Memories of Us: A Second Chance, Amnesia Romance Novel

by Kennedy L. Mitchell

  “The same as I said before. I'll whip your ass.”

  Heat filled my cheeks. “You'd be wise to threaten a punishment I wouldn't enjoy.”

  The grip on my chin tightened a fraction, and his lips turned white as he pressed them together. Tension pulsed in the cab, the heat building between us.

  “Thirty,” I whispered. “I'm thirty.”

  That snapped him out of the lust-filled haze in his blazing green eyes. “Wait.” Behind his eyes I saw that mind of his working out the math. This should be fun.

  “Yep,” I said with a small grimace.

  “Fuck! What the hell was I thinking!”

  “Now you see why everyone was... upset when they found out we were together. Especially my father.”

  “Please tell me my math is wrong that when we first got together... Please tell me I didn't sleep with a fifteen-year-old.”

  “You didn't.”

  “Thank fuck.”

  “We started hanging out when I was fifteen. I was seventeen when we first had sex.”

  “Not great—”

  “Or legal.”

  “Better than fucking a fifteen-year-old when I was what, seventeen? Eighteen?”

  “Eighteen.”

  While he processed the new-to-him information, I adjusted the seat and saved the settings. “I love the truck. I don't deserve it, and every rational thought is telling me not to accept it. But I want it.” The whine at the end and the dramatic pouty lip were an attempt to ease our growing tension.

  “It's yours, so stop fighting it. Once I get the title, I'll switch it over to your name and have it sent to you.”

  Right. Sent to me. Because he was leaving again, and this week with him was only a reprieve from life. Too soon I'd be shoved back into reality, without him.

  Searching for a distraction from the sad thought, I focused on the clock. Still fifteen more minutes until the store opened.

  “When did you join the army?” I asked, hoping to take the conversation off us.

  “After rehab. I knew it was my only shot to stay clean. And I have. Stayed clean that is.”

  Leaning the back of my head against the hot window, I focused on the still empty parking lot. “You went to rehab.” I bit my lower lip and smiled. “You always said you would go one day. I'm proud of you, Brenton.” I looked at him through welled tears. “So proud of you. What made you finally go?”

  “I don't know, really. Wish I could say it was my decision, but I woke up there. I always assumed Caleb or Dad—hell, maybe Pappy—put me in there. They kept me sedated for a while to ease the withdrawal symptoms.”

  “Brenton?” Unease fluttered in my gut and spread up my chest. “When did that happen?”

  Not sensing my reluctance, he shrugged like his answer didn't matter. But it did. It could change everything.

  “I don't know. Look, someone just opened the door. Let's do this.”

  Before I could stop him, he was out the door and rounding the hood. I was still staring at the passenger seat, processing it all, when the knock on my window startled me. Brenton stood on the other side of the door, motioning for me to hurry.

  If he only knew what his revelation could mean, he wouldn't be as impatient.

  Because if he didn't remember going into rehab, if the timeline matched up to our last night, then there was no way he drafted the agreement or made a choice as they said.

  Which meant the man I'd spent the past thirteen years hating wasn't the one who broke my heart and left me in shambles.

  Someone else did.

  Chapter 7

  Brenton

  SEVENTEEN.

  Hell. My greatest fear was true—I was my father. Getting out of Dallas all those years ago broke the addiction he'd groomed me to be dependent on, but genetics was genetics. I was a fool to think I'd ever be able to escape that family gene.

  But the age thing wasn't the big secret she was holding back. Did that mean what Beks wouldn't tell me was worse than seducing a seventeen-year-old? I needed answers. Needed to know exactly what I did so I could beg for her forgiveness, which would hopefully fix my head shit. Remembering, getting better, going back to Kentucky—that was the plan, nothing else. I needed to keep my head on straight around her and not make this worse for her in the end. No matter what I did to her early on, I had the power, and the fucking willpower, to not get wrapped up in her vortex now.

  Right. If I believed that, my blackouts weren't my only head issue.

