by Lexi Ryan
***
I never thought I’d be engaged to a man I couldn’t trust. I never thought I would doubt Max of all people. He hasn’t done anything to deserve my suspicion, but I can’t help it. The old insecurity is back, and it doesn’t matter what I look like now or how many pounds I lost, because Meredith is everything I’ll never be. Blond, slim, the kind of woman men’s eyes go to when she enters a room.
And to top it off, she’s a complete bitch. William Bailey dated her for a while before Cally came back in town, and when he broke it off for his first love, Meredith got artificially inseminated and let everyone in town think it was Will’s baby.
After brushing my teeth and settling my angry stomach with Sprite, I found my underwear—so much for that seduction plan—and a pair of canvas flats and started walking.
Nothing calms me like the sound of the river, so I hit the path behind the bakery. Three times, I’ve pulled up Max’s number on my phone, ready to call him and demand answers. Three times, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to be that girl. Insecure. Untrusting. He’s marrying me, isn’t he? And if he were doing something wrong, would he have told me where he was going?
I pull off my shoes and walk in the cool grass, the stars mocking me from above with their happy twinkling. I don’t know how long I walk or how far, but by the time I’ve left the center of town and can see my mom’s house in the distance, the bottoms of my feet are raw from walking barefoot.
In front of me lies the empty expanse of Mom’s backyard. The party is over. The band’s been packed up, the decorations taken down. All like it never existed.
I’m not ready to return to my apartment yet, so I stop at the dock just between Mom’s and Asher’s adjoining properties.
I sink onto the wooden planks, wrap my arms around my knees, lean my head against them, and tell myself everything is going to be okay.
I focus on breathing. In. And out. In. And out.
“You planning on sleeping there or just staying long enough to ruin that sexy dress?”
I lift my head to see a dark figure leaning against the rail at the end of the dock. I blink until Nate Crane comes into focus. He takes a drag off a cigarette—no, not a cigarette, a joint. I sneer in disgust. I hate drugs. I have no use for people who can’t think of any better way to entertain themselves.
“You planning on getting stoned the rest of your life or actually doing something meaningful?”
He steps closer, and in the light of the moon, I can make out the half smirk, half smile on his lips. “Asher and Maggie invited me to your engagement party tonight, but I decided being stoned and useless would be more enjoyable. So would Chinese water torture, come to think of it. Looks like maybe you feel the same.” He takes another step closer and offers the joint.
“Fuck no.” I wave away the puff of smoke left behind and cough for good measure.
“Suit yourself,” he murmurs. He shifts his gaze back to the river, but instead of taking another drag, he pinches off the glowing tip into the water and tucks the rest into his pocket. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I sound like a sulking teenager.
He arches a brow but doesn’t press.
Releasing my knees, I pull myself up and stand beside him at the rail. “That first weekend we met, did I tell you about how much I wanted to open a bakery?”
“You did.”
I have to ask. “And you wanted me to do it?”
“I told you I thought you should.” A frog sings in the distance, filling the silence. “You have talent.”
“I love it, you know. Every time I walk in, I smile.”
“Glad to hear it.” There’s a rough, pained edge to his words.
“And you made sure I had a chance,” I say matter-of-factly.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
Clearly he’s not interested in changing the “anonymous” part of our arrangement, and I’m too grateful to push the issue, but I can’t help the sigh that slips from my lips. “I feel like everyone knows more about my life than I do.”
He looks out over the water. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” I whisper.
“Why?” If an open wound has a sound, it’s the sound of his voice right now.
“You have no idea what it’s like to be missing pieces of your memory, to feel like your own body is failing you.”
He grunts. “Do you remember anything from our time together?”
“Nothing.”
“Will it come back?”
The wind shifts, and a cloud blocks the moon and cloaks us in darkness. I’m standing in the dark with a man who’s a stranger to me. I should be uncomfortable—cautious at the very least. Instead, my muscles relax incrementally. There’s something comforting about darkness, about not being seen.
“The doctor says it’s hard to say at this point,” I say. “Maybe, maybe not. The closer the memory is to the time of my accident, the less likely I am to remember it. Maybe I won’t ever remember you. Maybe if you hadn’t climbed into bed with me two weeks ago, I’d never have known about us.”
