nearly choking me. "I just wish he didn't hate me."

"Be patient with him. He'll come around. And for what it's worth," he says. He places his hand on top of mine. "He doesn't hate you. I don't think he ever could."

I smile graciously and squeeze his hand. "My mom's waiting for me so, I should go. It was really nice to see you, Mr. McKinnie."

"You too, sweetheart. Please come see us before you go back to New York."

"I will."

Whether Greyson forgives me or not, it's a relief to know that his parents understand my reason for going to New York. Will's job requires late nights, and I was alone a lot in the beginning of our relationship. Greyson was always on my mind, but his parents would pop into my thoughts from time to time as well. I felt terrible for the way I left. I almost asked my mother to apologize to them for me, because I was too afraid to do it myself, but that would have been the coward's way out.

But after disappearing for ten years – only to come home because my husband cheated on me – isn't a coward exactly what I am?

Thanks for reading Chapter Sixteen!