by Jewel E. Ann
“Want me to come with you?” Griffin asks, forcing me to look at him. “I don’t like the idea of you walking around that campus alone at night.”
He has a valid point that I can’t argue in front of our family. “I have a can of pepper spray.”
“Swayze, I’d rather Griffin be with you.” My mom gives me the usual motherly don’t-be-stupid look.
“You’re going to be bored.”
Griffin strips me of my lies and maybe even my clothes with his narrowed stare and twisted lips. I squirm a bit.
“I’ll have just one scoop of ice cream.” I go for the distraction.
“One scoop, huh?” He drops the ice cream scoop.
Why did he do that?
“Griff!” I squeal when he scoops me up instead of the ice cream, tossing me over his shoulder.
“One …” He smacks my ass. “Two …” Another spanking.
Our family looks on from the living room with amusement as Griffin hauls me up the stairs.
“Nothing inappropriate. Children in the house,” Sherri yells.
“Griffin! Put me down.”
Smack. Smack. Smack.
It’s beginning to sting. A guy with his strength and large hands cannot smack a delicate ass like mine, twenty-two times, without impairing my ability to sit for several days.
“Twenty-two.” He tosses me onto the bed in his old room.
I rub my backside. “What’s gotten into you?” My smile fades when he shuts the door and leans back against it, jaw clenched, arms crossed over his chest like he left his sense of humor out in the hallway.
“A new shrink? What the fuck, Swayze? I thought you were fine. You’ve been assuring me you’re fine for quite some time. What made you go see Dr. Greyson again, and what the hell is going on that he felt the need to refer you to someone else?”
My head whips back. “Sorry. Did I catch you off guard like you dragging me up here to lecture me on my birthday?”
He pushes a quick breath out of his nose. “Really? You want to talk birthdays with me?”
“Low blow.”
“No. Low blow is lying to me.”
I fist the blanket on his bed. “I’m not lying to you.”
“Omission of the whole truth is lying. You led me to believe that you were done with therapy.”
“Is me being done with therapy a condition of our relationship? Our engagement?”
He answers with a look that makes a hairline fracture in my heart. I like the you-are-my-whole-world look. This bears an uncanny resemblance to the you-forgot-my-birthday look. Not my favorite look.
“What are you going to talk about with this new therapist?”
How I’m on the verge of losing everything that matters, and I can’t seem to stop the self-destruction.
“How abusive my boyfriend is to me.” Regret backhands me so fast it feels like I just hit a car head on. And the deafening silence that falls between us confirms the fatalities.
I can’t look at him another second. The pain in his eyes makes it impossible to breathe. Griffin would never hurt me. Ever. It was a poorly delivered joke laced with more revenge than sarcasm.
This toxic thing called fear keeps driving a wedge between us. I keep driving a wedge between us. The harder I try to hold onto him, the further away he slips.
Daisy is not a gift. She’s a fucking curse.
Griffin turns and opens the door.
“No!” I bolt after him, shoving the door shut again, grabbing his shirt and tugging at it until he looks at me. “It was a joke. A terrible, morbid, ill-timed joke. I’m sorry. I’m scared. I’m desperate. I’m …”
My heart can’t keep up with my emotions. It’s a pulsing siren in my chest, warning me to shut up. And it hurts so much more than the playful bite of his hand on my ass.
He’s a concrete wall, no matter how much I try to shake him.
“She’s inside of me.”
Now he gives me his full attention.
“Or…” I shake my head, pinching my eyes shut “…I’m her. But I don’t think I totally am. I can’t figure it out. And I can’t let it go because these memories stay with me no matter where I go. They’re in my head, and as time passes, they only get stronger and more vivid. It’s not just Nate. He may have been some trigger for this, but she’s there, Griff. She won’t go away.”
He blinks.
I wait.
Another blink.
I’m dying here.
It’s like a young child telling her parents there is an alien in the closet that only she can see. But she’s not crazy. It’s really there, even if there is no proof of aliens.
