The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound Book 1)

by Jamie Beck

  “That must sound strange after so little time . . . two dates?” He kissed her hands. “It hit the instant I saw you on my mom’s porch, but at the time, it filled me with anger. The resurgence of old feelings after the way you’d hurt me made me feel pathetic, so I pushed you away for a dozen reasons, including fear.”

  “Fear?”

  “Of being hurt again. Of being foolish . . .” He shrugged. “But then you called me out and asked to be friends. Inserted yourself into Emmy’s life and eventually mine. You’re so bold. And brave.”

  “I haven’t felt very brave. Desperate, maybe, for this second chance. Grateful, recently.” She tugged him close and kissed him. “I’ve been holding my breath since that dance at the Sand Bar. I love you, too, Ryan. I know I hurt you before, but there’s nothing to fear now. The worst is behind us.”

  He closed his eyes, but the worst stared right back at him anyway. He opened his eyes and hugged her again, delaying the conversation that could change everything between them. “You are brave. Beautiful. Strong. Talented. Fun. Invincible. You can handle anything. Together we can help each other through any crisis.”

  He held her face and kissed her. Tender, desperate kisses. He must’ve been frowning, though, because worry shone in her eyes.

  “Now you’re scaring me again.” She studied his face, pressing her fingertips against the worry lines on his forehead. “Something really bad has happened. Are you sick?”

  “I’m fine.” He swallowed hard and stepped back to pace, as if walking around would jostle her into opening up. “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course.”

  “So you know that you can tell me anything. Confide anything.” He bit his lower lip, searching her expression for any hint of her thoughts. “Because after our past and Val’s betrayal, I need to know you won’t withhold things from me.”

  She hugged herself again. “It sounds like you still think I’m keeping something from you.”

  He stood motionless, almost wishing she were lying, because if she remembered anything, this would be much easier to handle. The manila folder in his pocket grew heavier by the second. “Not on purpose . . . but I don’t think these blackouts are due to concussions. So, if there’s more to say—if there are things that trouble you or have been on your mind—just know nothing you tell me will change how I feel about you.”

  She took a step back and let her hands come to rest on her hips. “I’ve no clue what you’re fishing for, Ryan.”

  Clear eyes, direct gaze, no fidgeting. She mustn’t remember. Dammit, that made this conversation nearly impossible. “Okay, then . . . I think your episodes relate to what happened last spring, and maybe you’re avoiding therapy because you don’t want to be forced to think about it.”

  Her expression turned flinty. “Why do you keep bringing that night up?”

  “Because we need to get to the root of what’s messing with your life, and this problem started after that night.”

  Her eyes glittered. “I’ve gone to the doctor. He didn’t dismiss my theory. As for that night, I’ve told you all the important details.”

  “I know you believe that, but . . . ” He held a deep breath before exhaling. “I’ve made an appointment with a therapist in New Haven for tomorrow. Dr. Alana Saxe. She specializes in helping trauma victims process fragmented memories.”

  “I’m not a victim.” She jerked her arms out from her sides. “I’m living my life just fine, thank you very much.”

  “I disagree.” He stood still. His heart pounded with each word that brought him closer to disclosing what he knew. The ugly truth he didn’t want to reveal.

  “That’s your problem.”

  “It’s our problem. What affects you affects me. All I’m asking is that you go talk to this doctor. See if she can help. Wouldn’t you be more confident and comfortable if you could control these episodes or, better yet, end them? It’d be safer for you, and better for your business.”

  “And better for you,” she spat. “Don’t leave that out, Ryan.”

  He sighed. “You say that like I don’t have any stake in this. But how can we have a healthy relationship if you hit me when we get close? How can I trust you with Emmy if I can’t count on you to be present when watching her? It’s your health, but my feelings count for something, don’t they? I’m only asking you to talk to an expert and deal with the pain of what happened.”

  “I dealt with it. It’s over, and so is this tired argument.”

