The Forget Me Not Pact (The Secret Author Series, #1.4)

by M. J. Padgett

  Nothing in the world will break a man more than losing his heart, the woman he gave everything to, then being refused the chance to say goodbye. I tried. I fought and struggled with her father until the security guards dragged me away, kicking and screaming for her. If not for Mr. Jacoby, I’d have gone to jail that night.

  Jail. I was already there. There was nothing anyone could do to me that would hurt me more or make me feel more trapped in the world than losing my reason to live.

  Somehow I managed to drag myself to my apartment where the ice cream had melted, and the pizza had gone cold. I climbed onto the air mattress and stared at the ceiling, unable to think of anything but Dana.

  The way her lips felt on mine when she smiled through our kissing. All I could see were her oceanic blue eyes gazing into mine seconds before I kissed her the first time under the hot sun in a grocery store parking lot. Her laughter and her little whimpers when she was totally content. Everything about her played over in my mind until I thought I would go insane.

  Perhaps if I’d seen her, my mind could wrap around the idea that she was really gone, but it simply refused to believe it. I expected to see her everywhere I went. I’d swear I felt her when I was washing dishes, her small arms wrapping around my waist and squeezing so tight I had to hold my breath. I felt her breath on my cheek seconds before her lips landed there in a sweet kiss. I felt her fingers graze my skin a dozen times a day.

  I slowly drove myself to the verge of madness mourning her. I couldn’t let go of one thing, the promise we’d made on her seventeenth birthday. The Forget Me Not Pact. I couldn’t forget. I promised. Never, not in a million years would I ever forget Dana Franklin, and if it meant I slowly drove myself insane to keep that promise, then I’d die a lunatic man.

  The problem with such things is the world doesn’t always give you time to drive yourself crazy. It would much rather do that for you. When my landlord had enough of being patient waiting for rent, she gave me one last warning. I took that warning, packed everything I owned, and moved. I couldn’t stand feeling her in the apartment any longer anyway, so 419 days after my soul died along with Dana, I ran away.

  I ran and ran until I had no money to get me any farther, then settled into a small apartment near the coast, got a new job, and started my life over again.

  The ghost of Dana Franklin would haunt me forever. My lost love, my life, every part of me that was ever good was gone. In its place was an empty shell of a man who was stuck in his own mind. Sure, I thought about ending my life a dozen times, just taking a bunch of pills and falling asleep. I wondered if I’d wake up in her arms again, then I thought of how angry she would be if I killed myself.

  Eventually, I became numb enough to get through a day without crying. Then, two days without tears. Then more until Dana’s memory didn’t kill me so much. One day, I woke up and I heard her. Not literally. I hadn’t gone that crazy yet, but in my heart, I heard her.

  “Just live, Jordan.”

  Just live. My life without her was no life at all, but it was the life I had, so I decided to use it to honor her instead of wasting away as an embarrassment. I devoted myself to work until I rose to the top, all the while, I heard her words of encouragement buzzing in my ear.

  After a few months, I’d proven myself a valuable employee to a coffee house franchise, so they offered me a managerial position. Later, a regional position. Finally, I had my own franchise. I was the boss, and it felt darn good. Every night I went home and thanked my sweet Dana, the only person who ever took a chance on me. If not for her, I probably would’ve been found dead in a gutter somewhere or in jail for who knows what by the age of eighteen.

  Dana Franklin, my angel. My sweet, sweet angel.

  With each passing day, my angel became a happier memory. A less-painful thought in the back of my mind, but she was always there. I couldn’t date, not yet. Her love was so special and still so fresh in my mind, no one could compare to her. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone to pit them against the memory of a woman who’d been my everything.

  I was working late one night, 1520 days after Dana’s death, to be exact, to accommodate the crowd of people in town for a concert. I was close to closing when one of my employees found me in my office.

  “Mr. Clark, you have a visitor,” she said, then went back to her work. I headed to the front to see who it was, likely a regular who wanted to chat. However, nothing could have prepared me for the face I met when I rounded the corner and entered the dining area. The woman turned around and walked toward me.

