by Jewel E. Ann
He glances at me and snaps his body to sitting, grabbing my head with urgency, eyes wide and wild. “You remember …” he whispers, wiping my tears with his thumbs.
Rubbing my quivering lips together, I shake my head. “She was murdered.”
His brows pull together. “No. Why are you saying this?”
“Doug Mann …”
He continues to shake his head, gripping mine more firmly. “How do you know that name?”
I swallow past the swelling pain in my throat. “He was the son. Wasn’t he?”
Nate’s gaze flits along my face for a few seconds. “Yes. Jesus … tell me what’s going on? Where did you hear his name? What do you remember? Where is this coming from?”
I wasn’t her. I wasn’t her. I wasn’t her. God … whose memories are these, if they’re not Nate’s?
I blink out more tears. “I’m scared.” All these years, my need to feel safe … the harbor I found in Griffin … This is it. This is the fear that’s chased me even when I couldn’t see it—but I’ve always felt it.
A sob breaks from my chest.
Nate pulls me into his arms. “Don’t be scared. I won’t let anything happen to you ever again.”
I’m not her. Nate … no …
He can’t protect me. I’m not his to protect, but my body doesn’t know that as I cling to the familiar home of his embrace. I’ve been here many times before.
Oh my god …
I have been here many times before. Not this body … but somewhere in my mind the memory has transcended time, breeding new life every time Nate touches me. Whatever this is … it’s woven into a part of me I cannot explain—a part of me I can no longer deny.
Who am I?
A ghost?
An unfinished life?
A fractured soul?
Everything hurts. I’ve spent my life trying to find myself. Desperate for a sense of normalcy. I found it with Griffin. I found everything with him.
Until now …
I claw at Nate’s shirt, desperate to feel safe.
“Shh …” He pulls me closer, until my arms are wrapped around his body, face buried into his neck.
I can’t let go—can’t pull away. I’m a misfit puzzle, and some of my pieces fit with Nate. Only he can fill in the gaps and make those parts of me feel whole.
Whole. Can I ever be whole when I don’t know who I am?
This isn’t Griffin’s touch. This isn’t my father’s touch. But … it’s just as familiar. It makes me feel safe and loved. Can I have this and let it simply be Nate?
“Do you remember?” he whispers, resting his cheek on the top of my head.
“No … yes … just …”
Just the man who killed her. Me … did he kill me?
Nate starts to pull away, but my fingers curl into his shirt and my arms tighten around his body.
Warm lips press to the top of my head. Strong hands embrace me, scooting me closer until I’m on his lap—straddling him, hugging him, and clinging to a past I still don’t understand.
He wants answers I can’t give. He needs recognition, but it’s lost in the depths of my mind that may never see the light of this life.
“I see Daisy, but you weren’t there. I’ve never seen her in my head before. She wasn’t me … she was just … her. Scared.”
Scared. Scared like me. Desperate to feel safe and protected.
“Why was she scared?”
Because she knew she was going to die.
I blink and more tears break free. This isn’t closure for Nate, this is torture. She hit her head, passed out, and drowned. Maybe she never woke up—never suffered. He must tell himself that every day to make each breath he takes without her feel tolerable.
He blames himself for her death. What’s in my head will destroy him. I won’t break him again. Morgan needs her father, and Nate deserves a life filled with happiness. Not regret.
I pull back, resting my hands flat on his chest. He catches my tears with his thumbs.
This isn’t right. I can’t bring myself to tell him, so I back my way out.
“She looked scared.” I shake my head. “I-I think I must have thought she was scared of someone, but it could have been the darkness, being alone, knowing she wasn’t supposed to be there by herself.”
Confusion mars his face. “How do you know Doug Mann’s name?”
“I …” I shake my head. “I … looked it up. Who um … owned the house.” I slide off his lap and stand, wiping my eyes and running my hands through my hair. “I have to go. I’m sorry about the mess. I’ll clean it up first thing in the morning.”
“Swayze …”
I bolt down the hall, grab my bag, and jog toward the door.
“Swayze?”
“Goodnight.” I shut the door behind me and sprint to my car, fumbling with my key to get it started.
From the front door, Nate studies me, dragging a frustrated hand through his wavy hair.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, shoving my car into reverse.
CHAPTER THREE
I can’t stop shaking. This nightmare won’t end, even with my eyes wide open. I need to be Swayze. I need to forget the images in my mind. I need … my grocery store guy.
“Hey, Swayz. How was your day?” Griffin looks up from the motorcycle. I think it belongs to our new neighbor, but I don’t know for sure, and I don’t care.
My hands ball into fists to stop the shaking, but it doesn’t help. It feels like my entire existence wants to unravel. With every breath, my lungs wage war against the pounding of my heart.
“Swayz?” Griffin’s gaze tracks me as I brush past him.
I hit the down button on the garage door.
Griffin wipes his hands on a grease-stained towel as he climbs to his feet. “Baby, what’s going on?”
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Forget. Let go. Be Swayze.
This life. This is my life. This has to be my life. I can’t live without this life.
I flip off the lights, leaving only a dim splash of illumination from the streetlight filtering in from the high window off to my right.
