by Nia Arthurs
“Zora…” I say quietly.
“What?” She glares at me. “You would have told her behind my back anyway. I just beat you to it.”
I stiffen. “You know that’s not true.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway.” She waves. “It happened. It’s over. Whatever.”
“I’m so sorry,” Diandra says quietly.
“Nothing to be sorry about. It was just a sack of cells, right.” She swallows and her eyes turn glassy. “Right?”
Diandra and I say nothing.
Zora sips her wine and mumbles, “What a lame party.”
“Where’s the father now?” Diandra asks.
She shrugs. “Don’t know. When I told Keanu I was pregnant, he started acting weird. Sneaky. Secretive. He stuck around for the procedure, but I knew something was up.”
When Zora starts to sniffle, Diandra rubs her back. “It’s okay. Take your time.”
“I’m fine.” Zora wrenches her shoulder so Diandra drops her hand. “I found out Keanu was cheating on me. But at least he was man enough to admit it to my face. He said she ‘made him happy’ and asked for a break.”
“Is that when you told him to jump off a cliff?” Diandra asks, trying to get Zora to laugh.
She doesn’t.
“I begged him to stay,” she whispers, staring into the distance like Keanu is in front of her now. “He said that girl was only going to be in Belize for vacation. When she left, maybe we could work on us.”
Diandra and I exchange horrified looks. I knew about Zora’s pregnancy because I recognized the signs and, when I confronted her, she admitted to it.
A few weeks later, I checked up on her and she exploded, inadvertently confessing to what she’d done. This part? The emotional toll Keanu had taken on her heart, that I hadn’t been privy to.
A tear streaks out of the corner of her eye. It moves slowly. Languorously. As if it had to fight to be free and is now too tired to even slide another inch.
“I waited for him, but Keanu never came back,” Zora whispers. Her voice is even despite her obvious pain. “And that’s the end of that.”
“Well, he’s a jerk,” Diandra spits.
“I hope someone, someday makes him feel the pain he inflicted on you.” I nod in agreement.
Zora’s chuckle is strained but genuine. “I appreciate that.”
Zora goes quiet and Diandra seems at a loss for what to say. To keep things from getting awkward, I suggest a movie.
We spend the rest of the night talking, watching rom-coms and pretending our scars don’t exist.
Chapter Nineteen
Kent
“Morning, sleepy head.”
I crack my eyes open and find Wilson staring at me from the other bed. He’s chewing a piece of fried jack dipped in refried beans and layered in a slice of soft cheese. A crumb from the fried jack is caught in his beard.
I feel an ache in my head that increases when I push myself to a sitting position. “Why are you in such a good mood this early in the morning?”
“One hundred grand.”
I freeze. “What?”
“We just won a bid to design a series of apps for a huge multinational company. You have no idea what I’m talking about, but it’s a deal we’ve been working on for weeks.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” He beams. “You want some breakfast?”
“Not hungry.”
Wilson frowns. “Sorry. Did that sound like a question? I meant… I ordered breakfast. You should eat.”
I glance around the room and notice the Belizean knickknacks spread around. There’s a BELIZE sign postcard blown up on the wall and a Belize brochure on the nightstand near my bed.
I’m either in Belize or the person who decorated this room wishes they were.
Someone—probably Wilson—threw back the curtains in front of the sliding doors. We have a gorgeous view of the Caribbean Sea, the poolside’s waving coconut trees and the expanse of the clear blue sky.
It feels like I’m in a different universe altogether. I’m pretty sure that, even if I had my memory, I would never get used to the gorgeous sights in Belize. This place continues to take my breath away.
“What time is it?” I ask.
Wilson glances at the watch around his wrist. “Around seven. Why?”
I shake my head and rub my temple. “You got any pain reliever pills?”
“Why?” Wilson stares at me and drops his food back in the plate. “You have headaches again?”
I hate to admit it, but I nod.
He scrambles out of bed and pulls a kit from his bag. I have no idea why Wilson is traveling with a medical kit, but he springs it open and slides a pack of pills over to me. “You’ll need to eat something with it first.”
“No thanks.” I pop one dry and then swallow it. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
“Kent, you should eat first.”
“Later.” I brush him off and slide out of bed. My steps are heavy and so is my heart. Anxiety weighs on my shoulders, but I don’t know why.
Did something bad happen yesterday?
I tear my shirt off and prepare to turn on the faucet when my reflection in the mirror catches my eye. I wheel back around and step closer to the glass.
On my chest, right above my heart, are three words.
DON’T TRUST WILSON
I slip my hand over my chest as if doing so will erase what those words mean. My heart thuds against my fingertips. I pry one finger away and peek at the phrase.
What does it mean? Is it some prank?
I doubt that. Wilson wouldn’t write on my chest just to get under my skin. It’s not his style.
But I want to believe that, because if I don’t it means I wrote it. And if I wrote it, that means my cousin, my brother, and my closest friend hurt me so bad that I couldn’t let my amnesia write it off.
“No, there’s got to be some other reason,” I mumble to my reflection.
