Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“Hopefully nothing. Maybe they won’t be stupid enough to come here.”
I watched the distance between houses increase as we sped up the winding road to his home.
Our home, a voice reminded.
The nausea returned, and I sank down in the seat, miserable enough to think I might never be able to leave the house again.
I was desperate to distract myself. “Who’s Plavko?”
“Security. I hired him the day I came home from the hospital without you.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel like he hated the memory. “I know you don’t feel comfortable with him around, but it’s the only way I feel safe.”
Ryan trusted him; shouldn’t that be good enough for me? Why wasn’t it?
When we reached the house and the SUV was parked in the garage, I eased myself out of the passenger seat with his help.
“Do you want to lie down for a while?” he asked. “Your appointment with Dr. Vorbusch isn’t until three.”
I paused. “Who?”
“She’s your hypnotherapist.”
I glanced over my shoulder to glare at the Mercedes. How in the world would I survive another trip? “I don’t think I can—”
“She comes to the house.”
He gave me a glass of water in the kitchen and led me back to my room since I couldn’t remember how to get there. I didn’t like being so dependent on him, but I was too tired to do anything about it. My whole body ached when I’d done hardly anything. I collapsed on the bed and let him pull a blanket on me.
“I’d like to kiss you again.”
It was the last thing I wanted, but the word came out, devoid of any control. “Okay.”
This kiss wasn’t like the one when we’d fled the square.
It was demanding. Dominating.
His mouth was oppressive and relentless, and I tensed when he sank down beside me on the mattress, his hand cupping my face. There was a violent pull in two directions. One begged him to stop, and the other wanted desperately to please him. It made no sense.
Blood rushed through my head, drowning out sound, and when his tongue brushed against mine, a jolt of unpleasant electricity surged through me. I endured it, just wanting it to be over.
When the kiss ended, he thankfully stood, but he ran a hand through his hair as if I had made him restless. “Get some sleep. If you need me, I’ll be in the office. Down the hall, third door on the right.”
I watched him go and lowered onto the pillow, letting the coolness help soothe me.
Suddenly, a memory was there, like it had been in my mind the whole time waiting around for me to notice it.
I was sick when I was little, maybe six or seven, and my father stayed home from work to be with me. I remembered lying on our gray couch and watching him read the back of a box of macaroni and cheese.
The moment stuck out for two reasons. One, my father despised the stuff, and two, this was when I realized they printed the directions on boxes. My mother made it so often she never had to look.
One tiny, random memory, but the relief it gave me was immense. Having the doctor tell me they would return was one thing, but to have it happen was another. Now there was a spark of hope.
I hadn’t realized I had fallen asleep until my eyes blinked awake.
The sun had begun its journey back down to meet the horizon when I treaded into Ryan’s office. His laptop was on some banking site, he was on the phone, and my motion drew his attention. I started to back out, not meaning to interrupt, but he waved me forward.
“Put it together and send it over,” he said to whomever he was talking to. “I’ll be out the rest of the day.” He set the phone on his desk, stood, and his lips curved into a smile that made me nervous. “Hi. Still know our names and where we live?”
I nodded. “I do. I also remember what my father looks like and that he hates mac and cheese.”
His smile froze. “Hated,” he corrected quietly. “Your father hated mac and cheese.”
His meaning sucked all the air from the room. “How?”
“A car accident when you were young.”
Oh, God. An awful new truth about my amnesia slammed into me. If my memories returned, would I have to relive all the painful ones again?
“And my mother?”
“She had cancer.” His tone was filled with remorse. “She passed seven years ago.”
I folded my arms over my chest, once again feeling cold and empty. “This fucking sucks.”
“I know.” He crossed the room, moving close enough he could touch me. “But sometimes I think it’s good, you not remembering the trauma of what you went through. This is our clean slate, Laurel.” He tilted my face up in his hands and his mouth hovered over mine. “A second chance to fall in love, under normal circumstances.”