  And just like that, the ghost of Dana Franklin walked right back into my life.

  Day 1520

  Dana

  I GRIPPED MY JOURNAL in my hands so tight my knuckles blanched, my only lifeline and support in a world turned upside-down. My accident had taken so much from me, including most of my memory. When I woke, I knew my parents, but I was sure that I was only twelve years old. I behaved as a child of that age might, and I had no memory of the time after that age. I had a difficult recovery after I learned I was actually eighteen, but in time, my mind started to rebuild the memories as my body rebuilt its strength.

  My parents did everything they could to accelerate the healing process—all but one thing. They failed to mention the boy who had been the center of my world, who loved me more than words could express. I learned about Jordan from my diary—one that my parents had hidden in the deepest recesses of their closet, just inside the wrapping paper bin. I was searching for birthday-themed wrapping paper when I found it. I was glad they hadn’t thrown it out, lucky really.

  It took me four months to find Jordan, the boy I read about in my journal. I was nervous about meeting him, well, not to meet him but to see him again after so long. It felt like I was just meeting him for the first time, yet my journal entries were so vivid it was as if he’d never left my side. I only wished I remembered him. The Forget Me Not Pact, I’d read about it and felt like the world’s worst person that I forgot him. How could anyone forget a love like his?

  My mind wandered over the words I’d read in my journals detailing every moment of our lives together. I loved him, I knew I did. I felt it when I read the words.

  As I waited, I absentmindedly let my fingers wander over the scar on my elbow. There was one on my head just as gnarly, but my hair covered it well. My eyes wandered over the nondescript walls of the coffee house. Clean, deep green colored walls that reminded me of something, but I couldn’t place exactly what that was.

  The girl I approached was kind and smiled when I entered two minutes before the shop closed. I could see the relief in her eyes when I asked for her boss instead of a frilly drink. She reappeared within a few minutes.

  “He’ll be right out, Miss Franklin.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, then went back to nervous eye, darting and rubbing my scar. I shuffled my feet, trying to imagine what he’d look like. There were a few photos taped in my journal, but they had been taken almost two and a half years before discovering the journal. A lot could change in that amount of time.

  I heard a gasp behind me, then the sound of a coffee mug breaking to pieces on the ground. I turned quickly and found the green I couldn’t quite place before. His eyes locked with mine, a storm of denial and pain swirling in their depths. Such beautiful green eyes.

  “D-Dana?” His voice cracked, and he swallowed with great difficulty. He’d loved me with everything he had, and I knew to see me was tearing him to pieces. But I had to know, I had to see him and find out if that love was still there or if it had died—just like he thought I did.

  “Jordan?” I asked hesitantly. I knew it was him. I felt I knew him but could not recall a single memory.

  He squinted, and his eyebrows furrowed. He blinked a few times, then took a step forward. All the while, his employee watched us with a stunned expression on her face.

  “Yes... don’t... don’t you know me? You’re here, you must... but you can’t be. You’re... you’re supposed to be dead
,” he said, shocking his employee even further. She decided we needed privacy, picked up the tray of pastries she was wrapping, and went to the back.

  The front door opened, and a group of rowdy guys entered.

  “We’re closed,” Jordan said shortly.

  “But your sign says—”

  “I don’t care what the sign says, I say we’re closed!” he barked, then marched toward the door. Once they were out, he shut and locked it behind them.

  “Jordan,” I began but was cut short by his arms tightly wrapped around my shoulders.

  “You died. How are you here?” he asked, still holding tight. It was a bit strange, yet so comforting and so right at the same time. I didn’t try to free myself, mostly because he seemed to need the closeness, but also because that closeness was doing something for me in return.

  Far too soon, he released me. “I’m sorry. I-I... What is happening?” he asked.

  I pulled out a chair at the nearest table and sat, then motioned for him to do the same. Where to begin? I sighed, finding words difficult, but tried anyway.