“You need a different job,” he says. It’s flat and matter-of-fact.
I don’t want him to be angry with me, but I’d feel better if his words were infused with some sort of emotion.
“I can’t quit my job.”
“You can.” He bites his lips together, eyes wide, and head cocked to the side as if he’s daring me to argue with him.
“Let’s go. I’m the guest of honor, not that I deserve to have a special birthday. We both know I’m the worst human that ever lived. In fact, we can say our goodbyes and go home. You can drop me off at the curb as you back out of the driveway. Whatever.” I grab the doorknob, but Griffin doesn’t budge from the door.
His gaze bores a hole into my head, but I refuse to look at him.
“Hitler was worse,” he says.
It’s funny. But it’s not.
It’s heartbreaking. But it shouldn’t be.
“Don’t be insecure. That’s not the woman I met in the grocery store.”
I nod slowly, not really agreeing to anything other than the universe whispering, “You’re screwed.”
Insecure. Ha! I’m not sure it’s fair to expect me to be anything but insecure. There’s a whole other world—a whole other time—in my head. It’s like taking someone halfway around the world and dropping them off in a desert without food or water and bidding them farewell with a “Bye. Don’t be insecure.”
Nothing makes a person feel more insecure than the unknown. This isn’t mind over matter. I can’t run around with my fingers in my ears, yelling “La la la … I can’t hear you, Daisy.” But I’ll save that argument for another day.
“I’ll do my best to be who you want me to be.”
“You’re making me feel like a dick.” He frowns.
I shrug, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Well, you’re big, sometimes overbearing, and completely unbendable when you get worked up. I think that’s a dictionary definition of a dick. Now … are you done ruining my birthday? Are we even since I’m a step away from Hitler and no longer the woman from the grocery store? Which is funny because I don’t know how I led you to believe I was anything short of a disaster that day.”
Griffin scrapes his teeth over the corner of his lower lip, inspecting me through squinted eyes. “Do you want to marry me?”
It’s hard to catch my breath under the weight of his words. A chill slithers to my core as I gaze at him unblinkingly. “How can you ask me that?”
He lifts his hands up and lets them fall to his sides, releasing a heavy sigh.
Why doesn’t he answer me? Is the lump in his throat as thick as the one swelling in mine? Or does he have nothing to say?
“Move.” My pulse stutters like my voice, choking on hurt and anger.
His head turns away from me with a slack expression and vacant eyes. After a few long seconds, he steps aside. My shaky hand fumbles with the doorknob before it opens. I race halfway down the stairs and stop. Biting my quivering lips together, I bend over to catch my breath and swallow back the sob that wants to escape.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
“Pull it together,” I whisper to myself. Taking a deep breath, I blink a few times to gather some composure.
“Your ice cream has melted.” Sophie hands me my bowl of cake and melted ice cream.”
“I don’t mind.” I force a smile. It feels l
ike a believable one, but my mom’s pursed lips and raised brows tell me I’m not selling it as well as I think I am.
“Where’s Griffin?” Sherri asks as I shovel down the soggy cake—anything to keep my chin from trembling and distract the rest of my body from doing what it wants to do—curl up in a ball and cry.
“Right here,” he says from behind me.
I take another bite of cake, avoiding my mom’s scrutinizing gaze. Griffin brushes past me with his bowl of cake and ice cream. A rare splurge for him. He plops down on the sofa, giving Hayley a playful nudge. She grins, nudging him back.
Through the corner of my eye, I watch my mom’s gaze bounce between Griffin on the sofa—ignoring me—and me leaning against the wall because I don’t want to sit next to anyone and have to form actual words.
“Swayze, you have a message.” Sophie holds up my phone that’s on the coffee table. “Aw … it’s Morgan.” She smiles at the screen.
“Let me see.” Hayley snatches the phone from her. “It’s a happy birthday message. She’s so cute.” She tips the screen toward Griffin.
His lips pull into a tight grin.