  Stubborn as ever. Sometimes he found the trait endearing, like he did with Emmy. In this case, it was downright dangerous. She could hurt herself or someone else if one of those trances struck at the wrong time. He had no choice now.

  The air inside the tiny bungalow turned thick and sour as he reached into his pocket and removed the manila folder. He set it on the counter. It took him a few seconds to remove his hand and remember to breathe.

  “What’s that?” She crossed her arms.

  “The police report. The one from your . . . attack.”

  Her gaze homed in on the envelope, then darted back to his face. “Did they catch someone? Are you representing the guys who robbed me?”

  “No. This isn’t about my job, and there still aren’t any suspects.” He watched her pace in a tight circle, not even knowing what he hoped to see. If he’d thought the mention of the report would help his cause, he was wrong.

  “Maybe your job has warped your perspective, and that’s why you can’t let me move on.” Steffi’s cheeks turned red. Perspiration dampened her skin.

  “That’s not it. I’m trying to help you.” Resorting to coercion hadn’t been his plan. The brutish tactic slid through his gut, making him sick. Weakening him such that he had to grasp the counter for support.

  “Help me? By sneaking around my back?” Her deflection reminded him of how Emmy responded to being cornered. His stomach burned. He didn’t want to say the words, because he had no idea how to hold her together once he did.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m desperate.” He closed his eyes for a second time, steeling himself to voice the truth. “You need therapy.”

  Her gaze darted back to the envelope. Then she shook her head.

  “Steffi, meet with Dr. Saxe,” he pleaded. “Please, just trust me.”

  “Trust?” Her breath became more rapid. “That’s pretty rich coming from the guy who went behind my back.”

  “I needed to confirm my suspicions.” He took a step toward her, but she stepped back. “Now I have proof.”

  “Proof of what?” Her curt tone warned him to tread lightly, but there was no turning back now.

  He needed to regroup. Calm her down.

  “First, come here.” He opened his arms for a hug. “Let me hold you.”

  She shook her head more and backed up until her butt hit the counter. He didn’t like boxing her in, but at least he could embrace her that way. Despite her wriggling, he pressed her to his chest, clasping her head firmly with one hand and locking his free arm around her back. His strength enabled him to keep her safely wrapped in his arms.

  He kissed her temple and then murmured in her ear, grateful she wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him while he told her what he knew. “Steffi, I know the truth. I know what really happened, and I can’t pretend I don’t now. I can’t sweep it under the rug. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “No.” She shivered.

  This was not how he’d wanted the evening to go, but at least if she heard it from him, she’d know, absolutely, that nothing would change his love for her. “I wish you never had to think about that night again as long as you lived. To have suffered a trauma so horrific that you’ve buried the memory is unimaginable. But you’re not alone. Dr. Saxe specializes in sexual assault survivorship and—”

  “What?” She shoved him away with such force, he stumbled. She stretched out her arms to keep him back. Her haunted face turned ruddier by the second. “Was this a revenge plan all along? Lull me into feeling saf
e and then make me doubt my own sanity?”

  “Of course not! I love you. I’m trying to help.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help.” She stood there, her body trembling.

  “You never ask anyone for help, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need it. Let’s focus on the good news—there’s help available.” He picked up the envelope and held it out. “We have to face this, though. I’ll stay with you tonight and drive you to Dr. Saxe’s office tomorrow. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  She snatched the envelope and flung it across the room. “I don’t need a savior. I need someone who trusts me. And someone I can trust.”

  “I need someone who’s open to my concerns so we can build something real together instead of something built on sand. Someone who wants answers so she won’t hit me when I kiss her. Someone who won’t hurt herself or my daughter in a stupor because she’s too stubborn to get help.” Ryan reached for her again, but she dodged him. “Steffi, don’t run again. Please let’s handle this like two people who love each other should. Remember we said ‘different better’? That’s what this is. Help me help you. For yourself, and for Emmy and me.”

