I opened my eyes and the images were gone. I had no idea if they were real, but my eyes stung with unshed tears, and I felt as if I’d lost something precious.
Were they dreams? Something I had experienced? The windows reminded me of the ones that lined the walls of Adam’s loft…Had I been there with him?
I shivered, my entire body feeling cold. I needed to warm up. Standing, I pulled open my dresser drawer, searching for some thick socks to put on my feet. I only found some cotton ones, which offered no comfort.
My glance fell onto the box sitting on the floor. My mother had brought my things to Calgary, but had missed this one, and I planned to take it with me when I left. It was labeled clothes, and I wondered if perhaps there was a pair of thicker socks inside. Deciding it was worth a shot, I sat down on the floor and pulled it close, opening the lid and looking inside. I was rewarded instantly when I saw small piles of brightly colored wool. I slipped a pair on my feet, wiggling my toes in gratitude at the immediate warmth. Wanting to occupy my mind and hands, I decided to go through the contents. I dug through the rest of the box, creating piles around me. More socks, some pajamas, a couple of sweaters, a few trinkets, and books were wrapped in paper. I pulled out two T-shirts, holding them up and frowning. They were huge. Maybe they were Bradley’s. He probably stayed the night, so it would make sense. I rubbed the material of the gray one between my fingers. It was soft from being laundered so often, the seams showing wear, and the material pulling away around the neckline.
The ghost of a loving, playful voice resonated in my brain.
“You ever gonna give me back that shirt, Ally? I might want to wear it myself one day.”
I shook my head. Bradley never called me Ally.
The only person who ever called me that was Adam.
I must be getting things mixed up in my head again. That had been happening a lot lately. The neurologist I had been seeing in Calgary told me it was normal to be confused at times. Bits and pieces of memories sometimes blended together. I had to work at separating them. The doctor had been kind, when he informed me I needed to keep trying to recover the missing months, but there was a chance I never would. “Nothing is for certain,” he told me with a small smile. “The brain is a mystery we have not yet solved.”
I lifted the shirt to my nose and inhaled. It was faint, but I could smell something familiar—a scent that wrapped around my heart and made my eyes sting. It was warm and woodsy—like fresh-cut grass and sunshine. I inhaled again. It smelled like home.
It didn’t smell like Bradley. His cologne was strong and musky. I never told him, but at times it made my nose tingle and I had to repress a sneeze or two when he was too close.
I rubbed my temples, feeling a strong headache coming on.
Maybe he had changed cologne. I was missing months of my memory. Perhaps at some point he had changed the brand he wore.
I pulled out another worn shirt, one I recognized as my favorite shirt to sleep in. It had been my dad’s, and I’d kept it all these years. I lifted it up, startled when a small box fell out of the rolled material.
I picked up the wooden box, turning it over in my hands. It was heavily carved and as I rotated it, I heard small thumps as the contents inside moved. Reaching behind me, I turned on another light and studied the box. A beautiful bird was carved on the lid, sitting on the branch of a tree, the image familiar. My heart started pounding as I realized it was the same image as Adam wore on his chest. The one he said was for me. I looked down at the box again, my hands shaking as I stared. The wood gleamed in the light, the hinges glinting on the back. I lifted the lid and pulled out a necklace. On the end of a set of heavy silver links hung another bird, its wings spread out, a small jewel embedded on its breast. My hand shook as I held it up to the light, the feeling it invoked in me overwhelming. A sapphire glittered in the light—vibrant blue—and again I heard the ghost of a whisper.
“Your eyes fascinate me, Ally. So blue and deep. I love how they look at me.”
I looked inside the box, seeing another smaller case was tucked in the corner, the dull gold and lacquer gleaming. I ran my finger over the painting on the lid. It was the same bird as the larger wooden box. Opening the lid, I found another necklace. This one was a flat disk, the bird motif etched out of the silver. I laid the necklaces out on the floor. They were beautiful and unique, and like the boxes, the craftsmanship undeniable.
