by Lexi Ryan
***
By the time the party rolls around, I’m already anxious for an excuse to leave. I just want to go home and make out with Max until I’m confident I haven’t screwed up a good thing.
It’s a hot night, and Lizzy vetoed my jeans and T-shirt for a short denim skirt and halter that look surprisingly impressive on my new body. The halter shows off my sculpted shoulders—apparently I’ve been lifting weights with Max—and the skirt shows my toned runner’s legs. I top the outfit off with strappy black heels and throw my hair in a twist. Despite the bruise on my right arm and the side of my face, I feel so sexy I snap a picture of myself in the mirror and send it to Max with the caption, Wish you were coming tonight.
Two minutes later, I’m treated to his reply.
Max: I don’t want to wait any longer than I have to. The club closes at nine. Meet me here.
His words send hot tingles of nerves and arousal rushing to my center.
Hanna: It’s a date.
I’m still grinning at my phone when I hear Lizzy whistle. “Damn, girl.”
“I know, right? Who knew I could look like this?”
She frowns. “You were sexy before you lost the weight. I was referring to the way you’re glowing.”
“Oh.” I press my phone to my chest. “I hope I didn’t screw things up. Max is… He’s amazing.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation for all of this. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
When we walk into Asher’s, Maggie greets us at the door in a white sundress and bare feet. “You made it! I’m so glad!”
“We’re on a mission.” I grin and nod toward Lizzy. “My twin would like to seduce your musician friend.”
“You’re going to seduce Nate?” Maggie asks, skepticism all over her face.
“Unless you’re planning on sharing Asher.”
Maggie snorts. “As if. But Nate? Really? The guy sitting in my basement in a Spider-Man shirt?”
Lizzy scoffs. “Have you heard that voice? God concentrated sexiness and gave it to the world through Nate Crane’s voice. The boy could melt the panties off a nun.”
Maggie rolls her eyes. “I think we all know you’re no nun. Come on. Everyone’s in the basement.”
She leads the way into the house and to the stairs, where she stops and points at a small table. “House rules, no phones or other distracting electronics with the music.” She digs her own out of her pocket and tosses it in the basket with the others. Lizzy and I follow suit then head down the stairs to where everyone is milling in the music room. Asher doesn’t have big parties. In fact, his parties might better be described as “get-togethers” with most of the attendees being members of my immediate family. Tonight, there are more guests than normal—maybe a dozen total—probably due to his musician friend who’s in town.
I look to the stage, where Asher is playing acoustic guitar and singing into a mic connected to a small amp. My gaze shifts to the man sitting next to him and I stop breathing.
“Asher’s hot too,” Lizzy’s assuring Maggie, “but Nate could do whatever he wanted to me and I’d thank him in the morning.”
Nate Crane. Dark, shaggy hair, deep voice, intense gaze. And no doubt a Hulk tattoo hidden beneath his right sleeve of his Spider-Man T-shirt. “Holy shit.”
“He’s got a nice voice, doesn’t he?” Maggie says.
I nod dumbly. A nice voice that whispered sweet nothings in my ear last night. Hot and dirty sweet nothings.
“You can’t go being all star-struck when you’re used to Asher hanging around.” Maggie nudges me with her elbow. “You’ve met Nate. You two really hit it off.”
“We hit it off? Why would you say that?” It comes out way too defensive, and I have to take a breath and force my shoulders away from my ears.
“He’s a friend of Asher’s. You kept me company when I went to see Asher and Nate perform in St. Louis a few months ago. God, that must be so weird, not remembering anything.”
The guys transition into “Unbreak Me,” a song Asher wrote for Maggie.
She bites her lip.
“Go on up there,” Liz says. “You don’t need to babysit us.”
“Thanks.” Maggie walks to the front of their makeshift stage and sinks to her haunches.
“Want something to drink?” Liz asks. “Because I’m at least three drinks short of the courage I need to approach that beautiful man up there.”
“I’m okay for now.”
“If you say so.” She points toward the bar. “I’ll be over there if you need me.”
I nod but I can’t take my eyes off the stage—off Nate. They finish the final chords of “Unbreak Me,” and everyone applauds as Asher stands and kisses Maggie soundly.
