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

by M. J. Padgett

  Dana’s cart got hung up on the endcap shelf. She cursed it a few times before jerking it free and disappearing around the corner. I knew I should go find my wife, but I didn’t want her to see me that way. I didn’t want her to see that Dana still had the same effect on me that she always had. I didn’t want Becky to see that, despite my statements to the contrary, I did not hate Dana Franklin. I still loved her. I would always love her.

  I decided our conversation wasn’t over. I had to know that she had truly moved on, and whatever had given her the black eye wasn’t the man she was with. I shot down the aisle and found her headed toward the frozen food section, as far away from me as possible. Grocery stores could be giant pains in the butt when trying to get across them quickly. People kept getting in my way, nearly running me over as I jogged across the store.

  She had stopped in front of the freezer cases, just where they stocked the ice cream. The memory of her walking into that walk-in freezer years ago came to me in full force. What I wouldn’t do to go back in time, tell my young self what would happen, and see if I could change it all.

  She opened the door and picked up the strawberry ice cream, but instead of putting it in her cart, she simply stared at it. The condensation on the glass window started to drip, and the fog from inside the freezer surrounded her. Her dark hair was a little shorter but still full and wavy. She’d even put on a few pounds, which she desperately needed. She looked amazing, and all I could think about was how I went and married the first girl who made me feel a little less hollow inside instead of searching for Dana. I had been foolish, and now Becky was a part of my idiocy.

  Dana mumbled something, then shook her head and put the ice cream back. She picked up another flavor and chucked it into the cart but didn’t see me standing there. I saw her, though, every bit of her. Her beautiful blue eyes, her tear-stained cheeks, the smudge of mascara under her eyes. And that darn bruise.

  “Dana?”

  She nearly leaped from her own skin and lost control of her cart. The corner hit the freezer case as she scrambled to keep it from going right down the aisle. I stifled a little laugh, thinking of all the clumsy things she’d done when we were kids.

  “Geez, Jordan, you scared the crap out of me,” she said, placing a hand on her chest to calm herself.

  “Um... I’m sorry, I was just thinking... Maybe this is a stupid thing to say, but I wanted you to know I’m still your friend. If you need anything, I mean anything at all, please call me, okay?” I half mumbled, half-whispered my thoughts, not entirely sure she wouldn’t tell me she wanted nothing to do with me.

  “Oh... Well, that’s really sweet. Thank you, but um—” I waited for her to tell me to hit the bricks and don’t look back, but after a while, she finally said, “I don’t have your number anymore.”

  My heart pounded. Part of me was screaming that this was a horrible idea. There was no way I could ever be this woman’s friend. I couldn’t look at her across a table for lunch or coffee and not want to kiss her. Becky wasn’t Dana, but she certainly didn’t deserve half a man, and she definitely didn’t deserve the half she did have running off to meet... her. Still, I’d already offered and going back would make me look like a jerk.

  “Uh, here I’ll just text it to you. Is your number the same?”

  “Yes, I never changed it. Ever.” The way she replied, it felt as if she’d expected me to call her or reach out in some way. I wanted to. So many nights, I sat with my phone in my hand, debating whether to call or just let things be as they were.

  I decided not to address her statement, thinking it for the better. I sent her a message, then said, “There, that’s my number. I also texted Becky’s number. If you ever need to talk and can’t get me, she’d be happy to—”

  “Thanks, Jordan. I really should be getting back home. Kyle will be waiting for dinner,” she interrupted, and I realized just how insensitive it was for me to give her my wife’s phone number. But I also noticed something else. The way she said his name—Kyle—was a bit shaky, and unless I didn’t know the woman at all, I’d say fearful, too. Like saying his name aloud would conjure the devil.

  “Ok, sure. Are you sure you’re okay? You seem rattled, I guess,” I asked, wondering if she would give me any information at all. She clammed up even tighter and forced another awkward smile.

  “It’s fine, honest. Thanks again for this and for Becky’s number. Maybe we can get together sometime?” she asked.