After the phone gets passed around the room, Sherri hands it to me. It’s a photo of a smiley Morgan with a sticky note on her tummy that says “Happy birthday, Swayze.” I don’t stare at it too long, and I don’t react to it because I know Griffin’s eyes are on me. Instead, I slip the phone in my pocket and finish the last few spoonfuls of chocolate and vanilla cake soup.
“We should have invited them to your party.” Sherri says like a verbal facepalm.
Yeah, that would have been a great idea. Just me, my fiancé, my boyfriend from another life, and his daughter named after me from that other life.
“I think he had plans this weekend. His birthday was yesterday.”
“I hope he had plans, otherwise we could have celebrated both birthdays. We’ve been wanting to meet the sexy professor.” Sherri shoots my mom a suggestive grin, but Griffin looks ready to bust out of his clothes like the Hulk.
She has no idea her son is not a Professor Hunt fan, and he has no idea she’s making the sexy comment for my mom’s benefit, not mine.
“Sexy Professor?” Scott pinches Sherri’s leg.
She shoos him away. “For Krista. I’m happily married.”
He nuzzles her neck. “Better be.”
I love the alpha side to the Calloway men, except when mine makes me feel unwanted on my birthday.
“Sit, Swayze.” Hayley stands. “I’m skipping out early to go to a movie with Maycee.” She takes my empty bowl and hugs me. “Happy birthday, Sis.”
Sis … Don’t cry.
“Sit.” She jerks her head toward the empty spot on the sofa next to the Hulk.
Sherri and Scott chat with my mom about the Alaskan cruise they have planned for their anniversary next summer. Sophie and Chloe flip through the channels on the TV. I make the uncomfortable journey to the sofa and ease onto it, leaning toward the arm so my body doesn’t touch Griffin’s.
He taps his spoon against his empty bowl, releasing what I know are nerves or built up anger over our argument and probably the birthday text too. Sherri frowns, leaning forward and taking the bowl from him, setting it next to hers on the coffee table while rolling her eyes at him.
“Scoot over.” Sophie kicks her feet at Griffin as she tries to sprawl out on the other side of him.
He scoots toward me, forcing our bodies to touch. I stiffen, hugging my arms to myself. My mom’s brow wrinkles as she observes us, probably not paying any attention to Sherri and Scott’s verbal itinerary.
I have to either surrender with the yes-we’re-fighting-I’ll-tell-you-about-it-later look or I need to make a move that says we’re fine. But I can’t deal with another second of her scrutiny. Just as I decide to give her the look, Sherri glances at me as if she realizes my mom is distracted by something.
I’m not prepared to give Sherri that look, even if I think she’d understand, so I swallow every last bit of my stupid pride and ease my head against Griffin’s shoulder. If it looks half as awkward as it feels, I’m screwed.
He tenses. I guess he’s not in the mood to play along. Mom flinches, seeing the obvious rejection he’s giving me, but the gesture seems to be enough for Sherri to offer me a warm smile before returning her attention to Scott. Griffin’s hands remain folded in his lap. I feel like a fly on the backside of a horse. Any minute he could whip his tail and shoo me away.
My mom shoots a sympathetic look that I don’t need and returns her attention to Sherri as if to let me off the hook. I lift my head from his shoulder, releasing a slow breath while fiddling with my engagement ring, turning it in circles. Maybe I should slip it off, hand it to him, and leave.
What if he asked me if I still wanted to marry him because deep down he’s asking himself if he still wants to marry me? What if he wants me to go first, giving him an easy out?
“Have you two made honeymoon plans yet?” Sherri asks.
I gulp down a large pool of saliva.
Griffin fists his hand to his mouth, coughing while shaking his head several times. Nice response.
No.
No honeymoon plans.
There has to be a wedding first.
“Well, don’t wait too long. The earlier you book, the better deal you’ll get. Like your dad and I got a great deal on our trip to Alaska.”
Griffin nods. I’m not sure if he’s smiling at all. I refuse to turn my head that far to see his whole face.
Sherri gives us a twisted smile. “You two look bored. Go. I’m sure you have things you’d rather be doing.” She gives us a suggestive wink.