When Asher leaves the stage, Nate stays behind, strumming chords to a song I don’t recognize. He lifts his gaze. For five painful beats of my heart, our eyes lock. There’s so much in his eyes. Pain, anger, frustration. I see it all there before he refocuses on his fingers and starts to croon the lonely lyrics of his song.
I’m nobody’s hero, baby. Try not to fall too deep.
I’m nobody’s angel, love, but you were crying in your sleep.
I’m useless, empty, nothing, sugar. Wait around and then you’ll see.
You thought you’d find your answers, but now you’re lost in me.
The words tap into me, loosening something in my chest until I feel like anyone looking at me can see my confusion and the inexplicable aching of my heart.
And when he lifts his head and watches me as he sings the last verse of his song, I don’t move. I don’t hide from those eyes that know too much. I don’t run from that face that could destroy my whole world. I stand transfixed, the words rolling through my veins like they’re part of my blood.
After he strums the final chords, he puts down his guitar and leaves the stage without explanation or promise to return.
My feet are following him before I’ve decided what to do. He heads up the stairs and out back, through the French doors and onto the patio, where he keeps going until he hits the path in front of the river.
He’s trying to escape me. I should be happy, right? The past can stay in the past, and whatever mistake I made with this rocker can be left behind with it. But I can’t let him walk away without answers.
“Stop!” I rush down to the river, my heels sinking into the rain-softened earth. “Who are you?”
He turns slowly, the confusion back on his face. “Is that supposed to be funny? Pretending there was nothing between us wasn’t enough? You need to pretend you don’t even know who I am?”
“I—” Oh my God. The hurt in his eyes. “I don’t know who you are,” I say carefully. “But maybe I should? I was injured and I have amnesia, so I honestly don’t know you.” And if that doesn’t sound like a line from a Lifetime movie, I’m not sure what does.
“Amnesia? You’re kidding me.”
“I’m not.” He starts toward me, and I hold out a hand to stop him. “I’d prefer you to stay over there. Please.”
He pulls back, watching me. “Amnesia,” he repeats.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t know who I am.” It’s not a question—more a realization.
“I don’t know who you are or why you would crawl into my bed in the middle of the night. I don’t understand why—” My breath catches and fat, hot tears spill onto my cheeks. Suddenly this is just all too much. “I don’t understand,” I repeat, and leave it at that.
“You don’t remember anything? Do you know who you are?”
“Yeah. I remember everything up until about a year ago, but the last eleven months are just…gone.”
He drags a hand through his hair, and I’m struck again by how gorgeous he is. Dark messy hair, dark intense eyes. His T-shirt clings to his sculpted arms. Tattoos peek out from the sleeves. No matter how hard I look, I can’t remember being with him. So why do I have this feeling in my chest like my heart kn
ows something I don’t?
“Do I know you?” I ask.
He lets out a huff and stares at the starlit sky. “Yeah. You do.” When he drops his gaze back to meet mine, his eyes are moist with unshed tears. “I’m the idiot who’s in love with you.”
In love with me? “But I’m engaged.”
“I saw that,” he whispers, his gaze flicking back to my hand. “Can I ask? Did that happen before or after the amnesia?”
“Before.”
“Fuck.” The word isn’t screamed or thrown like a stone. He breathes it—exhaling the sound like so much disappointment.
To me, Nate’s a stranger, but to him, I’m…what?
We just stare at each other, him looking heartbroken and angry, me trying to piece it all together in my head and make some sense of this. I’m engaged to Max Hallowell. I’m not the kind of girl who would get engaged to one guy when she’s been sleeping with another.
Am I?
We stand here, the passing seconds measured by the chirp of a lonely tree frog. I scan my mind for anything. A memory, a piece of information, useless trivia—I search for anything at all I can take from my brain to make sense of this illogical ache in my heart.
Finally, he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks out over the water. “I’ve gotta get out of here, Han.”
Han. He knows me. I can feel it. I know him. My heart does, if not my injured brain. “Please, tell me what happened. What did I do?” I whisper. “I don’t understand.”
He shrugs. “What’s there to understand? You’re wearing his ring.”
Then he walks away, and I’m alone and confused. And I think I have a broken heart, but I don’t know if it’s breaking for me or for him. And I don’t know who did the breaking.
