Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Making my way to the kitchen, I pull out a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter and a container of honey. I’m just about ready to take my first bite when I hear footsteps enter the kitchen. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him. I can feel it, which is an odd sensation. My skin prickles and what feels like hundreds of butterflies take flight in my still empty stomach.
“Delaney.” His deep voice surrounds me.
Might as well get this over with. Leaving my sandwich on the paper towel, I turn to face him. His dark eyes stare at me intently. Neither one of us says a word while we survey the other. He’s tall, well over six-foot, ink-black hair, tattoos peeking out everywhere, and dark eyes. He’s gorgeous in that bad boy kind of way. He looks like trouble, but when I peer into his eyes, it’s as if I can see into his soul, and they tell a different story. His dark orbs tell me that seeing me hurts him.
“Hi.” I wave awkwardly. My voice is high-pitched, my nerves getting the best of me. He’s very intimidating.
“What was that about earlier?” he asks.
“What do you mean?” I know exactly what he means, and I’ve been down this road before; it’s just not one I like to travel.
“Pretending not to know who I am.” He winces as if saying those words causes him pain.
Taking a deep breath, I try to explain. “I’m sorry. I don’t know you; at least, I don’t remember you.”
“Fuck,” he murmurs, running his hands through that thick black hair. My eyes take in the ink on his hands. I wish the sleeves of his shirt didn’t hide his arms, so I could see more of the intricate work.
I hate this part. “Look, this is never easy.” I pause, wringing my hands together, preparing to tell the story all over again. I hate the looks of pity I get after I tell my truth. I don’t want to see sympathy in his eyes, but I know it’s coming. “A few years ago, I was in a car accident. I lost my memory. I’ve had to learn my family, my friends, everything all over again. I’m sorry that I don’t remember you. Were we friends?” I ask softly.
His eyes rake over my body. “Accident?” he asks. “D-Do you remember anything?”
“Yes and no. I have flashbacks sometimes, just these small glimpses of scenes that I’m in. I assume they’re memories. You’re in them,” I confess. He’s been a recurring role in my dreams. When I ask my mother who he is, she says she doesn’t recall. Something tells me he was important to me. Especially if the look he’s giving me is any indication.
“Were you hurt?” He takes a step forward and lifts his hand only to drop it at his side and form a fist. “Of course you were. You lost your memory, but I mean, are you okay?” His expressive eyes tell me he’s not asking to be nosey or gossip; he cares. He truly cares if I’m hurting, or that I was at one time. There is no pity in his gaze. Just concern and something else I can’t quite name.
“I was in a coma for a few days, well, fourteen to be exact; at least, that’s what they tell me. I had some bumps and bruises, a broken arm, but the worst of it was the memory loss. I hit my head pretty hard.”
I watch him closely as he swallows hard. “Will you ever get it back?”
I shrug. “The doctors are optimistic. I’ve remembered a few things over the years, all from my early childhood. And then there’s this place.” I tear my gaze from his and let my eyes wander around the room. “This is my first time here since the accident, but it’s so familiar to me in ways. I FaceTimed with my mom last night, and she said the room I chose to sleep in is the room I stayed in when we lived here. My mind does that. Guides me to who I once was without reminding me of the time or place. It can be overwhelming.” I don’t know why I’m telling him all of this. My only excuse is that he genuinely looks pained for me—or for him. I’m not so sure.
“You dreamed about me?” he asks, his voice softer.
I nod. “Yeah, but when I described you, no one in my family could tell me who you were. How did we know each other?”
“We were together. I mean, we dated when you were home from college on break.”
No. It can’t be. My body stiffens immediately. I let my eyes roam over him yet again, and all the similarities smack me in the face. It’s him. I don’t know why I didn’t notice before now. I can only assume my avoidance had something to do with it. My mother didn’t warn me he was from Jackson, or of the chance that he might still be here.