I look for that pathetic excuse of a smile again.
“Thanks for dinner, Mom.” Griffin stands, leaving me to sink back into the corner of the old sofa. “Goodnight, Krista.”
Bravo. He’s playing the part. But am I supposed to go with him? I stand. All of my stuff is at his house. I have nowhere else to go, but I’m sure my mom would take me in.
“Yes, thank you for dinner. It was really good.” I hug Sherri and Scott.
My mom stands, waiting for her hug. “Call me. I’m here for you, sweetie,” she whispers in my ear when we embrace.
I nod since words are trapped behind the ball of emotion lodged in my throat. They all wish me a final happy birthday as I slip on my coat and follow Griffin out the front door.
Yep. Happy birthday to me.
“I want to marry you, you stupid grocery store guy.” I stand a few feet from the front of his truck.
He stops at his door with his back to me.
“But I don’t have to. It won’t change my love for you. So maybe you find a girl who isn’t so fucked-up in the head. I’ll still love you. Maybe you marry her and have three wonderful children. I’ll still love you. If you no longer want to marry me … I’ll still love you. I’ll still love your family. I’ll still love the memories of who we were and the dream of what could have been. And I’ll wish you nothing but utter bliss and the most beautiful happiness because …”
Because you deserve something better than who I am at this point in my life—a lost soul sharing space with memories from another time.
“Get in,” he says, opening his door.
On a defeated sigh, my shoulders slump as I climb into his truck.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dr. Albright’s office is filled with three solid walls of books and one wall with a small window. It’s the same size office as Nate’s office, but it feels half the size because she’s clearly a collector. So many books.
“Please have a seat, Swayze.” She smiles.
My gaze drifts from the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and lands on her pale face that holds a pleasant, comforting smile. I ease into the chair.
“Tea?” She pours water into a teacup.
“No, thank you.” I return a smile as sweet as the two packets of sugar she adds to her tea. “My boss works here at the university.” I want to know if she
knows Nate or if her book in his nightstand is just a coincidence.
“Is that so?” She keeps her gaze on the spoon and teacup.
“Nathaniel Hunt.”
Dr. Albright nods. “He was a student of mine.”
I wait for her to elaborate. She doesn’t.
“Dr. Greyson sent me your files. I’ve read through his notes, but they’re rubbish. I want you to tell me about … you.” She looks up, grinning while bringing the teacup to her lips.
“I won’t ease into this because I don’t think I have to with you.”
She sets her teacup down, giving me her full attention.
“I’m pretty certain I’m the reincarnation of Nathaniel Hunt’s childhood friend who was murdered.”
Dr. Albright’s brows shoot up her forehead. “Murdered?”
I nod. “He doesn’t know this. No one does except my boyfriend—fiancé.” It’s sad I don’t know what Griffin is at the moment. We’ve spoken a handful of words since the ride home on my birthday. An ocean could fit between us in bed, but in the middle of the night his arms find their way around me. By the time I wake up, his arms are gone and so is he.
She nods. “Go on.”
I tell her everything, starting with the day I saw Nate in Dr. Greyson’s office. I tell her about the book of hers I found in Nate’s nightstand. I tell her about Doug Mann and Erica. I tell her about the first time the visions in my head were from Daisy’s point of view without Nate—the memories of her death. My death?
She listens without interrupting or showing any emotion beyond a few nods. No smiles. No flinching. No frowns.
My hand rubs over my front pocket a few times. I want her help, and I’m willing to give her anything to get it, so I slip the photo of Nate out of my pocket. It’s bowed from spending so much time molded to my body.
“I took this from Nate.” I slide it on her desk.
Her lips pull into a soft smile. “That’s the student I remember. He’s always been incredibly handsome. The hair …” She glances up.
I nod. The hair. Nate has the most beautiful hair. Those curls beg for a woman’s fingers to—
“You’re blushing.”
My head jerks up from the photo on the desk to meet her bright eyes.