  For the second time in the past sixty seconds, I scanned the store looking for her distinctive curly dark hair. I squeezed my hands into tight fists at her talking and laughing with some guy. Her hands moved up and down as she told some story that had them both smiling.

  Hell no.

  She was mine.

  On a mission to break that shit up, I weaved through the racks of jeans and pearl snap shirts, my determined gaze on her. Halfway across the small store, her attention flicked up, causing her smile to falter.

  Tension built in my chest at him pulling out his phone and handing it to her.

  “Hey, man,” said the guy wearing a name tag, standing way too close to my Beks when I stopped beside her. “You need help with something?”

  Not paying him any attention, I kept my gaze locked with hers. “The woman who was helping me needs you.” I nodded behind me. When he didn't move, I shifted my hard glare to him. I was an ass for savoring the slight tremble in the guy's shoulders. “Go help.”

  Beks watched him retreat, a deep frown pulling at her pouty lips. “What the hell was that about?”

  “I'm ready to go.”

  After glancing down, she looked back up with a quirked brow. “Without shoes?”

  Shit. Forgot about that. I was in the middle of trying on boots when I saw that dipshit with her. “What were you two discussing? Do you know him?”

  “He was in the process of asking me out, I think. Hell, who knows since you scared him off, being all territorial. Surprised you didn't whip out your man bits and pee on me.”

  Brows raised, I shot her a questioning look.

  “Dogs, male animals, they mark their territory by peeing on things. Didn't you learn anything in biology?”

  “You're the smart one. I didn't finish college, remember?”

  “I only got to go because of you,” she whispered.

  The sales girl called my name, but my focus stayed on Beks.

  “What does that mean?”

  Her eyes turned down to the floor, her black-painted fingers tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. “It means you paid for it.”

  The hesitant tap on my right shoulder snapped my gaze to the person at my back with an annoyed growl.

  “What?” I gritted out to the now-terrified salesgirl. Hell. I forgot how terrifying I could be when pissed. I'm no small guy, and add in the high level of intensity I put into everything, I was too overbearing for civilians—a civilian woman, no less. The boys on base weren't too intimidated, but by the way this girl’s knees were knocking together, I was her worst nightmare come to life.

  “Your boots, sir. They're—”

  “I'll take those, every pair of jeans you have in the size I tried on earlier, ten pairs of socks in my boot size, ten pairs of extra-large boxers, ten pairs of boxer briefs, twenty of those dry-fit T-shirts in black, some shirts and a few of those Yeti hats.”

  Her blank stare fueled my annoyance.

  “Do you need to write it down?”

  “No... no, sir. I'll be—”

  “We'll meet you up front.”

  The second the wide-eyed woman walked off, I turned back to Beks, who was still focused on the ground.

  “What do you mean I paid for it?”

  With a huff, she fell on to a display rocking chair and leaned back. “Brenton, do you really want to know? It's Pandora's box. Once you know one thing, you'll want to know the rest. Can't we leave it as the way things are now? I was happy then, you were happy, and we ended.”

  �
��What are you hiding?” Needing to train her focus back on me instead of the lock of hair she was intently studying, I dropped to a crouch and rested my forearms on her thighs. Her shoulders rose and fell in a noncommittal shrug. A dull ache settled deep in my chest at her slumped shoulders. “Hey, come on. It's okay. Nothing will change.”

  Unshed tears lined her lower lids when she finally looked up. “That's what you said before. Don't you get it, B? It didn't end well. You left me. I told you.... You knew, and you signed a very cut-and-dried document stating I could never reach out to you again, never find you, never mention we ever happened. I woke up in the hospital alone. Alone and scared. You turned your back on me when I needed you most. That's why I hate you.”

  She choked back a sob but couldn't stop the tears from escaping and falling down her cheeks.

  “You paid me off. The money put me through undergrad. So every class, every book I bought, I thought of you and how to you I was a disposable fling. I loved you, you fucking bastard.”

  Her palms connected roughly with my shoulders. The hard concrete of the store floor did nothing to absorb the impact of my ass slamming against it. Still in shock at her assault, I stayed sitting on the floor as she shoved from the chair to stand over me.