  “If you loved me, you wouldn’t sneak behind my back. You wouldn’t demand I do things your way or force me to remember something awful or confirm a prognosis I don’t want to hear.” Tears streamed down her face as she trembled. “I’m not crazy. I’d remember if I was raped, for God’s sake. Get out, Ryan. Get out!”

  She’d said the word—shouted it, actually—yet it didn’t seem to register. She still looked wild-eyed with rage and denial, despite the envelope on the floor.

  He reached out to grab her, but she jumped sideways. He stood still and opened his arms wide. “Okay. Calm down. We won’t talk about it anymore tonight, but I’m not leaving you alone like this. We can tear out these cabinets and see how you feel in the morning.”

  “I don’t need time. Get out and take that damn file.” When he didn’t move, she screamed, “I mean it! Go or I’ll leave.”

  “Steffi, please . . .” He’d bungled this as badly as possible. Instead of making it better, he’d made it all worse. Maybe even damaged her more. Warm tears stung his eyes.

  She snatched her keys off the counter and dashed out the back door. He chased after her, but she slammed the van door shut and turned on the engine before he caught up to her. She backed out of the driveway while he banged on the side panel. The tires kicked up pebbles as she sped away.

  “Fuck!” he shouted at the moon.

  Once again, Steffi ran from him. Last time, he’d let her go. This time he would not. He jogged back to his mom’s to get his car, dialing Steffi’s number while he pulled out of the driveway. Voice mail.

  A quick drive-by of her dad’s home and Benny’s apartment turned up empty. No surprise, actually. She wouldn’t turn to them—or anyone—for comfort. He reversed course and drove past her house, relief slackening his shoulders when he saw her van parked out front.

  He sprang from his car, trotted up her porch steps, and banged on the door. “Steffi, let me in!”

  He heard scuffling from inside.

  Claire answered. “Ryan, what happened?”

  “Where’s Steffi?” He craned his neck, looking over her shoulder.

  “She charged in like a wild animal and went straight to her room.” She stood in the doorway. “Obviously, you two had a fight.”

  “Can you let me in? I need to talk to her.”

  Claire stood aside and waved him in. He took the stairs two at a time and strode to the only room with a closed door. With his forehead pressed to the door panel, he spoke in a calm voice. “Steffi. Let me in. Please.”

  “Go away.”

  He flattened his hands against the doorframe and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about how I handled this. I can’t undo that, but please don’t shut me out again. Even if you deserve to, don’t. Please. I love you.”

  Silence.

  “Steffi.” He tried the doorknob, but she’d locked it. After a few minutes of waiting, he gave her the space she wanted and wandered back downstairs. She was safe—at least physically safe—for now. Whether he’d caused more harm than good had yet to be determined.

  “What’s going on?” Claire asked.

  “Try to keep her from leaving tonight. Text me if she goes out.” He turned and walked out the door without another word.

  His whole body ached from regret. When he got home, he walked down the street to the bungalow, which they’d left unlocked in their hasty retreat. He went inside and stowed her tools. Before he turned off the lights, he picked up the discarded envelope from the floor. After rummaging through her tool kit for a pencil, he wrote on the outside of the envelope.

  Steffi,

  I’m sorry I hurt you. I do love you, despite how it might feel right now. Nothing in this file changes who you are to me, and I promise I’ll be with you through this process if you let me.

  Love, Ryan

  He scribbled Dr. Saxe’s phone number and address beneath the note, set the envelope on the counter where she would see it, then shut the lights off and locked the door behind him on his way out.

  He kicked some acorns around the sidewalk as he wandered back to his mom’s, wishing he had persuaded Steffi to meet Dr. Saxe without using that file. Now he’d have to live with the fact that he’d likely destroyed their last chance at a happy ending. That would be easier to accept if he knew Steffi would get better.

  “Want to tell me what happened last night?” Claire asked while fixing herself a bowl of oatmeal. “I heard you throw up twice. You look like you didn’t sleep a wink. I’m worried.”

