Accidents Happen (Forever Happens Book 1)

by Josie Bordeaux

  Accidents Happen

  Josie Bordeaux

  Sandy Toes Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Stay Notified

  1. Andi

  2. Cal

  3. Andi

  4. Andi

  5. Andi

  6. Cal

  7. Andi

  8. Cal

  9. Andi

  10. Cal

  11. Andi

  12. Andi

  13. Andi

  14. Cal

  15. Andi

  16. Cal

  17. Andi

  18. Andi

  19. Cal

  20. Andi

  21. Andi

  22. Andi

  23. Cal

  24. Andi

  25. Cal

  26. Andi

  27. Andi

  28. Cal

  29. Andi

  30. Cal

  31. Andi

  32. Cal

  33. Andi

  34. Andi

  35. Cal

  36. Andi

  37. Cal

  38. Andi

  Epilogue

  Also by Josie Bordeaux

  Stay Connected With Josie!

  Acknowledgments

  Stay Notified

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  Copyright

  Accidents Happen

  Copyright © 2017 Josie Bordeaux

  eBook Edition

  Cover Design by Amy Q Designs

  Content Editing by Trenda London

  Editing by Amy Jackson

  Proofreading by Indie Go Pro

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-940533-09-4

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the author. Exceptions are reviewers who may quote short excerpts for review.

  This work is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and other incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of all products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  One

  Andi

  Except for the steady beeping of a nearby machine and muffled voices, the room was eerily quiet. Words faded in and out as my mind tried to filter each noise. A cloak of darkness tugged at me, pulling me back to a dreamless state. My mind battled to try to wake while the voices attempted to pull me to a conscious state.

  The fight to not fall back asleep was tiring in itself. Trying to open my eyelids was such a battle I’d swear someone had glued them shut. The more I tried to open them, the heavier they seemed, making it near impossible.

  “When will she wake?” the male voice asked. The worry in his tone couldn’t be mistaken. His words had been clearer than before, yet the reply was far too fuzzy to make out.

  Every moment I pulled myself from the darkness, the more my skin tingled and my muscles seemed to throb with pain. Little things like trying to move my fingers were an incredible feat. Something heavy cocooned my index finger, making it near impossible to lift.

  A weighted box was on my chest—at least that was how I imagined it. Each attempt to inhale stabbed pain to my ribs, and I cried out only to hear myself make more of a whimper. But the agony, that was clear from the way my whole body shuddered.

  “She’s waking!”

  The sound of something scraping against the floor resounded through the room.

  “Andrea, can you hear me?”

  Who’s Andrea? Was there someone else in the room by that name?

  “Mrs. Vasslor, can you hear my voice?” A woman’s tone was stern, tight, and immediately made me want to slip back to the darkness.

  Despite that desire, I tried to move my mouth. My lips were sealed tight by some imaginary glue. The dryness in my throat seemed worse as I tried to swallow, which only added another level of pain.

  A guttural sound emitted from my throat, and I was positive I was the only one who heard it. Opening my jaw seemed impossible.

  “Andrea, you were in a car accident.” The male voice was anxious and desperate for this Andrea to understand. I wasn’t sure how far away she was from me, but a hope for her to understand him made me want to open my eyes to catch her attention.

  A soft touch to my face comforted me as the palm of a hand cupped my chin, luring me from the darkness. Needing more of that warmth, with great pain, I was able to inch my head toward it. I summoned every ounce of strength I had to open my eyelids.

  “Andrea, don’t try to move. It’s going to be okay.”

  “Wa—” I tried to say only managing a whisper.

  It was even more frustrating that no one could understand me. I needed water. Something to coat my throat.

  Cracking my eyes open, I winced from the white, bright light, blinding me temporarily.

  “Who are you?” My voice sounded strained and hoarse. Saying those few words intensified the throbbing in my head. It tempted me to not even bother speaking.

  “I’m your husband. I’m John.” I heard the frustration in his voice as he insisted through clenched teeth. Immediately, I had the same damned frustration: I couldn’t remember having a husband.

  “No.” The anger wouldn’t stop welling inside of me; it bubbled up like a fountain. Why would he say that? Why was he lying? Who the hell was he?

  Shouldn’t I know better than them who I was?

  That was the problem, though.

  I didn’t know who I was.

  Where I was.

  Or who any of these people were.

  Two

  Cal

  The nightmare was happening all over again. The pain in my chest constricted every time I thought about Laura. Her lifeless face was the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes every night. Now, my fear was that vision would also have Andi’s face.

  The sound of my door slamming shut echoed throughout my apartment. The clatter of my keys skidding across the wooden coffee table followed, and the moment all sound stopped, it finally sank in that this was Laura all over again.