  Gone was the insecurity. Gone was the sadness.

  Pissed-off Beks glared down with hurt and anger in her honey brown eyes.

  The idea of her taking the money didn't sit well, especially since I had no fucking clue why she was paid off. She still wasn't telling the full truth about our story. And yeah, I was fucking pissed at myself for not remembering. I shouldn't take my anger and frustrations out on her, but like she and I had discussed the night before, I was an asshole and always got the final word.

  “Sounds like you weren't too heartbroken over losing me like you've been making it out to be. What was I worth? Couple hundred grand? A million? Tell me, Rebeka, what price tag did you put on us?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Believe me, baby, I'm dying to, but you said no touching.”

  The fierce fire behind her eyes and the fisting of her hands had me shifting back an inch. She looked like she was about to fucking explode. Instead of resorting to violence, which was shocking based on her body language, she flipped me the bird with both hands and stormed toward the front of the store.

  Damn, did I know how to pick them.

  I shoved off the ground with a groan and dusted my shorts off as I scanned the store for her but came up empty.

  Huh.

  At the checkout counter, I rapped my black American Express on the wooden counter while the salesgirl took her sweet-ass time ringing everything up, Beks still nowhere in sight. A sinking feeling told me that wasn't a coincidence. When I pushed through the front doors, the two salespeople at my back, I was somewhat prepared for what I'd find and didn't overreact.

  No idea why, since she stranded my ass in the truck I'd just bought her, I laughed at the empty parking space where the truck had been.

  Chapter 8

  Rebeka

  HALFWAY TO THE APARTMENT, dread rolled my gut, making me queasy. What in the hell did I do? At a red light, I scanned the clean dash and took a deep, memory-making sniff of the new truck smell. No way would he let me keep this thing after leaving him like that.

  Shit.

  The quick consideration of turning around was dashed as my stubborn ruling side pushed the gas pedal down, urging me faster through the side streets, putting more and more distance between me and the asshole.

  At the front door of my apartment, I dropped the truck keys the second it was locked behind me and turned for the kitchen. The half-empty bottle of white wine rattled against the pint glass in my trembling hand. Only after half the glass of cold, crisp goodness was in my belly could I take a deep, calming breath. I topped off the glass with the remaining wine, grabbed the emergency bag of last year’s Halloween candy from the top of the fridge, and slid down the cabinets until my ass hit the cracked linoleum.

  Vibrations against my ass sent my heart in overdrive, only to have it plunge when Ryder's name flashed on the screen instead of the person I wanted.

  Ryder: Hey, just checking in. After yesterday and being around your dad, I wanted to make sure you weren't sitting on the kitchen floor drinking.

  Ryder: You moved on from that asshole. Keep reminding yourself that. Nothing that happened was your fault.

  Ryder: You deserve better than he could've ever given you anyway.

  Ryder: Let's find Mr. Rebound. How about Dos Amigos my next night off? Kyle said he'd be DD.

  Mr. Rebound. Even though it didn't sound appealing at the moment, I had no reason to say no.

  Me: Count me in.

  Ryder: All serious, you okay?

  Me: Yes? No?

  Me: I want to be. But how can I when he said he doesn't remember? How can I move on when I don't know if he's the one who sent me away or not?

  Ryder: Either way, he didn't fight for you. That's what matters, doesn't it?

  Ryder: Thirteen years, Beka. Thirteen. You owe it to yourself to move on.

  Me: Yeah.

  My thumbs paused over the bright screen at a pounding knock at the door. Instead of putting energy into standing, I crawled on all fours to the front door and pulled it open.

  “Groveling?” Brenton said, humor lacing his words.

  “Drinking.”

  “Ah.”

  Hot, dry air whooshed into the warm apartment as I shoved the door wider, allowing him to enter. Still on hands and knees, I crawled back toward my candy picnic. At the click of the bolt, I paused and shot a glance over my shoulder to find Brenton still at the door, blatantly staring at my ass.

