by Jewel E. Ann
“It or him?”
Of course he thinks this is about Nate, there’s a photo on the ground that flashes Nate’s name in neon lights. But it’s not about him.
“Her. It’s about Morgan Daisy Gallagher. I can’t let this go until I know who I’m letting go of.”
Griffin turns, grinding the wadded photo under his boot. “Me,” he murmurs, walking away. “You’re letting go of me.” He raises the garage door, slips on his jacket and helmet, and rides off without another glance in my direction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Griffin
I found the photo when I ran home over the lunch hour. Maybe there’s a reason I wasn’t looking for love the day I met Swayze. Love like this is a fucking miserable emotion.
The photo of Professor Hunt isn’t from their childhood. It’s a photo of a shirtless, virile Nate in his twenties, close to my age, I’d guess.
Did he give it to her? Or did she take it?
I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I’m losing her and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Love like this is a fucking miserable emotion.
“Hey.” My mom looks up from wiping the kitchen counter. She gives me a sad smile.
I shrug off my jacket and return the same solemn expression. “Hey.”
“You’re back. Does this mean it didn’t go well?”
After I found the photo, I debated tracking down Professor Hunt and beating him until his last breath. Instead, I came here. My parents have a way of diffusing my anger.
“Something like that.”
“Where’s Swayze?” Mom asks just as my dad comes down the stairs.
He gives me the same look, easing into the kitchen chair next to me.
I glance back at my mom as she tosses the rag in the sink and leans her back against the counter. “I assume she’s at home. After I confronted her, I just left. I didn’t know what else to say.”
“I called Krista after you left earlier. Come to find out, she and Swayze had a heart-to-heart about this. Krista knows about the photo too. I could tell her heart’s really breaking for Swayze.”
I blow a quick breath out my nose, shaking my head. “Jesus! My heart’s breaking for her too. But I can’t save her if she doesn’t want to be saved. I can’t make her want a future with me if she doesn’t even know who she is. There’s no way I can compete with this. She said it herself. This is bigger than all of us. But I wasn’t part of that life. He was. I don’t have answers for her. He does.”
Resting my elbow on the table, I close my eyes and massage the tension from my brow.
Mom hugs me from behind. “She loves you. Krista said it. I’m saying it. We all see it.”
I grunt a laugh. “I know she loves me. If I didn’t believe it, I’d just leave. But I’m not. I’m making my case, but I can’t leave things how they are and wait for them to get worse. If she does this hypnosis and things get worse, it’s not going to be my shoulder that she wants to cry on. The emotions will be Daisy’s. And we know I’m not the love of Daisy’s life.”
With a kiss to my ear, my mom releases me and sits opposite of my dad. “We love Swayze like a daughter. But you are our son. You come first. Don’t give more than you have to give. If she’s going to fall, and you can’t save her, then get out of the way before she takes you down with her.”
“I hate this,” I whisper, keeping my eyes closed to keep the emotions in check.
*
It’s cold as fuck as I ride around for another hour on my bike. I welcome the numbness—if it would only hurry up and wrap around that miserable blood-pumping organ in my chest. Swayze hasn’t tried to call or text me. Maybe I should be thankful that she’s giving me space, but part of me wonders if she’s too far gone to save what we have left.
The back door and wood floor both creak to announce my arrival. Everything in this house creaks when the temperatures fall.
“Hey.” Swayze whips her ponytail around and tugs out her earbuds, eyeing me over her shoulder from her hands and knees on the kitchen floor. “Slip your boots off on the rug. I’m just about done scrubbing the floor.”
She doesn’t scrub floors.
I bend over and untie the laces to my boots while she goes to town on the last corner of the floor by the lazy Susan.
“Why are you scrubbing the floor?” It’s as though I’m watching a video of her in fast forward.
She stands, wipes the sweat from her brow, and sighs. “It gets dirty quickly this time of year.”
“Yes. But why are you scrubbing the floor?” I slip off my boots.