  It had been another long day of searching without finding Andi. Immediately, I paced the same path along my beige carpet as I had the nights before. I was completely exhausted from the lack of sleep. Fisting my free hand through my hair, with a tight voice, I gave my brother the latest update, though there wasn’t anything new to report. “Nothing. I can't find her anywhere." My hands shook while I held my cell phone, trying not to think of the worst, though the same feeling was surrounding me again.

  It'd been three days since I'd heard from my girlfriend, Andi. Three. We hadn't officially gotten to the point in our relationship where we'd call each other that. However, since we'd been inseparable for close to two months, I was pretty sure the lines had been defined, and I had no problem accepting that as her role. I was due for happiness in my life, and Andi was definitely the center of mine.

  Her job hadn't heard from her either, although they weren’t as concerned as I was or as I thought they should be. It appeared they were more annoyed s
he hadn't shown up, since she was still considered a new employee.

  “Cal. I hate to ask but…did you check the hospitals?" Knowing what he was thinking, a lump formed in my throat, and I knew he’d waited to ask that question for as long as he could. The only other option left was the morgue. I was pretty sure he or my older brother, Jay, had already done that for me. Since neither had mentioned it, I considered it a good sign. I hoped.

  I nodded, knowing full well he couldn’t see me. I still managed to respond. “Yeah.” I inhaled deeply and added, “I even called police stations."

  Alex paused before asking, "Police stations?"

  In the short time I'd known Andi, it was safe to say she wouldn't be the type to land in jail over anything, but I had no idea where else to look. The last time I had seen Andi was when she left for work that morning, three days before. I had watched her get into her car wearing a silky, blue dress that flowed when she walked. She’d even left her chestnut hair in beautiful curls that fell past her shoulders. Usually she walked to work, but she’d mentioned having a lunch appointment across town, and she wanted her car closer. We were supposed to meet for dinner that night and then we'd debate on whose apartment to spend the night—hers or mine? I wished I had asked her whom her appointment was with, but I hadn't. So there I was, calling everywhere I could think of, including police stations.

  “I’m at a loss here, Alex. I really don’t know where else to look.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, wishing that what I had originally thought was true, although he would have known better than to joke about something like that with my history. My brother is a well-known prankster, so my initial thought had been that he’d put Andi up to some screwed-up joke. I had spent hours waiting for her, made endless phone calls and text messages, only to still have no answers. I had hoped they were both trying to pull a fast one on me, but after a couple of hours and a threatening call to him, it was painfully obvious there was no prank.

  "Right. No, I get it."

  A heavy sigh emitted through my phone. Hell, at this point he was probably unsure of where else to look. How do you find someone who vanished?

  "What about that friend of hers? That neighbor, Leila?"

  "Lana," I corrected him. “We’ve been in contact. She mentioned Andi had an ex I didn’t know about. Lana said she’s having her boyfriend—a cop from New York City—try to research the guy, even though Lana doesn’t know the ex’s name.”

  It was another added fear I had, that this ex Andi had never told me about was out there somewhere and had possibly kidnapped her. Or worse. My list of things to worry about was growing.

  “Could it be that she went away on a girls' weekend or something? I mean…” I heard the huge exhale and knew what he was thinking before he even said it. “You really haven't known her that long."

  "Long enough that I would hope she'd call me. It's not like we just started dating."

  "Well..."

  "Okay, so we kind of did just start dating, but she would have called to tell me something like that."

  Silence. My brother didn't say anything at all, but I knew what he was thinking: maybe she dumped me without telling me. That would actually be the best-case scenario in my world.

  It’d been two years ago since my wife, Laura, was killed in a car accident. I’d been called by the hospital, asking me to hurry down there—she was in critical condition. After a string of tests, they’d also discovered she was pregnant. Only six weeks. She probably wouldn’t have even suspected at that point. There were so many nights where I lay awake wondering how she would have told me. It only added to the torture of losing her.

  Since her passing, I rarely dated. Sure, there were a couple of women I entertained here and there. But it was more to appease my brothers so they wouldn’t worry so much. When I’d started seeing Andi and we became pretty much inseparable, my brothers weren't sure what to think of it all. Had I really moved on? Jay had always called me a hopeless romantic, but when I wouldn’t move on, he’d told me I was just hopeless. Easy for him to think, since he never wanted to be tied down.

  When I found Andi, I held on tight. Maybe too tight, and that was a small nagging feeling I had. Maybe I scared her off? It didn't seem like something Andi would do. Or maybe I chose the wrong woman to finally try again with. I’d never really be over Laura. Maybe I was grasping at false hope, but I needed to hold onto something. I couldn't have my world fall apart all over again.