  “Obviously, I’m not dead. My parents lied to you, Jordan. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know until... I mean, there was an accident, then I had... I-I’m not... I found—”

  “Hey, it’s okay,” he said softly, gently placing his hand over mine. “Dana, it’s okay. Slow down and take it one bit at a time. I’m not going anywhere.” He said his final thought with such conviction, it made me believe there may still be a chance for us, to earn back what we once had.

  I took another deep breath and tried again. “There was an accident, but I didn’t die. My parents told you that to get rid of you. They did a lot of things to me back then, like telling me I wanted to be a lawyer and what college I wanted to go to, just a lot of lies. The biggest lie they told me was that I had no boyfriend, Jordan. I was in a coma for nine weeks, and when I woke up, I had no idea how old I was or that you... that you even existed.”

  His lips parted, but he held his tongue. A light squeeze to my hand told me he was ready to hear more.

  I licked my dry lips and noticed how shaky I was. “Could I get a glass of water?”

  He popped up from the chair and got the water, then was by my side again in an instant. He took my hands again and gave me his undivided attention. His eyes were so beautiful, and that mop of blonde hair was in the same disarray it was in the last photo of us together. In fact, the only thing different about him physically was his clothing—much more professional, but we were at his café, so it made sense.

  I drank the water and resumed my story about the missing years. “I believed everything. Who wouldn’t? They’re my parents! But one day, I was rummaging through an old box in the attic looking for wrapping paper for a birthday party in... Oh, never mind, the point is, I found this.” I slid the journal in front of him, and he smiled.

  His smile was heart-stopping and made flutters erupt in my stomach.

  “Your journals?” he asked, then slid it back to me without opening it. “I’m not reading that, but I’m guessing it showed you a different truth?”

  I nodded. “Yes, Jordan. And I want you to know I am so, so sorry I forgot. I promised you I would never forget you, made a pact and everything. A pact, Jordan! How could I go and forget this thing we had? It makes no sense to me how anyone could ever—”

  “Dana, stop. Stop doing this to yourself. We were kids when we made that pact, and neither of us could have predicted head trauma, so I think you’re off the hook, baby.” He realized too late what he’d called me and tried to back-pedal. “I’m sorry. I guess all the old memories are flooding back, and I just...” His eyes fluttered closed, unable to continue his thought.

  “Jordan?”

  “I’m sorry, that must’ve been strange for you. It just slipped out.” He looked up at me again, but instead of sadness or anger, I saw happiness.

  “You’re not mad or upset I forgot?”

  He was taken aback. “Mad? How could I ever be mad at you, Dana? It was a car accident, not something you did on purpose. And your parents... Well, that was downright monstrous.”

  “I know,” I interrupted. “I haven’t spoken to them in almost seven months. I’ve been living with my friend and trying to find you for the last four,” I admitted.

  “You were? You... you were looking for me?” he asked, surprised.

  “Of course, I was.” I pointed to my journal, tears building in my eyes because I wanted so badly to remember him. I tried to remember the boy who made me feel the way I did when I wrote those entries. I wanted the relationship back. I wanted him. “I don’t remember you, not really, but I miss you in ways I can’t explain or understand, Jordan.”

  His angelic face studied me for a long time, then he asked, “Would you let me take you to dinner, Dana?”

  I sighed. “Yes. Yes, please.”

  Day 1520

  Jordan

  I RUSHED TO THE BACK to see if Sara could close the café on her own. She smiled and nodded, no doubt confused, but she seemed to understand something was going on that couldn’t be explained.

  “Sure, Mr. Clark. I don’t mind at all,” she replied, then took the keys from me and went back to cleaning.

  “There’s a giant bonus coming to you on your next check!” I shouted over my shoulder, then met Dana at the front door.

  I had to keep reminding myself it wasn’t a dream. She was really there as beautiful as ever, and she’d come just for me. She didn’t remember anything, or so she claimed, but deep down, there had to be something. I took hold of that hope and prayed she would still like me.