Tossing her phone and headphones onto the counter, she washes the sponge. “I’m just trying to stay busy.”
“It’s nearly ten o’clock.”
She grabs a wad of paper towels and dries her hands, lifting her shoulders. “My mind won’t shut off yet, so I find listening to music I hate mixed with chores I hate to be both physically and mentally taxing. Do you need to use the bathroom? I’m cleaning it next. Maybe that will be the tipping point for my exhaustion.”
“When did you start having trouble sleeping?”
“Since I decided to do whatever it takes to keep my fiancé from leaving me.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Swayz, I don’t want to leave you. I want to take you.”
“This makes no sense!” She balls her fists. “We’re planning a wedding and you want to up and move? How’s that going to work? Are we sneaking back in town to tie the knot? Is our family going to come to us instead? Are-are-are—”
“Stop!”
She winces.
With my hands planted on my hips, I lean forward. “I found a picture of a half-naked guy in the pocket of your jeans.”
She bites her lips together. Even from this distance, I know it’s to keep her emotions in check. It doesn’t hide the slight quiver of her chin. “That’s just it. I forgot your birthday and you locked me out of your house. You found a photo of Nate in my pocket … but I’m still here. I don’t understand.”
“I overreacted with my birthday.”
“Why?”
Rubbing my forehead, I chuckle. “Because I was excited about asking you to move in with me. Because you caught me completely off guard. Because I was having a moment.” I hold my hands out. “I don’t know, Swayz, because I’m fucking human. You put me on this pedestal, and I’m never going to live up to what’s in your head. Sometimes I’m going to be short-tempered and unreasonable. But I’m not going to carry around some fucking picture of another girl!”
She flinches.
Again, I’m showing her my imperfections. I’m showing her my love disguised as jealousy and my pain disguised as anger.
She rubs her lips together, focusing on the floor between us. “I’m sorry.”
I know she is. But it’s not what I need to hear.
“Do you want to know the places Jett can find me a new job?”
Her head shakes, but she doesn’t look at me. Grabbing the bucket of cleaning supplies, she keeps her gaze on her feet all the way to the bathroom.
The door clicks.
“Fuck you, Morgan Daisy Gallagher,” I whisper.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“You’re still here.” I rub my eyes and yawn as I pour a cup of coffee that my non-coffee drinker fiancé made for me.
I don’t deserve him. But I want him.
“It’s snowing pretty good out today. I’ll drive you to work and pick you up.” He rinses out his smoothie glass in the sink.
I don’t deserve him. But I want him.
“Thank you.” I take a sip of coffee, eyeing him over the steam. I missed those arms around me last night. As much as we want to believe that beneath the sheets our physical connection can right all wrongs in the world, it can’t.
My heart waited half the night in my throat, desperate for his touch. It didn’t have to be sex. A kiss. A brush of his hand against mine. Anything to give me the tiniest bit of reassurance that we would be okay.
&n
bsp; Nothing.
Griffin turns, catching me gazing at him longingly. I take one more sip of coffee and set it on the counter. “I’ll grab my socks so we can go. I don’t want you to be late to work.”
His lips pull into a smile. A barely-detectable one. It’s the kind of smile a stranger on the street might give me if we happened to make brief eye contact.
Is that what we are now? Strangers?
Does Griffin look at me and wonder who I am? The girl he met in the grocery store would follow him absolutely anywhere. That girl would never carry a photo of some other guy in her pocket.
I don’t deserve him. But I want him.
He glances at his watch.
I take the hint and hustle to grab my socks. Griff looks like all kinds of sexy waiting for me at the door with his jacket on and a black beanie on his head.
“Okay.” I sling my bag over my shoulder.
He takes my hand and it nearly stops my heart. “I shoveled the drive, but it’s still slick.”
We step outside and I squeeze his hand, not because it’s slick. I squeeze it because I don’t want to let go. Because I’m dying inside. Because it’s how my heart feels.
