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I call my mother and both of my sisters while Dean is out getting Anthony. My mom apparently knows Dean is here and is thrilled. In a singsong voice, she says, “I told you this wasn’t about revenge.” I just roll my eyes and don’t say anything because I’m not ready for that conversation. We talk for a few more minutes before she and Rabea are off to play the slots.

I can’t reach Lilly. She's so hard to get in touch with these days, but I know she will call me back when she gets my message. Addie and I talk for a few minutes, but she's busy preparing for a hearing the next day, so it’s a short conversation.

“Mommy!” Anthony’s scream cuts through the silence I’ve been sitting in while I waited for Dean to get back with him.

I stand up and brace myself to catch him as he throws himself into my arms. He climbs up my body and wraps his legs around my waist and his arms around my neck. I wrap my arms around him and caress his head.

“Oh, baby. I’ve missed you.” I breathe into his neck.

“Me, too, Mommy,” he whispers back into mine.

And everything is right in my world. This child is the reason I’ll never regret a single decision I’ve made. Because I couldn’t imagine my life without him.

I put him down and look down at his beautiful little face. “How was your day, honey?”

“It was okay. I’m hungry though. Can I get a snack?” And he takes off before I can respond. I watch him run down the hall and disappear into the kitchen.

I look up to find Dean watching us from the door. He’s smiling at me, but his eyes look a little sad.

“Hey, thanks for getting him.” I walk over toward him.

“No problem. But that carpool lane is ridiculous. Anyone could drive away with him.” He looks at the hallway Anthony just ran down and smiles.

“Not really. He wouldn’t get in the car with just anyone,” I tell him. “You guys spent a couple of days together over the weekend before school started, you dropped him off this morning. He knows who you are.

He tips his head and looks at me like he just remembered something and then looks away to hide the expression. My curiosity peaks.

“What?” I touch his arm and he looks down at my hand. He’s wearing a thin gray Henley and I can feel the strength in his arms, the heat of his skin. I love the way it feels to have my hands on him. When he just keeps staring at my hand on his sleeve, I prompt him again, “Dean, what?”

He looks up at me and the expression on his face is so serious I wonder if I even want to know.

“It’s maybe nothing. I don’t know.” He sounds so unsure, so unlike Dean, I move my hand from his arm to his shoulder and step closer to him. His eyes follow the movement of my hand and then come back to rest on my face.

“Don’t ever stop touching me,” he says, his voice hoarse, his eyes intent.

“I don’t want to stop,” I respond honestly.

Anthony comes darting back into the living room just then, holding my phone.

“Mommy, your phone is ringing. It says Isaiah’s mom,” he shouts as he skids to stop in front of me.

Isaiah is his friend from school and soccer, and his mother, Laila, and I have become friendly, too. I take the phone from him.

“Thank you, honey. Dean, I’ve got to take this,” I say before I walk to the kitchen.

Laila’s voice floats into my ear as soon as I pick up.

“Milly! I’ve heard some hunk picked Anthony up from school today,” she says before I can say hello. I burst into laughter. I can only imagine the gossip mill at school.

“Well, hello to you, too, Laila. I’m fine, thanks. Just have the flu,” I say back dryly.

“Sorry you’re sick, honey. But, I’m sure you’ll live. Tell me who that man is!” she says, her voice full of excitement.

“Oh, my God. I’ve been sick. He’s been helping me while my mother is gone,” I respond, trying to sound exasperated, but unable to hold back my mirth.

“From what I hear he's gorgeous. The teachers who work the carpool lane have been talking about him non-stop. Does he take clients? I’m about to be sick. I need someone to come and take care of me.”

I laugh, but it turns into a cough. I also hear the back door open and I get up to see who opened it. I look out the window to see Dean and Anthony in the backyard. It’s surreal to see him in my backyard with my son. Two weeks ago, I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.

I walk back to the couch and listen as Laila starts talking again. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to act like I don’t care that you’re sick. How are you feeling?” she asks warmly once I’ve stopped coughing.

“I’m not great, but better than I was a few days ago. Dean, my friend, has been staying here and helping.”

“Your friend? What kind of friend?” she asks coyly.

“None of your business!” I shoot back, but I'm laughing.

“Oooh, he’s that kind of friend. I'm so happy to hear this, Milly.” I can hear the excitement in her voice.

“Don’t get too excited.” But really, I’m the pot calling the kettle black. I'm brimming with excitement.

“Okay, well, I’m going to let you get back to your friend. Feel better. See you guys this weekend?” She's asking about the boys’ soccer practice.

“Yes, for sure. Thank you for calling.”

We disconnect and I walk to the backdoor and stick my head out. They both look up when they hear the door open and their smiles are two beams of sunshine.

Dean walks over and leaves Anthony climbing the jungle gym he has nearly outgrown.

“I’m glad you’re up and about, but maybe you shouldn’t overdo it. The doctor said you’d be tired for about a week. Let’s get you back to bed.”