“Swayz … what’s going—”
I crash into him, kissing him like I need his breath to fill my lungs. My hands fist his shirt.
He tries to pull away. “What’s going on?”
I lift onto my toes to kiss him again.
He grabs my shoulders to stop me. “Swayze, what’s wrong?”
I suck in a shaky breath, but it doesn’t stop the tears. “I need you … if you love me … you’ll give me this without question.”
His brow knits tightly. “I’m a mess.” He is. He’s covered in sweat and grease.
My words fight past the pain, coming out as a strangled whisper. “So am I …”
“Swayz …” He shakes his head slowly.
Even if he can’t understand, he can feel. And right now I know he feels my pain.
My hand slides along his stubble-covered jaw and over a black smudge until my fingers curl around his bandana, pulling it off to reveal his newly-shaven head. “Make me forget that anything exists beyond these four walls.”
I let his gaze wash over me, like a savior baptizing me, cleansing my sins and restoring my faith. His love is my religion.
Griffin releases my shoulders and clutches the hem of my shirt, peeling it over my head. I do the same to him. I remove my bra, and he palms my head, taking my mouth with hunger. This man kisses me like the ocean claims the shore, knocking me back until I surrender, pulling me into blinding depths, swallowing me whole. And just like that … the world disappears.
Four walls.
Two bodies.
One love.
We lose all that doesn’t matter—our clothes, yesterday’s memories, tomorrow’s plans. On a dirty drop cloth, over a cold floor, surrounded by musky sweat and grease … We embrace each other and these stolen minutes. The last two people on Earth.
His lips move down my body as I arch m
y back, closing my eyes.
Our fingers thread together, clenching, claiming, holding on to this moment.
He sits up, pulling me onto him, nose to nose as he whispers, “I’m never letting you go.”
Four walls and this man—nothing else matters.
My hips rock into his, feeling him deep inside of me. “I love you now …” I close my eyes and move with his body. Kissing my way up his neck, I stop at his ear, “I will love you always.” My eyes squeeze shut, forcing out a few residual tears. “Please don’t ever forget it.”
We cling to each other. Maybe if we’re strong enough, we can make it through the storm without being ripped apart, stranded—completely alone.
God … I hope we’re strong enough.
*
“Good morning.” Griffin hands me a cup of coffee as I drop my tired ass onto the kitchen chair.
I smile—the shy kind that’s afraid to confront what happened over the past ten hours. Last night rivaled the make-up sex we had after Griffin’s birthday. He didn’t want to talk then. He wanted to take. Looking back, I think he wanted to prove that nothing mattered outside of us.
Last night I begged for silence and the physical reassurance that I’m still that woman he fell in love with. I’m still that woman enraptured in all things Griffin Calloway. Last night I needed to lose myself in us, overwhelmed with the need to shut out everything beyond our four walls.
Today I will return to Nate’s house with its haunting memories of me clinging to him, the familiarity of his embrace, and the most haunting part of all … I think Nate may be right.
I’m Daisy.
Griffin inspects me in silence as he sips his green protein drink.
My lungs reach for a breath of courage. I owe him an explanation. He gave me everything last night, without question. “If I walk away from this job…” I slowly trace the pad of my finger over the rim of my coffee mug “…it won’t change the memories I have of the past.”
His expression hardens ever so slightly. Silent and stoic.
“I don’t want you to get mad at me. But I don’t want to lie to you either. This walking-on-eggshells thing won’t work forever. You ask me about my day, and…” I shake my head, shake off the pain that’s suffocating me “…I know it’s not small talk. You really want to know about my day—about me.”
I reach across the table, resting my hand on his. He stares at our hands with a blank look.
“And I love you so much for that. But this other person in my head keeps stealing minutes from my day, making it her day. So when you ask me that question, I feel like the truth will pull us apart, but so will a lie. So …” I shrug. “It hurts—” Tears burn my eyes, but I don’t give them life. “The thought of losing you is unbearable.”
His gaze crawls along the table between us, making its way to meet mine. I see my whole world in his eyes, but when I close mine, I see many worlds. Immutable images. I feel deep love and loss. And I hear voices that won’t be silenced.
“Right now … who are you?” he asks.
I ease out of my chair and slide my leg over his lap, putting us face to face. “I’m Swayze.”
And I am. Right now. With him. I’m Swayze Samuels. Daughter to Krista. Fiancée to Griffin. Nanny to Morgan. And employee to Professor Nathaniel Hunt.
The line is there. I can see it. But I fear that time will blur it.
“I love you.” He brushes his lips over mine.
Swayze. He loves the girl he saved in the grocery store. That’s who he wants to marry. I want to be her. She has the perfect man. A future filled with promise. A loving family. Health. Youth. Endless possibilities.
“She loves you too.” I softly kiss his top lip and then his bottom lip.
Griffin shakes his head, fingers curling into my hips. “Don’t say that. Don’t talk in some fucking third person like a schizophrenic.”
I frame his face to stop his head shaking. “I love you. I’m going to marry you.” These words are for him, but they’re also for me.
If I lost an arm, I’d still be me. If I shaved my head, I’d still be me. If I lost all memories, I’d still be me. I need to carry this one absolute truth with me at all times.