  “Sure, I’d like that. I really would, Dana.”

  I wouldn’t hear from her again for almost two and a half years.

  Day 3825

  Dana

  “OW, OW, OW.” I MOANED as the nurse tried to put my broken body in a more comfortable position. “I’m sorry. I know I’m acting like a baby.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize. Honey, you have seven broken bones in your body, a ruptured spleen, and you had a concussion. If I ever see that man on the street, so help me, I’ll run him over with my car,” the nurse said, probably old enough to be my mother. She was from somewhere in the deep south. Her accent was the only thing that made me feel any comfort because it was so distracting.

  “Fortunately, he was arrested and won’t be getting out of jail any time soon. I have a cop friend who was more than happy to read him his rights,” I said.

  I shifted my weight, which was difficult with a broken arm and a fractured femur, but I needed to get the pressure off my broken ribs. I had a brand-new scar from my splenectomy, but I never really knew what that part was for anyway. My headache was finally improving. The nurse could turn the lights on without it sending shooting pain through my skull.

  “Mmm, well, honey, don’t you ever let yourself get into a situation like this again. If you need help, don’t you be afraid to call me.” She fluffed my pillows again, then put one under my leg to help with the throbbing pain. “I’ll be in soon with some more pain medication and your dinner, baby.”

  I nodded and took the television remote she handed me, then started flipping through the channels. My parents visited earlier in the day, but I had the security guards throw them out. They were the ones who had introduced me to Kyle in the first place, and it was my mother that insisted I do everything I could to make the relationship work. Darn her and her constant insistence that money made all the difference in the world. Thanks to Kyle and his money, I almost died. I would have if our next-door neighbor didn't call the police when she finally got sick of hearing us fighting.

  Jordan would never have done such things to me. He cherished me. Rich or poor, it didn’t matter what we had. I shook my head, wiping memories of Jordan clear again. I could never bring myself to call him. I couldn’t stand the thought of meeting with him as friends, pretending I wasn’t still head over heels in love with him while he was married to someone else.

  Ironically, though Jordan would never have laid a hand on me, he was the reason Kyle beat me within an inch of my life. Once I’d made the trip home from the grocery store years ago, I wrote his number on a tiny piece of paper and hid it, then deleted it from my phone so Kyle wouldn’t see it during one of his secret phone inspections. I’d all but forgotten about it until Kyle decided to clean out the closet. He found the tiny scrap of paper buried deep inside one of my winter boots. One phone call later, he realized it was Jordan Clark’s number and went ballistic. By the time Kyle made his point—that I was a lying, cheating, ungrateful, worthless human—I was nearly dead.

  I continued to flip through the channels, feeling freer in that hospital bed than I had in years. Somehow Kyle convinced me to marry him with sweet talk and a few months of kindness, but the moment the ring was on my hand and the papers were signed, he reverted to the real monster he was. It started out with little things—a snappy tone, a temper tantrum, throwing things, then he started hitting me again, and I knew I’d end up hospitalized or dead sooner or later.

  A flash at my door caught my attention, but when I looked, there was nothing. Then someone stepp
ed back, realizing he’d passed my room. He popped in and stared at me while holding a dozen lilies and a cupcake. He didn’t move any closer; he simply stood there, taking in the scene in front of him. I wanted to hide my broken body so he wouldn’t see it, but there was no use.

  “Jordan.”

  At the sound of his name, he lurched forward and wrapped his arms around me. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was in excruciating pain while he squeezed me like a lemon. However, he must have felt my tension because he released me quickly.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... Oh, Dana. What did he do to you? I’ll kill him. I’ll hunt him down, and I’ll kill him!” He slammed the cupcake down on the rolling cart then placed the flowers on the nightstand.

  “I’m okay, Jordan. He’s in jail, and he’ll be there for a while.”