  The reality was, it was my secret wish that she actually left me without telling me. If she had broken up with me, at least she was still alive. I was willing for that to be the case. I was hoping for that.

  Three

  Andi

  Amnesia.

  Being told that’s what I had, angered me. Especially since they were right. In my mind, I sounded like some crazy, enraged woman who belonged in a nuthouse. Maybe I did. For days now I had tried to figure out who I was—not from what they told me, but from any type of memory I could summon. Nothing. There was nothing anywhere in the corners of my mind. My memory was empty.

  Confused, I stared at the damned speckled ceiling while bile coated my throat and tears pricked my eyes.

  Considering my body felt like it had been thrown off a building only helped their story. When I’d reached to touch my forehead, the man who was by my side when I’d woken up had grabbed my wrist, telling me I had stitches there from a deep gash—one that I was told he was having a plastic surgeon take a look at. From what I understood, we had more than enough money.

  Married.

  Supposedly, I was married to this man and his name was John. Not remembering my own husband or his name was bad enough, but the pit in my stomach felt even worse. Something inside of me screamed that this whole ordeal was wrong.

  The doctor tried to convince me the feeling that was grating at my soul was only a fear of the unknown, assuring me, after obtaining a copy of our marriage license and comparing it to each of our driver's licenses, that he was positive John was my legal husband. To the best of his knowledge, I was going home with the man I belonged with. How could I do that when my heart kept warring with his opinion?

  It wasn't that John was bad looking. Actually, he was very handsome, and if I were in the right frame of mind I might have been more than a little happy to call him my husband. Warm green eyes that complemented his blond hair, and what seemed to be over a day's worth of stubble, only made him more endearing. I could see myself falling for him in the past. Combine all of that with a very fit swimmer's body, and you'd have any woman's dream man. Only this wasn't a dream, it was the reality I woke up to; I was married to this man. It could be much worse, but my gut was telling me something was so very off.

  Considering I had an ill feeling about John, I had questioned my nurse regarding anything she might know about my accident. All she knew was that I was involved in a hit-and-run while driving downtown. They hadn't found the driver who’d hit me and didn't know where I was headed when the car slammed my door. Apparently, I had banged my head against the window before the airbag had deployed, which was possibly the cause of my amnesia.

  Being in a coma was yet another thing they had told me before insisting this man was my husband. A deep sleep is what I thought it was—at least it felt like to me. Yet to slowly open my eyes and see a man sitting vigil at my side, praying for my health, I was becoming more inclined to believe him.

  Staring down at our entwined hands, he tightened his clutch—as if that was going to help me believe what he was telling me. I wriggled my hand, trying to break free as I ignored the pained expression in his eyes, and he finally released his grip.

  My doctor had already explained to me that my memories of habits, or as he called them my procedural memories, were still intact. But memories of my past, things about myself—such as my name or where I lived—were more difficult for my brain to recall. He assured me that after time my memories would return, perhaps even in spurts, until I regained my full memory again.

&n
bsp; The sound of the machine next to me and the damned IV sticking out of my arm could cause any sane person to scream. It was all too much—the stench of the antiseptic, the bright lights glaring down from above, and then this man next to me with his pressed lips and now-clutched fists.

  "Honey, I am your husband." Again he insisted, as he had a few moments before. Honey? My husband?

  I stared at him, recognizing absolutely nothing about him. My eyes flipped back to the white, sterile ceiling, avoiding the fluorescent lights and focusing only on the black speckles in the white panels.

  How could I trust him? I had no idea who he even was. As many times as I had stared into his green eyes since I’d woken up, I hoped to find some shred of truth. I couldn't. Or maybe it was that I didn't really want to.

  Failing miserably at pretending to not stare through the glass window of my room, I watched John, the nurse, and my doctor have a friendly chat. Their smiles, the doctor's pat to John's back, and the way they nodded their heads made me feel like they were old chums.

  Anger boiled inside me as if they were conspiring some scheme against me. With every added detail I thought of, the sound of the machine that tracked my heartbeat echoed heavy against the walls of my room. The beeping of that damn machine sounded like the engines roaring in a plane about to take off. The anticipation of an explosion crossed my mind as I stared at the stupid dots flashing on the screen wildly.

  They were going to release me to this man, after I had vocalized my concerns to them. And now seeing them together out there—they were all in on this together. There was a reasonable side to me that was trying to figure out what the nurse and doctor would gain from this scheme I was convinced of.

  However, the question I begged everyone to answer for me was: If John’s and my love was as strong as he stressed it was, how could I completely forget it and feel nothing but fear and anger now?