“I have to get to work. Let’s go out for dinner tonight and plan a wedding.”
After a few blinks, Griffin surrenders something resembling a smile. “Good idea. I don’t want a long engagement.” He nuzzles his face into my neck.
I hug him. This is the only embrace I want comforting me for the rest of my life.
*
I pull into Nate’s driveway a few minutes early and call the detective working on Erica’s case. He tells me there’s too much inconclusive evidence to question Doug Mann any further. There was no sign of foul play. It was an accident. Case closed.
She slipped and hit her head while getting into the bathtub and she drowned.
Daisy drowned. Daisy’s death was an accident.
Except … my memories tell a different story.
I take a deep breath to calm my anger before opening the door to Nate’s house. “Good morning.”
“Shh … in my office.”
I peek around the corner. “She’s still asleep?”
Nate glances up as he slips his laptop into his messenger bag. “Yes. She was up earlier. For whatever reason, she wanted to smile and giggle at 4:00 a.m.” He fists a hand over his mouth to hide his yawn. “I’m going to feel it later today.”
I offer him a hint of a smile, trying to move past last night and everything the detective just told me.
“Did you sleep well?” Nate saunters toward me.
I turn and lead the way to the kitchen. “Well enough.” Not that well. Sex. I had endless sex with Griffin until my mind let go of what happened here, with you, Nate.
“Coffee?” He holds up the pot before filling his cup.
“Just had some, but thank you.”
He pours it and brings the cup to his mouth, eyeing me with an unreadable expression. “You seem distracted.”
An understatement.
“Can I ask you something?”
Nate takes a sip and rubs his lips together. “You can ask me anything.”
“If I admit that I’m Daisy, can we forget about it?”
His eyebrows shoot up his forehead, brushing his wayward curls. “You believe it?”
I shrug. “For lack of any other explanation … yes.”
His chin dips into a contemplative nod. “You didn’t just wake up this morning with recognition of her life?”
“No.”
He fails at masking his disappointment.
“I feel like you want me to admit that I’m her. The books in your nightstand confirm it.”
There’s not an ounce of shock on his face. He knows I’ve been snooping.
“I think there’s a chance that you’re right. And I’m not sure what the protocol is for this, but no matter what memories I have from another life, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m Swayze Samuels in this life.”
“So you want to forget about everything?”
I grunt a painful laugh. “I don’t think I have the option to forget anything. Unless they invent an off switch for the brain. I just don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ll try to keep all of my comments relevant to things I would know about you in this life, and you’ll stop looking at me like …”
“Like?” He slips an apple and protein bar into the back pocket of his bag.
“Like … I don’t know. Like anything other than the twenty-one-year-old nanny that I am.”
“You want us to pretend.”
“No … yes. When you say it that way it sounds ridiculous. You know what I mean.”
His teeth rake along his lower lip several times while he eyes me. “This is causing problems between you and Griffin?”
My gaze drops to my feet. “Sometimes. I don’t want to lose him. It’s not fair to ask him to share me with another life. It’s insane to ask him to understand. And I
’m tired of feeling ripped down the middle.”
“Okay.”
My head snaps up. “Okay?”
Nate nods. “We won’t talk of it again. Your happiness comes first.”
“Don’t say that. An employer wouldn’t say that.”
He chuckles. “I disagree. A good employer would want a happy employee.”
“Happy? Yes. As in, maybe leave a little more food in the house. Or trusting me enough to not need constant surveillance. That would make me happy. Happiness implies more. It implies you have concern for my future beyond this job. I don’t want you to be invested in my happiness.”
Nate flinches. It’s slight, but I don’t miss it. He slides the strap to his bag over his shoulder and snatches his coffee. “I’ll stop by the grocery store on the way home. Text me with your list of food.” His tone is a little abrasive. “If you were my friend Daisy, I’d shut off the cameras. I know Daisy. I trust her implicitly. Swayze is a twenty-one-year-old nanny whom I’ve not known long enough to warrant such implicit trust. The cameras stay on. Have a good day, Swayze.”
Ouch.
I bite my tongue. He’s respecting my wish. I have to let it go. I just didn’t imagine it feeling like this.
“Good day, Professor Hunt.”
My words make him pause at the back door. I wait for him to turn back toward me. I wait to see the pain on his face. He doesn’t turn. He doesn’t show me his reaction. And that’s for the best.
CHAPTER FOUR
Weeks pass without mention of Daisy. Each night I leave Professor Hunt’s house with a lukewarm goodbye and hurry home to my fiancé. We immerse ourselves in wedding planning and dinners with his family and my mom. I find a rhythm to my life again.
I wish I could say I don’t think of Daisy, or Erica, or the free man who murdered them. I wish I could say I don’t miss the friendship I had with Nate. I wish I could say everything in life is mind over matter.
I wish …
“What are your plans for Thanksgiving?” I ask Nate as he goes through his morning routine in the kitchen while Morgan rolls around on the floor, working her way up to all fours only to flop back down to her tummy and take off rolling again.
“The usual gluttony,” he replies without making the slightest glance in my direction.