  One would think discovering your long-lost love was still alive would take a lot of time to process, and maybe it should have, but I was so caught up in the fact she was there for me that I didn’t question much. The feel of her skin, her hair, her embrace, the freakishly deep blue eyes, her smile, and even the way she stood—it was all the same, except for the scar on her arm and the one that was probably deep in her heart as well.

  I thought I’d found peace after I moved and earned the franchise, but what I’d found was a substitute for happiness. Sure, I had a good life, and I smiled and laughed a lot, but true happiness was standing at the front door, patiently waiting for me to take her to dinner. My heart was so full and screamed so loudly, I could hardly hear myself think.

  “Pizza?” she asked, her smile reaching her eyes that sparkled so brightly even in the dim lighting. It was so hard for me to look at her and see a twenty-year-old woman and not the Dana I met in the walk-in freezer in Wilkin’s Market.

  I nodded, and she offered her hand. I took it, memories and feelings surging through me when I did. It felt like a bolt of lightning hit me, the electricity of her touch sending my poor mind and heart into overdrive.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “I’d understand if it’s too much and you just want me to leave.” Her voice trembled, filled with fear. She doubted me, questioned me. It made my heart hurt, but it was fair. She didn’t know that I loved her still, that I never once forgot my first and only love. How could she know that I still thanked God for her every day, though she was no longer in my life?

  “I could no sooner walk away from you than my own soul, Dana,” I said, wondering where the poet came from, but with her, words still didn’t seem like enough.

  “No?” she asked, slightly amused.

  I shook my head, a deep and heavy seriousness falling over us. She tensed, her hand stiff in mine. I remembered clear as day the moment I took her hand in Wilkin’s Market and ran out the front door. I also remembered our first kiss so vividly I could almost feel her lips against mine, hesitant at first, then urging me on.

  Her body was rigid, waiting while I stood stoic with my hand on the door. Would she remember? If that moment were replayed for her, would she remember, or would she smack me right in my smug face and run away? I thought that’s what she would do way back then when we were sixteen, and I took a huge chance. I honestly thought s
he’d smack me and go tell the manager, ensuring I would get fired—but she didn’t. She surprised me then. Would she do it again?

  I did get fired, but only because I disappeared with her instead of returning from my break, but she was so worth it. She was always worth it, and I decided she was worth the chance again.

  I dragged her out the front door just as Sara was returning to the front to relock it behind us. She followed me, still hesitant but willing. I glanced over my shoulder. She was confused, but she followed all the same. I broke into a jog, and she kept up, never letting my hand drop. Once we reached the end of the block, I turned into the alley and stopped.

  “What are you doing?” she panted, out of breath.

  “Running. You?”

  Her eyes met mine again, and she caught on. Maybe she’d written about it in the journal? I hoped she would remember the moment, but if she didn’t, maybe she remembered from what she’d written.

  “You’re such a pain in the butt,” she replied. “Why can’t you just answer my question?”

  She replied exactly as she had that day. “Maybe you’re asking the wrong questions?”

  “Screw you,” she replied, making me wonder what she was remembered versus what she might have written because there was no way it was a coincidence at that point.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa now. I’m not like that, Dana.”

  “That’s not what you said,” she replied. “You said, ‘I’m not that kind of guy,’ then you... you shocked the heck out of me, that’s what you did.”

  The adrenaline rush was almost too much. “You remember?”

  She narrowed her eye in thought and stared at the wall behind me. “I... Yes and no? I remember the words, and I remember you kissed me... I think... but I don’t remember much else. It’s fragmented, almost like I’m watching it from outside the moment. Does that make—”

  She didn’t have the opportunity to finish her thought. I took advantage of the moment, hoped she wouldn’t hate me, and went in for the kiss. I pressed her gently against the wall and kissed her, cautiously at first to give her the chance to decline. I pulled back a little, but she pulled me closer and pressed her lips harder against mine. It made me smile, which made her smile into the kiss in return.