Why did I have them rolled up in my dad’s old T-shirt?
There was one last item in the box and I lifted it out, opening the small velvet pouch and spilling it into my palm—another necklace, this time gold. A small bird set in a tree branch, tiny gemstones surrounding it. It glinted and shone in the light, the artistry exquisite.
The bird was a common motif on all the pieces. A nightingale.
I stroked over the gold, wondering when I had collected all these pieces. They looked foreign. They were exotic, as if they had come from somewhere other than Canada. I had never been off this continent.
I looked at the pieces again. My gaze drifted to the small painted tile I kept on my bedside table. It had been tossed into one of my boxes, and the frame was damaged, but I still loved it. I had no idea where it came from, either, but I looked at it every day, even bringing it with me, and I would trace the small frame and look at the pretty image of the bird, wondering why it meant so much to me.
Never thinking of the type of bird it was—or where it came from.
Until now.
Nightingale.
Often used as a term for a nurse. And Adam had said he called me that as well as Ally.
I gasped out loud, the necklace slipping from my fingers as the earth stopped spinning on its axis.
Time stopped.
Images came, hard and fast.
A patient with warm, brown eyes. Eyes that saw me.
A tender voice that wrapped around a new name…a name given only to me.
His Nightingale. His Ally.
Packages arriving from faraway places.
Tender words of love on small notes.
Wait for me, my Nightingale.
Wear this and think of me, Ally. I think of you every day.
Days of laughter, nights of passion filled my head. Memories of his laugh, his smile, his love ran through my mind, playing over and again, once more becoming real and solid.
The feel of his mouth against mine as we kissed; tender and loving, hard and demanding. His warm touch and strong arms that protected and soothed, loved and caressed. His whispered promises echoed, drenching my parched soul with the truth behind the sweet words.
“You’re mine, Nightingale. Nothing will ever change that fact. We belong together.”
I shut my eyes as a sob burst out of my chest and the missing months of my life returned. One incredible and affecting image at a time.
All those months summed up in one, beautiful, frightening word.
Adam.
Chapter 22
Adam
The coffee machine gurgled on the counter. My gaze was fixed on the windows—the foggy darkness deeper than usual due to the ongoing storm. I rubbed my tired eyes—another night of restless slumber was catching up with me.
I couldn’t sleep, no matter how hard I tried, so I gave up and decided to stop tossing and turning. I got up, made coffee, and started sorting through some of the pictures I’d taken the past days I’d spent with Ally. All I could see, when I closed my eyes, was the expression on her face when she pulled away and ran from me. All I could feel was the fullness of her lips as they pressed to mine. Her scent and taste lingered—no longer distant memories, but sharper—clearer.
Even more painful than they had been. It made me even more determined to make her mine again.
I tried calling her, but all I got was voice mail. I went by her parents’ building, but the lights on the top floor were out, and I knew I wouldn’t be welcomed by the doorman.
I grabbed my mug from the cupboard, filling it with the
fragrant liquid. I added some cream, shaking my head. Another habit I got from Ally. Before I met her, I drank it black, but she so often sipped from my cup, I started adding it so she could drink it anytime she wanted. I liked knowing her lips had lingered where my mouth touched. I got used to the taste and now I liked it.
My gaze drifted back to the windows. Rivulets of rain ran down the large glass panes in a constant stream. Lightning lit up the sky, thunder rolled behind the bright strikes in long, slow rumbles. I set my mug on the table beside me and relaxed back in the chair.
Ally loved this chair. She always looked so good, snuggled in the corner, reading. She looked even better curled up on my lap as we watched a movie, or nestled into me as a storm, much like this one, would rage outside. She hated storms and would burrow herself as close to me as possible. The very best moments, though, were when we would make love in this chair; slow and sensual or fast and furious—pressed together, wrapped in each other. Nothing else mattered in those moments—nothing but us.