I wish I could meet the ‘me’ from yesterday. Ask him what he was thinking writing nonsense like that. Maybe slap him around a bit.
Since I have no way of building a time machine, I take a shower and then jump out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to search for some answers.
When I emerge, Wilson has a tray of breakfast near my bed. There’s a platter of tropical fruits—mangos, papayas, bananas and pineapples cut up in pieces in a bowl. A large plate of scrambled eggs, beans and two thick fried jacks wait beside it.
I feel full just looking at all that.
Wilson grins, his white teeth flashing above his black beard. “There you go. You don’t have to thank me.”
I sit gingerly and clear my throat. “When did you get here?”
“To Belize? A few days ago.” He studies me. “Go ahead and read your journal while you eat. I’ll take a shower.”
As he waddles off, I grab a fried jack to shove in my mouth so Wilson doesn’t harp on me about skipping meals and grab my journals. It takes ten solid minutes to reacquaint myself with the details of the past week and a half.
Amaya.
The name invokes a beautiful face. A memory. One with a woman eating ice cream and laughing at me.
I freeze and then flip through the pages of my journal. This is my second memory of Amaya. Why is she the only one I can remember?
Insane.
Amaya’s my only ‘huge’ discovery. There’s not a mention of Wilson’s misdeeds in any of the entries. There also aren’t any new signs of tampering apart from the previously noted torn pages.
I check my B-Jogger app next. Nothing in there either.
At that moment, my phone lights up with a call. I stare at the name parading across the screen—STRANGE WOMAN WHO MAKES MY HEART RACE.
“Who is this? Amaya?”
I answer.
Her sweet voice fills my ear. “Hey, Kent. It’s Amaya. Remember me?”
“Yes.” I mean that. Her voice sounds familiar and she’s one of the main cha
racters in my journal. Paired with the two memories that are stuck in my head, I think I know her better than anyone I’ve met in the past three years.
“What are you doing today? Have time to go on a date with me?”
“A date?”
“Yup. I’m asking you out. Again. You probably don’t remember the last time though. What do you say?”
“Uh… sure.”
“Great. I’ll meet you in the lobby in an hour. Okay?”
“Wait, where are we—” I hear a click—“going?”
“That Amaya?” Wilson asks. I glance up in surprise and find him standing in the bathroom doorway. He’s half dressed in a pair of pants and no shirt.
“Yeah.”
“Looks like you’ve bagged yourself a keeper.”
“Guess so.”
Wilson sits on the edge of my bed with that stupid grin he used to wear when he and Violet were dating and he had something particularly interesting to tell me about their relationship. “How was it last night?”
“How was what?”
“You know?” He wiggles his eyebrows and thrusts his hips. “You and Amaya?”
“That’s none of your business.”
He laughs at me. “You don’t remember, do you?”
“I…” My mouth is open but no sound comes out. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Since you were busy, I took the liberty of recording yesterday’s events for you.” He slips a sheet of paper in my hands. “I’m glad I could help you and Amaya, even though you don’t remember what you did all night.”
I smirk at him. “I remember the texts you sent all night.”
He squirms. “I was hoping you hadn’t seen that.”
“It’s on my phone. It’ll be there forever.”
“Guess I’ll just have to delete it,” Wilson jokes. He’s teasing, but the dread that spins through my body almost chokes me.
I clutch my chest. Stare at my fingers. I’m standing on the cusp of a memory, it’s dangling just beyond my reach. If I stretch a little farther…
Wilson clamps a hand on my shoulder. “Kent, you okay?”
The impression of a memory disappears and I’m left feeling disoriented and slightly confused. “Yeah.”
“You scared me.”
“I just… lost my train of thought for a minute. What were you saying?”
“Nothing important. Get ready for your date. I’ll stay in and try to get some work done before I fly out tomorrow.”
“You’re leaving?”
He nods. “I need to finalize some paper work for this project, but I’ll be back soon.”
Though I try to shake the unease I felt when Wilson joked about deleting my text, it won’t go away. I’m stuck in a loop of doubts and apprehension.
I drag myself to the lobby, debating whether I should cancel on Amaya since I’m too miserable to be good company today.
All thoughts of flaking speed out of my mind when my gaze lands on her.
She’s standing near the door, her creamy brown shoulders and neck exposed in a soft blue halter-top dress. It’s simple, sophisticated and yet daring. Just like her.
Amaya’s curly hair is loose around her cheeks and held back with a thick flower-patterned bandana. My stomach twists into knots at the sight of her.
How did a guy like me ever get on Amaya’s radar?
Her eyes find mine and a current of electricity blazes to life between us, intensifying as I walk toward her. My heart squeezes painfully.
Her lips curve up in a hint of a smile.
That’s it. I am completely undone by this woman.
“Hey,” she says, “you look nice.”
I glance at my own jeans and T-shirt before giving her a once-over. “You look amazing. Am I underdressed?”
“You’re perfect.” She reaches over and kisses my cheek. Her lips are soft and I get the feeling she’s done that before. “Shall we?”