“My life’s biggest regret,” he murmurs.
I wince. If he’d slapped me, it would have hurt less. “I’m your biggest regret?”
“No.” He growls the word then takes a breath. “I’m not this great guy. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Done a lot of shitty things, made a lot of selfish choices. But in the end, it’s all worked out.”
I wish I could see his face, read the nuance of his expression. Instead, he’s only a silhouette in the night, and I’m left with nothing but his words and the low rumble of his voice.
“I don’t regret much,” he explains. “But I do regret crawling into bed with you when I came to town.” He looks to the sky. “Your amnesia was a gift that I fucked up.”
“You wanted me to forget you?”
His chest expands on his inhale, and I have to fight this irrational desire to lean my head against him. To comfort him with my presence, despite what he’s saying. “It would be…easier.”
“I’m not going to bother you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I won’t be the girl who runs to the tabloids to tell about her hot night with Nate Crane.”
“Hanna.” He takes my shoulders and turns me to face him. He studies me for a beat. Two. Like he’s trying to solve a puzzle and the answer is in my eyes. Then he drops his hands and turns away again. While he stares out into the stillness of the night, I’m left to guess what he might have been about to say.
“I might not remember what happened between us, but I feel something…” I make a fist and press it to my chest. “Something here. Every time you’re close.”
“And what about him? Do you feel it when he’s close?”
Hot tears sting the backs of my eyes and I nod. “I do.”
“There’s your answer.” His gaze settles on my hand, his eyes burning into the ring on my finger. “That’s all you need to know.”
“But I don’t even remember putting it on. How can I trust a decision I don’t remember making?” My question is punctuated by a distant owl call.
“You’re the smartest girl I know. I trust your decision. Maybe you should too.”
“I need to know something first.”
He hangs his head. “You should talk to your fiancé.”
“Did I sleep with you?”
The clouds shift again, and the moonlight casts shadows on the beautiful hard angles of his face. My heart pounds hard as he steps closer. He tilts my chin up until my eyes are on his.
“What do you think?”
“I think we all make mistakes.”
Something flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, his expression whitewashed by that stoner-may-care blankness.
I have to repeat the question. If I don’t, I might lose my nerve and run away without hearing the answer. “Did we have sex?”
“No
. We didn’t.”
There’s no relief at his words. Not really. Only emptiness. Any way you paint it, I still betrayed my fiancé. I’ve been promising myself I’d tell Max the truth if I learned that I slept with Nate. Maybe I wanted the excuse to confess.
“Goodnight, angel.”
“Don’t go.”
He closes his eyes, and I can’t help myself anymore. I touch his face, carefully, tentatively. He stands stock-still as I skim my fingertips over the rough stubble of his cheek, study him while his eyes are closed. Then I just hold there, neither of us moving or breathing. Caught in the moment and the moonlight.
When he opens his eyes, they’re filled with pain. With longing. Is that real, or am I seeing what I want to believe? He’s as much a mystery to me as this connection between us.
He parts his lips and his eyes lock with mine. Just when I think we might stand here forever, a tragic tableau of secrets and heartache, he shifts a fraction of an inch and leans into my touch.
“Dammit, Hanna.” The words are soft, tortured. “What do you want me to do?”
“Kiss me.” And I can’t believe what I’m asking, but the command is out there and I can’t take it back. I don’t want to.
“How am I supposed to say no to that?”
“You’re not.”
His gaze dips to my lips, and my heart races. A pace so painful and violent I fear it might burst from my chest right here and fall to his feet.
As his mouth moves toward mine, a sense of calm washes over me. My shoulders drop. My breathing slows. For a moment, my past doesn’t matter. My future doesn’t matter. Only here. Only now.
When his lips are so close I can almost taste him, he squeezes his eyes shut and leans his forehead against mine. “I love you too much to screw this up for you. I love you too much to let you beat yourself up over a stupid kiss.” He staggers back.
“I’m sorry.” My hand goes to my mouth. Shame washes over me, a hot rush followed by the icy-cold grip of loneliness. “I shouldn’t have… I don’t know why—”
“Go home, Hanna. Go be with your future husband.”