I looked around the loft, thinking how it had changed since the day she entered my life. The thick padded stools were in place at the counter—the spot we would sit and eat together, exchanging news of our days. The bed, adorned with the softest sheets and warmest duvet in a chocolate brown that she picked to match the leather. She said the color reminded her of my eyes.
Long white curtains hung in the windows, along with the blinds I’d added that ensured our privacy. Bright artwork and thick throw rugs made it a welcoming space. Or at least it had when she was with me.
Now the sheets remained cold—the bed rarely used. The blinds were dusty from misuse and the stools were barely sat on. I hadn’t been here in months, and since I got back I was rarely in the loft. It felt like home when she was with me. Now it felt like an empty memory and I disliked being there.
Rapid, furious knocking interrupted my thoughts. With a frown, I pulled myself out of the chair and walked over to the door, wondering who the hell would be at my door at 5 A.M. Given the fact the front door lock was broken again, it could be anyone, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with some random stranger. I looked through the peephole and with a curse, flung open the door.
Ally stood there, dripping wet. Her hair clung to her head and shoulders—a dark red ribbon of silk. Against the ghostly pallor of her skin, her eyes were wild, the vivid blue standing out. Red rimmed and watery, they gazed at me frantically. Her chest heaved and she shook from head to toe, her teeth chattering as she tried to speak. She clutched one arm to her chest, her hand a tight fist, a small bag held in her other hand. I dragged her frozen body into the loft, half carrying her to the chair I had just vacated. Pulling off her wet coat, I snagged the blanket from the back of the chair, wrapping it around her. I lifted my mug to her trembling lips and cupped the back of her head. “Drink, baby. It’ll warm you up.”
She took a deep swallow, a shudder running through her. Her panicked eyes focused on my face. “I was so afraid—” she gasped.
“What? Afraid of what, Ally?”
Tears poured down her face and her shaking increased. I used the blanket to rub her hair and yanked off my sweatshirt and pulled it over her head.
“Tell me.”
“I was afraid you’d be gone.”
I rubbed her back, desperate to warm her. Her skin was frozen.
“I’m right here.” I pulled her close, dropping a heavy kiss onto her forehead. “Why are you out in this storm? You hate storms.”
“You know that,” she sobbed.
“Yes.”
Her voice was incredulous. “You know me.”
“Yes.”
She cupped my face. “I know you,” she breathed.
My heart hammered in my chest. “What?”
She opened her clenched hand, and light glinted on the silver chain she was holding. Attached was the nightingale pendant I had given her, the first gift I sent her.
“I remember you,” Another sob escaped her lips. “I remember us.”
Thunder rumbled as I stared at her. “Say that again.”
“You. Me. Us. I remember us, Adam.”
My throat was so constricted only one word came out. My hands tightened on her skin, frantic to know this was real. I had to know I was awake and not dreaming this moment. “How?”
“After you kissed me and I ran. I was so upset…”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She shook her head furiously. “No. You don’t understand. I wasn’t upset that you kissed me. I was upset because how it made me feel. I was so guilty.”
“Why?”
“I should have been angry with you. I should have pushed you away and told you off. I’m engaged. I belong to someone else—”
It was my turn to shake my head. “No,” I growled, interrupting her. “You belong to me.”
“I’m so confused,” she whispered. “You left me. You never came back…”
“No, I did. I came back. You were taken from me.” I drew in a deep breath. “I don’t understand everything that happened, but somehow, someone split us up. I didn’t think you wanted me anymore.”
“I don’t understand.” She gripped her hair and shook her head. “I had an accident…”
“I know. And we’ll figure everything out. Together, we’ll put the pieces together and we’ll find the answers.”
“My mother and Ronald—were they?” She left the question in midair.
“Yes. I’m certain they had something”—I drew in a deep breath—“everything to do with this.”
“I’m sorry.” She gripped my hand. “I remember they didn’t like you. But I never thought—” Her eyes met mine. “Bradley?”
“He’s involved, too. And we’ll get to the bottom of it. But this isn’t your fault,” I insisted. “Tell me what happened tonight.”