  “Jail is not good enough. He deserves a death sentence!” He flailed his hands around angrily, nearly knocking the cupcake to the ground. The teenage boy I remembered was there, behaving like a silly goose and making all kinds of threats he couldn’t back up.

  “Jordan, can I just have my cupcake? I’ve been here for three days, and I’d really like food that doesn’t taste like dirty old socks,” I pleaded.

  He stopped his tirade for a moment and stared at me. His green eyes were red-rimmed, and his cheeks a bit puffy. He’d been crying over me, and it killed me. One glance at his hand, and I saw he was still married, which was no surprise. What kind of idiot woman walks away from Jordan Clark? Me, I’m the idiot woman and boy did I wish I could go back in time.

  He took in my bruised face, the cast on my arm, and the contraption holding my leg together, then his eyes settled on my face again. He reached for the cupcake and opened the plastic container. Once it was open, he gingerly removed it and put it in my good hand. It was a monster of a cupcake, but it was my favorite. He remembered.

  Silence fell over the room while I ate, except for the quiet sounds of the television on in the background. I finished eating and reached for a napkin on the cart that was just out of reach. Jordan picked it up, but rather than hand it to me he, gently dabbed the frosting from my lips. His gaze lingered there a little longer than was appropriate, so I cleared my throat. It seemed to jerk him back to the present moment.

  “I’m so sorry, Dana. I had no idea who he was when he called. I thought it was a telemarketer or a wrong number. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine it was him. Even if I had... I just didn’t know he would do this to you,” he said.

  “It’s hardly your fault. You didn’t know he was an abusive jerk, Jordan.”

  “I suspected it that day at the grocery store, but part of me was worried I saw things just so I could have an excuse to... I... I just wasn’t sure and didn’t want to say the wrong thing,” he said, but I was curious to know what he needed an excuse to do. Even so, I left it alone because he was married, and I wasn’t the kind of girl who went after another woman’s husband. Not to mention Jordan wasn’t the type to cheat on his spouse.

  “It wasn’t your job to take care of me, Jordan. It’s never been your job, but you always did, didn’t you?”

  He scoffed. Just a little snicker that said he wasn’t sure what I was talking about. “It was you who always took care of me, Dana. Remember when my Mom’s boyfriend beat the heck out of me? Remember when your parents hated me, but you chose me, anyway? All those hours we spent in that clocktower together? You saved my life, even if you don’t know that.”

  I tried not to cry, but the memories were too strong. I felt my eyelids stinging just before the tears fell.

  Day 3825

  Jordan

  “DANA, DON’T CRY, BABY.” I went to her side again, but gentler this time. I couldn’t stand to see her crying, not over me. “I shouldn’t have brought up those memories. I’m sorry.”

  I let her lay her head on my shoulder as her tears trickled down my arm. I probably shouldn’t have come to the hospital, but when Becky told me what she’d heard on the news, there was no stopping me. Things with Becky weren’t going so well, but it wasn’t necessarily because of Dana. It also wasn’t not about Dana.

  That day at the grocery store started something, or I should say it resurrected a flame I thought I had extinguished long ago. I realized then that I was not over Dana, and I never would be. I started to spiral again, slowly tumbling into that pit of despair, and Becky knew why. She was understanding, but a person can only be expected to understand so much before they get angry. We were in therapy, but I had my doubts that she would ever be able to let her guard down enough for us to fix our marriage.

  Dana pushed away from me slightly, then wiped her tears. She sniffled and moaned a little, clearly in pain.

  “Oh dear, what’s wrong, darling?” A woman entered the room, likely her nurse.

  “Nothing, really, just reliving fond memories with my friend,” Dana said. The word friend made me want to scream. I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs that I was not her friend. I was her soul mate. I knew I was, but to say so was both inappropriate and in poor taste, considering Becky didn’t fight me when I told her where I was going. I had a good feeling visiting the hospital might push our marriage right over the edge, but I couldn’t let Dana suffer through the pain on her own, not when I could have done something about it long ago.