He puts his hand on my elbow, and I want to collapse into him. It feels so good to be touched by these hands again.

“Okay, sure. I'm a little tired.” As if sensing my need, his hand slides up my arm and wraps around my waist. He lets me lean on him as we walk inside and up the stairs. We stop outside the door to my room.

“Thank you for bringing me up. I’m okay, though. Anthony’s alone out there.” He looks like he wants to argue, but nods and drops his arm from my waist.

He leans forward to brush his lips against my check. My eyes involuntarily close at the contact. He smells so good.

His kiss is reverent, and I know his eyes are closed, too. I reach up to grip his arm, and he sighs and leans his forehead against mine. Our breaths mingle, my heart races, my nipples peak, and I can feel the moisture building between my legs. We stand there—closer, physically, than we have been in a long time. But my emotions are all over the place.

And I need to think. I need to get my feelings straight. I'm too vulnerable after the whirlwind of today, and I don’t think I can fight the feelings stirring to life between us.

Dean and I have agreed to get to know each other again. Who we are now is sullied by everything that has happened since the last time we saw each other. I know we need to talk about all of that before we can really attempt a friendship or anything beyond it.

I pull my forehead back and see his eyes are closed and for a split-second I study his face. His lashes, always a dark brown and totally at odds with his blond hair, rest on his cheeks. His skin is golden and is almost as smooth as it was when he was eighteen.

My hand comes up to caress his cheek and his eyes open. The expression in them stills my hand. He looks like I feel. Scared, excited. He knows we have much to overcome and he's dreading and looking forward to it as much as I am. I break the contact and take a step back.

“Okay, shout if you need me or send Anthony upstairs if he gets to be a handful.”

“Okay, but we’ve been managing on our own since Saturday morning, Red.”

Hearing him call me this, so easily, sends a thrill through me.

I head into my room and sit on my bed, thinking about how I got here.

Finding Dean had not been on my list of things to do on my Remember Milly project. I touch the heart shaped pendant on my chest, the one that is demanding I remember everything. Which includes letting myself recall how I felt about him all those years ago.

After seeing him in his office, after the way we parted, I never imagined he would show up at my doorstep. I didn’t think I’d want to see him there. But, now, I'm so glad he came.

So, his mother wasn’t speaking for him. He didn’t blame me. He wasn’t lost to me. I gave up on us and him because I thought reaching out to him would hurt him. We have lost so much time.

A sob escapes me before I even realize it’s coming. That phone call, that deceit by his mother cost me so much. I would have gone to find him as soon as I could have if I had known. Or would I have? I hate second-guessing my actions because no matter what else went down, the path I took led me to Anthony.

I shake off the chill threatening to come over me. My mother is right, Dean is right, this is a miraculous second chance. I want to give us a try. I want to let go of all of the ugliness between us, but first we need to talk. About his family, his father. About my family, my father, and about Kevin.

It’s not a conversation I'm looking forward to, but it is one I know I can’t avoid. The one certainty I have, which is propelling me forward, is that Dean loves me. I know he does. I know he acted out of hurt and anger, and I know he's sorry. I’m sorry, too.

A wave of fatigue overwhelms me, and I lie down. I’m assailed by memories, but the one that always stands out, the one I replay often is our first kiss and our first “I love you.” They happened on the same day, in the same moment, and I remember it like it was yesterday. I close eyes and let my mind drift . . .

Dean had stood me up. We were supposed to meet before his game, like we always did, to talk. He said it helped him focus, and I loved the chance to be with him right before he went into what I called his “beast mode.”

He was unstoppable on the lacrosse field. Fast, tireless, and graceful, watching him was incredible. And he was also sexy.

I hadn’t let him kiss me yet. I knew that once he did, I’d be completely at his mercy. I was already head over heels in love with him. I needed to make sure he felt the same before I let him touch me.

I walked away from our usual meeting place, behind the huge garage where all the team buses parked, feeling dejected and sad. I was almost to my car when I saw Dean’s car in the lot, about three rows away from mine.

I approached his flashy sports car, seething and planning to leave a scathing note on his windshield. But when I got to his car, I saw that even though the engine and all the lights were off, he was inside. His head was resting on the steering wheel, his shoulders hunched.

I rapped on his window and his head whipped up. I couldn’t see his face clearly through the glass, but I heard the doors unlock. I took that as an invitation to get in, so I walked over to the passenger side of the car and did just that.

As I opened the door and climbed in, I pounced. “Hey, what the hell? I’ve been waiting for you for almost twenty minutes. And you’re about to miss your own . . .” My words trailed off as I looked at him in the now illuminated interior of his car.

His face is the picture of pure agony. He’s not crying, but he looks like he wants to. My anger disappears and is replaced by alarm and sadness. I lean across the center console right away and put my arms around him.