“My head kept aching—I couldn’t relax, and the storm was bothering me. Little things kept coming into my head. Flashes, I guess. I kept seeing this place, but different—empty. I saw you taking my picture. I heard your voice telling me you loved me and calling me your Nightingale. I saw picnics on the floor over there—” She pointed to the middle of the room. “I remembered being in your bed.” She rubbed her temples. “I thought I was going crazy—I didn’t know if the flashes were real or if they were something I was dreaming up. I had this feeling I was standing at the edge of a cliff and my next step would either send me over or save me.”
I pressed the mug to her lips. “Another sip.” When I had gotten more hot liquid in her I set it down and clasped my hands around hers. “Keep going.”
“I needed to do something—concentrate on anything but the pain in my head and the thoughts I kept having. My feet were cold and I found a pair of socks in a box that was overlooked. I decided to empty it out and see what was inside. My mother had told me it was just some clothes, so I hadn’t bothered to look before now. But at the bottom of it I found this little box, wrapped in my dad’s T-shirt. I remember wrapping it up before I went away, and tucking it in the drawer for safekeeping.” Her forehead furrowed. “It was a carved, wooden one—with a nightingale on it.”
“Yes.” I nodded in encouragement. “I sent that to you.”
She nodded. “I kept looking at it, and I started to remember things. I opened the box and inside was everything. The necklaces, the small lacquered case. I even had the little painted tile on my bedside table. I took it with me everywhere—it meant something, I just didn’t know what. Things you had sent or given me.” She touched her earlobes where the diamonds I had given her still glimmered. “I could never take these out—I had no idea why they were so important, but they were.” A tear ran down her face. “And it all came back. All the months I was missing. The memories.” Her voice started to quiver. “And every single one of those missing moments were filled with you.”
Our gazes locked and I saw it all. Her beautiful eyes were swimming with feelings—the ones I had missed seeing al
l these months: understanding, acceptance, and love.
Her love for me.
It was right there again.
Our history, our story, was reborn in her eyes and the emotion of the moment hit us both.
“Ally.”
“You asked me to marry you.”
I wanted to reach out and grab her. Hold her hard so she couldn’t leave again. But I didn’t want to frighten her. Instead, I simply said, “Yes, I did.”
“You gave me a beautiful ring I couldn’t wear because it was getting sized.”
“That’s right.”
“I belong to you.”
I groaned at those words. “Yes, my Nightingale. You always have.”
A wild sob escaped her mouth and I dragged her into my arms, enfolding myself around her. Lifting her, I settled her on my lap as her arms wrapped around my neck, holding me tight. I pulled her as close as I could, allowing our emotions to escape. Her tiny frame shook with the force of her sobs, and I let her cry. My own tears soaked into her hair. I rocked us, running my hands up and down her back, her arms—anywhere I could touch to soothe her and let her know I was right here. She was exactly where she belonged and I wasn’t letting her go again.
A shudder raced through her and I realized how cold she still was. Her clothes were damp, her hair wet, and the blanket wasn’t helping her. I stood, striding to the bathroom, keeping her close to my chest. I sat her on the counter, gently tugging on her arms. Her grip tightened and I lowered my mouth to her ear. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I need to warm you up. Let me do that, baby. Please.”
Her hands loosened, and I slid them down from my neck, kissing the knuckles as I laid them in her lap. Her shoulders were still shaking with her cries and I hurried to turn on the water, letting the air fill with steam. I lifted her face, carefully wiping away the tears. Her eyes were shut, long lashes fluttering across the tips of my fingers. Dark circles were etched into her pale skin and her face was drawn and exhausted. “Open your eyes, Ally,” I whispered.
Blue irises, all at once so lovely but tormented, met mine. Questions, pain, doubt, and fear filled them. I wanted all of that gone. Once she was dry and rested we would talk more so I could erase the pain and fear. I was worried about the sudden onslaught of emotions and how she was coping, and if this affected her medically.
My Image of You Page 24