  Steffi hadn’t been able to breathe all night, which meant she couldn’t form a coherent response this morning. Now it seemed as if her legs were filled with cement as she dragged herself to the coffee maker.

  Claire sat at the breakfast bar while Steffi poured herself a cup of coffee. “Obviously, the demo date with Ryan didn’t go well.”

  “Don’t say his name.” Steffi blew into her coffee. She couldn’t close her eyes without thinking of him pleading with her, arms open, eyes full of sorrow and certainty. Images she’d rather forget, along with the dark trepidation about her “fragmented” memory.

  “Oh boy, this sounds bad.” Claire added more almonds to her cereal. “Will you have to see him today, or did you finish the Quinn project?”

  Work. Her one salvation—a way of putting this all out of her mind.

  “I’ll send JT to paint the trim. Then it’s done.” Thank God she’d hired a small crew the other week. “I’ll manage Hightop today with Rick so it doesn’t fall off schedule.”

  “Okay, but won’t Molly be disappointed not to see you at the end of her project?” Claire spooned an extra lump of brown sugar into her bowl and stirred.

  Reconnecting with Molly had been one of the most wonderful things the past seven weeks had provided. Now they’d live through another rift. This one, however, was all on Ryan. “I’ll call and explain that I’ve got to keep other projects moving.”

  Claire gave her the side-eye while she ate.

  “What?” she barked, refusing to defend yet another decision.

  Claire swallowed her oatmeal before speaking. “I can’t imagine what Ryan did to make you this angry.”

  “He betrayed me, that’s what!” Steffi clamped her mouth closed, wishing she hadn’t said anything.

  “He cheated?” Claire’s expression melted into a scowl. “Good Lord, what’s wrong with the world when even Ryan Quinn two-times?”

  “He didn’t cheat. He invaded my privacy. Said . . . things I wish he hadn’t. Things I don’t want to know. Things that can’t be right.” Coffee sloshed over the side of her cup, so she set it down and wrung her hands together to stop them from shaking. She couldn’t wrap her head around what he’d said. Could her mind really block that trauma out even after hearing it laid out with such certainty?

  Claire set down her
spoon. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but you’re literally shaking. Talk to me, Steffi. You can’t work in this condition.”

  Steffi’s breaths came up short, just like they had every time she thought about what he’d done. About what he must’ve read in that report. About what her own brain would not let her see.

  She remembered a gun. Fuzzy snippets. Flash images of the hospital and cops. Someone handed her water when she spoke to an officer, but she recalled nothing of what was said. She’d called her work friend Jenny to take her home from the hospital. The two weeks following the incident, she’d been on bed rest, cocooned in a dark room for the concussion. Her whole body had ached from the inside out, but time had passed in a blur of sleep and confusion. In the absence of actual memories, her imagination now conjured the worst possible scenarios.

  It must’ve been beyond gruesome for her to bury it so deeply that she couldn’t recall it even now. Why would Ryan want her to remember something so awful? “He got his hands on the police report—my report, from last spring.”

  “Was he assigned the case?” Claire frowned. “Wouldn’t he have to recuse himself?”

  “There is no case because there aren’t any arrests.” That had bothered her enough when she’d thought it was a mugging. Two rapists getting off scot-free? She ground her teeth and twisted her fingers so tight they turned white. “He had a theory so he somehow got hold of the file.”

  He’d never been one to break the rules before. She could report him if she wanted to spite him.

  Claire shifted on her stool to face Steffi. “A theory about who did it?”

  “No . . . about what happened.”

  “I don’t understand.” Claire frowned.

  Ryan’s desolate words seeped into her mind, saturating her with sorrow. She hesitated, afraid that saying them would make them more true—not that “more true” was a thing. Truth was truth, and until she read that file, she wouldn’t know all of it.

  “He thought—thinks—that . . . that I . . . I was ra—” Steffi’s mouth filled with a bitter tang. She clutched the table as if to stop her body from slipping away from her.