Suffocated.
Strangled.
Desperate.
There’s nothing I can do to make this pain go away—to make her go away. So I watch the snow fall as cars creep along the white streets and listen to the radio, filling the awkward space between us. He pulls into Nate’s driveway that’s been cleared as well.
I unfasten my seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride.”
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gets out, comes around, and opens my door. And I fall in love with him even more than I thought was possible. Griffin doesn’t send me a dozen roses on my birthday. He hands me a single petal every day. Sometimes it’s a look. Sometimes it’s a whisper. And sometimes it’s opening my door, helping me out, and holding my hand all the way to the top of the steps.
“Five?” Griffin releases my hand and slips his hands in the pockets of his coat.
“Five.” I lift my shoulders to my ears to block the wind.
He nods, turns, and walks down the steps.
“Griff?”
He turns.
I drop my bag by the front door, make my way down the four steps, and throw my arms around his neck. “You’re my favorite person in the whole world. My love … my friend … my grocery store guy.” I bury my face into the warmth of his neck. “Know that. Always know that.”
He doesn’t hug me back. And that’s okay. He’s dropping me off on the doorstep of the man whose picture he found in my pocket. This is on me. All of it. He’s mine to love or mine to lose.
Without meeting his gaze—because I know it would break me—I pull away and run up the stairs, grabbing my bag before disappearing behind the front door. Leaning my back against it, I try to calm my breath, holding back the tears.
“I’m glad to see you got a ride,” Nate calls from the kitchen.
I slip off my coat and boots.
“Good morning. How were the roads?” he asks.
I smile at little Miss Morgan working the sloth crawl. “Typical early winter snow. Slick. And riddled with drivers sliding into each other. It’s Wisconsin, not Texas. How do people forget their winter driving skills so easily?”
Nate hands me a cup of coffee. “Eight more inches expected later today. It’s going to make for a fun commute home.”
“Thanks.” I take a sip. “Good thing I have a driver today.”
“Good man.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “I don’t think you’d say that if you knew what the last twelve hours have been like for me.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” Setting the mug on the counter, I turn my attention to Morgan. She grins when I get down on the floor with her, tempting her with a toy. When I start to speak, my voice cracks. It’s raw. Very raw. Clearing my throat, I start again like I’m reporting the news instead of sharing my anguish. “Griffin wants me to quit and move away with him.”
After a few seconds of silence, I look over my shoulder. Maybe Nate didn’t hear me. His brows are drawn so tightly they look like one instead of two.
He heard me.
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
Nate nods once. “So are you giving me your notice?”
I turn back to Morgan, pivoting her the other way so she doesn’t get frustrated with her head hitting the sofa since her crawl doesn’t involve a reverse mode yet. “I don’t know. I don’t want to move. But …”
“Is it his job?”
“He doesn’t want me to pursue anymore with Dr. Albright. The hypnosis.”
“So don’t. But why does that mean you have to move?”
“Don’t? I have this person inside of me, and I don’t know her. She’s the key to putting a murderer behind bars.” I stand, picking up Morgan and bouncing her as she starts to fuss. “This isn’t like returning something to the store. Moving isn’t going to erase Daisy from my head.”
“Is that truly what he thinks?”
Glancing out the window, I blow out a slow breath. “He found the picture of you in the pocket of my jeans.” When I return my gaze to Nate, his eyebrows shoot up his forehead.
“Swayze …”
“I shouldn’t have taken it. I shouldn’t have carried it around in my pocket. A million different I shouldn’t haves, but I can’t change what’s happened. It’s just not fair of him to ask me to quit my job and leave my family because he doesn’t …” I bite back my words, with a wrinkle of pain on my face.
“He doesn’t want you near me.” Nate rubs his lips together, nodding slowly.
“I know. It’s ridiculous. And—”
“It’s not.” Sadness crinkles the corners of his eyes as they narrow a bit.