“D, what’s wrong? What happened?” I ask him urgently, trying to keep the level of unease I’m feeling out of my voice. He looks at me, his eyes full of surprise. I stroke his face and push the hair back from his forehead.

“Red, you’re here,” he said. His voice breaking. And then, he put his head in my neck and hugs me to him tightly. Even though he doesn’t make a sound, I feel his tears wetting my neck and know he's crying.

I feel so helpless as I sit there, holding him while he struggles. I don’t say another word, but I feel tears running down my own face.

After a few minutes pass, he pulls away from me. My arms feel empty without him in them, but I can tell he needs the space. He scrubs his hands over his face as he tries to compose himself.

“Oh, my God. I’m sorry, Red. I . . . didn’t want you to see this,” he says as he makes an audible effort to steady his voice.

He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. I reach out to stroke the side of his neck, touching him helps me calm down, too.

“D, why are you sorry? I’m not. I’m just glad I found you. What happened?” I ask him when he doesn’t say anything.

He takes a deep breath before he speaks. “Fuck, Red. It sucks.” He expels a short, mirthless chuckle. “I’ve always known my mother doesn’t really give a shit about me, I mean, she’s never made that a secret. I’ve gotten used to it.” His voice is remarkably devoid of emotion.

“Did something happen tonight?” I ask him, hoping I’m not about to reopen a wound.

“She got rid of Spider,” he says, and I cannot stop the loud gasp that leaves me.

Spider is the English Cocker Spaniel his father surprised him with on his birthday last week. I can’t hide my shock and dismay at her thoughtless cruelty. He’d only had him for a week, but Dean was head over heels for that dog and everyone knew it.

“How? Why?” I ask, unable to form a coherent sentence.

He opens his eyes and looks at me, his expression mournful and defeated.

“Does it even matter why? She did it because she said he barked at her this morning. She just doesn’t want me to have anything that makes me happy.” He sounds so glum and broken my own heart breaks for him. He leans forward and puts his head on the steering wheel.

“Am I unlovable? I mean, if my own mother doesn’t love me, how could anyone else?” I can tell even though this is the first time he’s asked me this aloud, it’s a question he has pondered seriously.

I'm shocked this boy who is so giving, talented, and funny could even think this.

“Of course, you’re not unlovable,” I say to him, the vehemence in my voice causes him to glance up at me. His eyes, normally so white and clear, are bloodshot with his tears. He shakes his head in disagreement.

“How do you know? I mean, you can’t know that . . .” He puts his head back on the steering wheel and closes his eyes.

Watching him, knowing how badly he needs someone to be strong for him, I decide to put my fear aside and be that someone for him. If there has ever been a moment for me to have the courage of my convictions, it’s now.

I lean over the console and put my lips to his ear and whisper, “I do know, Dean. I know because, I love you. I love you, so much. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and you’re an incredible person.”

He goes still, his eyes, full of agony a second ago are now full of hope when he turns his head to look at me.

“You love me?” He was saying each word slowly, like he has to think about each one before he can utter it.

I nod. My heart in my throat. I thought when I told him how I felt, I would feel vulnerable and scared. Instead, I feel free. The way he's looking at me, with so much hope and the beginnings of happiness in his eyes, makes me feel like right now anything is possible.

His hand comes up, and strokes my cheek with the back of it. His fingers sweep across my forehead and then dive into my hair.

He places a kiss on my forehead and my eyes flutter closed at the contact.

“Dean . . .” It’s a plea. I'm asking him to kiss me, and he doesn’t make me wait.

He tilts my head slightly, rubs his nose down the side of mine and then his lips touch mine, soft, and sure. Right then, in this moment, I know for certain, this is my person. That we have something special and are meant to be. I’ve been kissed before. Nothing has ever felt like this. The touch of his lips does just what I thought it would. It sends my heart into a complete freefall.

“Dean?” I say his name when he pulls back a little. I want to get this thought out before I’m too far gone to think straight.

“Yes?” he responds as he drops kisses on my cheeks.

“That kiss—it wasn’t free. It will cost you,” I whisper, eyes open and locked on his.

“What’s the price?” he asks, drawing back slightly. His eyes are like a force field, they hold me in my place, forcing me to be totally honest.

I put my palm on his chest, over his heart. “I want your heart . . . and I want it forever.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s yours, Red. It has been for a long time. I love you, too.”

He leans forward and my eyes close as his lips take mine again. This time it’s not just a quick press. His lips lock with mine in a dance that seems to be timed to the beating of my heart.

When his tongue sweeps my bottom lip and my mouth opens for him, our breaths mingle and I could live on that air for the rest of the night. With one kiss, his capture of my very soul is complete and final. This is us. And always will be.

Right before I drift off to sleep, I bring my fingers to my lips. I’ve never stopped feeling that kiss. I’ve never stopped loving him. I hope we can find a way to get past this because I want to have “great” again.