  Knowing exactly what I was doing, I gave it a little wiggle. His nostrils flared as his gaze shifted to mine. My breathing tripped and mouth went dry at the want pulsing off him.

  “Careful, Beks.” One more long look at my full, round ass and he marched past to the kitchen. “What do you have to drink?”

  “Whiskey's in the pantry, vodka in the freezer, chilled white wine in the... wait, nope. All that is in my belly.”

  “It's been thirty minutes.”

  “I'm a pro, what can I say.”

  “Anything nonalcoholic?”

  “Shit. Sorry. Um.” I mentally inventoried the fridge's contents. “There's a gallon of tea in the fridge.”

  The solid cabinet door dug into my upper back as I sipped the crisp wine and eyed him while he moved about the kitchen. “How'd you know where to find me?” I asked around a mouthful of Mr. Goodbar.

  “Asked your neighbors, who I have to say seemed shady as fuck. Did you have to pass a background check to get into this place?”

  The thin foil of the miniature Hershey's bar crinkled between my fingers. “I guess? Who knows. All I knew was I could move in immediately, and it fit within my budget.”

  His knees cracked, and he let out a grunt as he sank to the floor beside me, tea glass in hand.

  “Hi,” I said, then took a sip of liquid courage. “Sorry for getting so pissed.”

  “And for leaving my ass.”

  “Well, technically you deserved that.”

  “The fuck?”

  “Just agree and move on. Where's your stuff?” Leaning forward, I craned my neck around the small wall dividing the two rooms to the front door, searching for his bags.

  He coughed and spat the sip he'd taken back into the glass in his hand. “What the hell is that?”

  “Tea?”

  “It's molasses.”

  “Oh yeah, it's a little sweet. I buy it from this place down the street. My one splurge. Where's your stuff?”

  With a grimace, he took another tentative sip. “They're delivering it to the ranch.”

  I didn't stop my eyes from rolling toward the ceiling. “Right. Of course they are. Do you always get your way?”

  Those green eyes slid to me. “Except when it comes to you.”

  “Do you like it? Being a pilot
?”

  Long, muscular legs stretched out before him, filling most of the small kitchen floor. “Yeah, I love it. I love serving my country and what the military gave me.”

  Warmth bloomed in my belly from the wine, strengthening my confidence and lowering inhibitions. Swiveling around, I leaned back, resting my head on his firm thigh. “What's that?”

  “A family. A dependable family. One who pushes you to be better than you were yesterday.”

  “That must be nice.” I focused on a dark smudge across the white fridge. “I'm guessing the blackouts you described are an issue for someone in your role.”

  An incredulous huff resounded through the small room. “You could say that. But I've never had an issue while flying. I came here to get help before that could ever happen. I won't risk my brothers’ lives like that. If I can't get better, I'll file for a medical discharge, but that's the last resort. I want to go back. I need to go back.”

  The muscle beneath my head flexed when I shifted for a better angle to look up to him. “Why?”

  His head was leaned back against the cabinet as he stared ahead. “With Caleb gone, I don't have anything good here. I can't tolerate five minutes around Dad, and I'm certain the feeling is mutual. In Kentucky I'm needed, wanted. Here... here I'm just reminded of how alone I am.”

  “You've never been alone,” I whispered. “You know, I had a crush on you way before you ever noticed me.” The sadness in his gaze disappeared when he looked down with a small smile. “Sometimes I'd follow you when you'd sneak out of the main house at night. I'd watch you watch the stars.” Shutting my eyes, I focused on those memories. “One night I couldn't stop from going to you. Even though you were the boss’s grandson, the prick everyone said you were, I walked out onto the dock and lay beside you.”

  The hard floor dug into my elbows as I leaned up to take a deep swallow of wine. “You were so angry, sad, upset—hell, everything. That day had been bad. Your dad was in town visiting, and as much as he and your grandfather tried to cover it up, I knew how your dad treated you and Caleb when no one was watching.” Summoning some courage, I leaned back against his chest. The strong arm that snaked around my waist held me tighter against him, sending a wonderful sense of protection to sweep over me.