  “Well, I’m glad you have a friend to help you through this time. I have your medication and your dinner, but it looks like this young man went and spoiled it with a cupcake,” she said, but her sparkling eyes said she was kidding.

  “He has a habit of doing that,” Dana said, remembering all the times I’d brought her cupcakes at lunch or on her break many moons ago. The nurse smiled again and helped her sit more upright so she could pick at her dinner. It was baked chicken, which Dana detested. I knew she wouldn’t eat it.

  “Is it possible to get some gravy for that? She won’t eat it if you don’t smother it in fat and calories,” I said, and the nurse chuckled.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said, then hurried from the room.

  Dana was staring at me as if she’d never seen me before.

  “You remembered,” she said, a statement rather than a question. I nodded. I remembered everything she liked and disliked, including the awful way they’d tied her hair out of her face.

  She tried to eat, but I was right. She didn’t like the chicken. She didn’t like the way they did her hair either, so she kept tugging at it. She didn’t like what was on the television, she didn’t like the curtains open, and she certainly didn’t like the sheets tucked in that tightly. It drove me nearly insane to see all the things she disliked surrounding her after what she’d been through.

  “Okay, I can’t take it anymore,” I said.

  She watched me as I crossed the room and closed the curtains, then flipped the channels until a rerun of her favorite show appeared on the screen. I pulled the sheets free from the bed and rearranged the blankets so she could move—not that she would want to, but at least she wasn’t confined. Then, though I was sure I was pushing it where touching her was concerned, I pulled the hair tie from her hair and braided it the way she liked it when she was cleaning or working out.

  “There, is that better?”

  She said nothing at first. I thought for sure I had not only crossed a line but jumped up and down on that booger until it was all screwed up. Then she said the most amazing thing to me, but there wasn’t a darn thing I could do about it.

  “I love you, Jordan. I love you so much.”

  In that very instant, I fell in love with Dana Franklin all over again. I wanted to tell her that, but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair to Becky to tell Dana I loved her, but it also felt like I wasn't fair to Dana by not telling her. After a pause, she relieved me of my obligation to choose between the two.

  “Don’t say anything. I don’t want to know how you feel. I only wanted you to know. I was a fool, and I regret the way I left you. But I left, and Becky was there for you when
I couldn’t be. I only wanted you to know that I love you, and I’m so very happy for you.”

  Her words cut deep, more because she had no idea the shaky ground Becky and I stood on. It wasn’t Dana’s fault, but she would take on the burden of guilt, regardless. I decided there was no point in putting her through that emotional torture, not on top of what she was already dealing with, so I licked my lips and took a deep breath.

  “Okay,” I said. It was so hard not to wrap her in my arms and kiss her until I couldn’t see straight. I felt like a cheater just thinking about it. I’d never do it. I’d never hurt my wife that way, by physically interacting with another woman... but there were a lot of things I could do that could hurt her just the same. Loving another woman was one of those things, but I couldn’t change the way my heart felt. I never could.

  I turned my attention to the television and sat in the chair beside her bed. We sat that way, quiet in each other’s presence, for another two hours before the nurse kicked me out. She was a nice woman, but she insisted Dana needed rest.

  “Can I have just one more minute?” Dana asked, and the nurse nodded. After she left the room, I stood and stretched, prepared to go home to try to sleep.

  “Jordan, I need to ask a favor of you,” Dana said, her tone sad and distant.

  “Sure, what is it?” I asked, prepared to bring her cupcakes every day she was there, watch television with her for hours, anything she needed.

  “I appreciate you coming, but... but please don’t come back. I can’t. I just can’t do this. You are married, and your wife seems like a wonderful, beautiful person, so I just think it’s best that way.”

  And just like that, my world was crushed again.

  Day 4072

  Dana

  “OH, THAT’S A GREAT job, Claire!” I patted Claire’s arm, encouraging her to continue her excellent work. A lot like me, she had only recently escaped the wrath of a torturous husband, but not until he nearly killed her.