“What do you mean?”
He scoffs. “Swayze, you had a picture of another man in your pocket. Not a ninety-nine cent baseball card of your favorite player. How did you expect him to react?”
“So you think this ultimatum he’s giving me is justified?”
“Ultimatum?” He hands me Morgan’s bottle as she starts to fuss some more.
I sit in the chair and give it to her. “Yes. He didn’t suggest I quit and we move. He told me he’s leaving with or without me the first of the year.”
“Then go.”
My jaw unhinges. “W-what are you talking about? What about Morgan? What about Doug Mann? Daisy? My mom? His family?”
“What about you?” He hikes his bag onto his shoulder. “Do you love him? Is he the one?”
Tears prick my eyes. I blink them away. “You’re defending him.”
Nate frowns, walking toward the chair. He kisses Morgan on the head. And then he kisses me on the head. I hate that I want him to do it. I hate that it feels so natural and expected. “Maybe I am.” He stands straight.
“Why?”
With a soft chuckle, he scratches the stubble on his chin and jaw. “If I were Griffin’s age … never mind his age. Hell, at my age, if I had a fiancée and I found a photo of another guy in her pocket, I’d hunt him down and knock his head straight off his body.”
“You would not.”
He quirks a brow. “Now that’s the young naive Swayze talking. The one who doesn’t really know me. Give it a second. Once you start thinking like Daisy, you’ll know I’m one hundred percent truthful.” He shrugs. “Proud? No. I’m old enough to know that violence doesn’t solve anything, but I’m not too old to remember what it feels like to want the girl beyond all reason.”
I search for the right response, but there isn’t one, so I blink at him over and over.
“I have to get to work. Stay warm.”
More blinks.
“Nate?” I say just as he opens the door. “So you want me to leave?”
“Hell no. I’m still the boy who wants the girl beyond all reason.”
The door clicks shut.
Thirty minutes late
r, I get a text.
Professor: Stop holding your breath. I want my ‘friend.’ That’s all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Last week Griffin gave me an ultimatum. Move away or lose him. We’ve been coexisting in near silence since then. I have less than a month decide to stay or go.”
Dr. Albright offers a sympathetic smile, but I don’t sense an ounce of surprise.
“I want him, but I don’t want to leave. I mean … he said he believes me. He believes that I was Daisy and he can accept that.”
She listens, giving me a slow nod.
“But he’s worried about Nate. Daisy’s feelings for him. My feelings for his daughter. And ….”
Dr. Albright continues to offer a receptive smile. I love her patience with me. It’s not tick-tock time’s almost up. She looks at me like she gets me.
Of course she does.
“Go on. Take your time.”
Yeah. This is the grueling part. I know how much it hurts me, and I can only imagine it’s multiplied by a million for Griffin. “He found the picture of Nate. It was in the pocket of my jeans.”
“That must have been hard. Painful.”
I nod, blinking back the tears. “The need to know, to feel this other life has made me reckless. I’m making bad decisions, but they don’t feel like mine. And just saying that aloud makes me feel certifiably insane. No one gets acquitted for murder because the voice in their head was from another life. At best they end up in a mental hospital until they slit their wrists with a sharpened chicken bone.”
I laugh. It’s not funny, but I need to save myself. “I bet they only serve boneless cuts of meat in psychiatric hospitals. Huh?”
Dr. Albright smiles. It’s big. Not the contained humor of Dr. Greyson. “I don’t have all the answers. And I won’t pretend that I do. I wrote those books as a means of therapy. I wrote them, too, so maybe other lost souls wouldn’t feel so alone. Sometimes the memories make you feel empowered. Sometimes they feel like your demise.”
She sips her tea and holds up a finger. “Remember … this is a new journey for you. A journey full of choices. Acknowledging your past life is a choice. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it is. Not everyone gets the opportunity to make that choice. If you need to know, then you need to know. Don’t feel guilty for that.”