I take her hand because it feels natural to do so. Our fingers mesh perfectly. “Where are we going?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t have a destination in mind. I just wanted to be with you.”
My cheeks bunch as an unwitting smile blooms. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Is it working?” She winks.
“It is.”
She swings my hands as we walk toward the park. The sun blasts the top of our heads as we stroll, but the wind blows from the sea and cools us down.
We talk for hours, but it feels like minutes.
We’re on our fifth lap around the park when Amaya grips my wrist and cranes her neck to look up at my face. “Kent,” she cups my cheek, “you’re getting so red.”
“Am I?”
“Let’s get out of the sun.”
“Wait.” I resist her when she tries to drag me to one of the small cabanas topped with a thatch roof. I point to one of the huts around the park. “I’ll get a hat.”
Amaya follows me to the vendor and grabs a hat that says ‘YOU BETTA BELIZE IT’ emblazoned on the front.
I take it from her. “That would be great if it wasn’t so pink.”
“Come on.” She puts the hat on my head. “I think it looks cute.”
“Oh, you do?”
Amaya grins when I lean down and kiss her. We keep it short since we’re in public, but the affection earns us a side-eye from the dark-skinned woman behind the counter.
I try not to assume that her stare is because I’m white and Amaya is black. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t like PDA in general.
Amaya and I try to keep our hands to ourselves as we peruse the rest of the caps in the store and head back out into the park.
As soon as we’re outside, Amaya frowns. “You think we should go back in there and make out? See what she does?”
“No, of course not.”
She laughs. “It was just a joke, Kent.” Amaya rises on the tips of her toes and taps my hat. I went with a black one featuring a cartoon toucan. “Have you ever dated outside of your race before?”
“No.” I stroll beside her. “You?”
“No. But I’m glad I did.”
“So am I.”
Her smile warms me up from the inside. It’s a perfect day and I’m with a near perfect woman, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t concentrate on Amaya.
Everywhere I turn, I see those words: DON’T TRUST WILSON.
What did my best friend do to warrant that warning?
Chapter Twenty
Amaya
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Kent says quickly. Too quickly.
I don’t buy it. “You’ve been distracted since we got here. Is something going on?”
We stop in front of the cabanas facing the Caribbean Sea. The water thrashes against the concrete borders that the mayor built last year. A pier juts into the sea and a small bar hovers above the waves.
When we settle on the wooden stools crowding the table, I lean forward. “Kent, is this about the hat vendor?”
I noticed the woman’s scornful gaze after Kent and I kissed. It was easy for me to brush it off since other people’s opinions have never been a huge factor in my life. Maybe Kent is different.
“No.”
“Well…?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Hey.” I press a hand to my chest. “It’s me. Amaya. You can trust me.”
“Can I? You manipulated me too.”
“I…” There really aren’t enough apologies in the world to make up for what I did to Kent. “You’re right. I did.” Guilt floods me and I stare at the bench, struggling to hide the heaviness in my gut.
“No, that’s not—Amaya, I’m not blaming you for anything.” Kent runs his fingers through his hair.
Man, he’s really torn up. “You’re scaring me, Kent. What’s going on?”
He lets out a deep breath. “This morning, I found a warning written on my chest.” His green eyes meet mine. They’re brimming with distress. “I
t told me not to trust Wilson.”
My jaw falls. “As in your cousin? The guy who flew all the way to Belize just to protect you? That guy?”
He nods.
“I don’t… understand. Why would Wilson hurt you?”
“I have no idea. There’s no record of anything suspicious in my journals or in the B-Jogger app.”
“What’s a B-Jogger app?” I ask.
“It’s an app on my phone that helps me record conversations or write notes.”
“I thought you wrote in your journals.”
“When I’m out and I need to remember something, the app is more convenient. Plus, I only write important details in my journals. The app records everything else.”
“So you searched through the app and didn’t find anything incriminating?”
“That’s right. All I have are the words I wrote on my chest and a feeling that I shouldn’t ignore the warning.”
I rub my forehead. “Are you sure it’s Wilson? Maybe you misspelled someone else’s name.”
“Amaya.”
“Okay, you’re right. That’s a stretch.” I clench my fingers into fists. “It’s just upsetting to me that Wilson would betray your trust. I mean, I understand a stranger, but he’s family. Why would he do anything to hurt you?”
“Because it’s me. Because I am family. And worse, I have a condition that would allow him to get away with it. Even if he’s caught today, I’d forget tomorrow.”
Kent’s words clash with my impression of Wilson. He seems so devoted to Kent. It reminds me of the way I am with Tyron. There’s nothing we wouldn’t do for our brothers.
Nothing.
“Fine,” I challenge. “Let’s say you’re right and Wilson is guilty of this mysterious warning. What would his motivation be?”
“I don’t know. The company, maybe?”
“What exactly is your company worth?”
“I’m not sure, but we just got a deal for a hundred.”
“Thousand?” My jaw drops. “Is making apps that hard?”
