Forgetting You, Forgetting Me (Memories from Yesterday Book 1)

by Monica James

  “I ran into a door,” he replies, smirking.

  His response gives insight that he doesn’t want to talk about it. But when I finger over the scar repeatedly, mesmerized, he knows I won’t accept anything but the truth.

  “I got into a fight.”

  “With who? Why?”

  “With no one special and why, because…I needed to feel pain to know I was alive.”

  I freeze, pinning him with an inquisitive stare. His comment has me thinking about scars of my own. “Every scar means you were stronger than whatever tried to beat you.” Tears prick my eyes, hating how closely I can relate to his remark.

  Saxon watches me, reading between the lines. He’s come to read me so well.

  A horn honks, alerting us that our cab has arrived, thankfully interrupting a moment that was filled with too much emotion.

  The alcohol hits me on the way home, and I end up slipping in and out of sleep. Nothing can compare to seeing the sights of Montana on the back of Saxon’s bike anyway, so I fall into a peaceful slumber. The car stopping and Saxon’s hushed voice alerts my foggy brain that we’ve arrived home, but my heavy eyelids and even heavier legs refuse to budge.

  “Lucy…” he coos, “we’re home.”

  I groan in response and turn into my pillow.

  Wait, pillow?

  As my “pillow” shifts, I realize I’m draped all over Saxon. If I wasn’t completely wasted, I would move. But the idea of moving hurts my pounding head and turns my nauseous stomach. So instead, I snuggle firmer into my makeshift cushion.

  A graveled laugh soothes my aches and pains and I sigh, hugging into Saxon—the world’s comfiest bed.

  I’m certain I’m floating because all of a sudden, I feel weightless. My body sags and I allow myself to be swept away in total stillness. A thump…thump…thump against my ear is the most soothing sound in the world. Not to mention with every breath I take, I’m cocooned in the most comforting smell. I want to stay here forever.

  Forever comes to a screeching halt however when my ride through the clouds ends. “I’m going to put you to bed, Lucy. Okay?” No, that’s not okay. That sounds like an awful idea.

  Forcing one eye open, I see the white stain of my bedroom door. I know I didn’t walk here, therefore, I know I’m in Saxon’s arms. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go in there because the thought of spending another night alone is too damn depressing. And then on the flip side, if Samuel is in there, I don’t want to be sleeping next to him either. My bedroom holds too many memories, ones I don’t want to deal with right now.

  “Can I sleep with you?” I ask, my voice sounding like a garbled mess.

  “W-what?” The hitch in Saxon’s voice is unusual, as he’s usually so poised.

  “Can I sleep with you?” I repeat. “In your bed. Next to you. I promise…I won’t touch. Your virtue is safe with me.” I giggle at my own joke.

  Saxon exhales loudly, and I’m too tired and drunk to decipher why. “Sure.”

  Relieved, I snuggle into Saxon’s chest, sighing when that sense of comfort surrounds me once more. His boots sound against the floorboards as he walks towards his room. The door creaks as he opens it.

  The moment he carries me in, I groggily open my eyes, thankful when he doesn’t switch on the light. “Do you think you can stand?”

  I’m pretty certain that I can, so I nod.

  I can feel his uncertainty when he lowers my feet to the ground. Even when I’m upright, he doesn’t remove his hands from my waist. The moonlight peeking in through the parted curtains basks us both in an ethereal glow, somehow adding to the magic of this night.

  “Thank you.” My eyes droop to half mast as I fumble with the buttons on my shirt. I also feel like I’m wading through choppy waters as I sway from side to side. At this rate, I’ll get undressed by next week.

  “Here…let me help you.”

  Before I can protest, Saxon’s warm fingers overlap mine and he begins unbuttoning my shirt slowly. This is wrong, and so unlike me, but the need to crawl into bed and sleep overrides my modesty. His harsh breathing fills the still room. His face is hard, his jaw clenched.

  I watch through a hazy cloud as each button pops free, revealing more and more of my skin. My flesh heats, part embarrassment, and part in craving. It’s been so long since someone has touched me so intimately, I long for more.

  Once my buttons are undone, Saxon slips the shirt from my shoulders, disrobing me as it falls to the floor. His chest rises and falls, making no secret of his thoughts as his gaze lingers on my chest. I have on a plain black bra, but the way Saxon is looking at me, I feel like I’m naked.

  He swallows before dropping to his knees before me. The gesture for some reason warms my heart and I can’t help but smile. He makes his intentions clear as he secures a hand behind my calf, indicating he’s going to take off my boots. Placing one hand on his shoulder for balance, I lift my leg and watch in appreciation as his bicep flexes when taking off each boot.

  I’m now standing barefoot and topless with Saxon still on his knees. He’s looking up at me with nothing but admiration and I feel…beautiful.

  He points to my shorts, timidly, asking permission. “Your, um, shorts.”

  I know I shouldn’t, but I nod, lost in this moment between us.

  His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows nervously before reaching forward. Looking up at me from under his long lashes, he unsnaps the button on my shorts. He stops, his hands singeing my flesh as they rest at my waist. He waits, again seeking consent if it’s okay he goes on. God strike me down, I nod.

  The heat from his fingers sends a charge throughout my body as he slowly unfastens my zipper and slides the denim down my legs. As they pool at my feet, I step out of them, feeling beautifully wicked.

  Saxon is still on his knees, surrendering. I don’t know why I feel that way, but his torn features reveal he’s battling an inner war. Finally standing, I feel even smaller and fragile in his presence, only clothed in my underwear and cowboy hat.

  The room is spinning, but it’s not the alcohol. It’s Saxon.

  Feeling ashamed for such feelings, I hurriedly toss my hat onto the floor and turn, forgetting something which I’m usually so guarded about.

  Saxon’s gasp hints that he’s seen my deformity. “Lucy, who did that to you?” The anger in his voice scares me.

  “No one, just…” But he’s on me in seconds, spinning me around so quickly, I almost fall.

  “Who?” His hard eyes reveal he’s not going anywhere.

  My lower lip trembles and tears prick my eyes. “Let’s just say before I was Lucy Tucker, I was a nobody.”

  Saxon’s face falls and his lips dip into a saddened frown. “This happened when you were a kid?”

  I nod sadly. “I’m adopted, Saxon. I’m not sure if Samuel ever told you, but I grew up in the system. I didn’t even have a name. I was just known as M.”

  He loosens his grip around my bicep, but never breaks contact and for that, I’m glad.

  Taking a walk down memory lane, I confess, “When I was four, I went to live with Nigel and Denise Martin. At first, I was excited to live in Hollywood. I mean, this is where dreams come true. But my dreams soon turned to nightmares when Nigel’s true nature emerged. He was a mean man with a rotten temper. Denise was too busy rubbing shoulders with her socialite friends to notice. Or maybe she just didn’t care. I still don’t know why they fostered me. Maybe they thought it would camouflage their true nature, as people would see their act as charitable and kind.

  It started out with little things. Nigel slapping me on the wrist for making too much noise. Or yelling at me for dragging in dirt from the yard. I can’t really remember much else, just flashes of him not liking me very much. But that one night, in his study, it’s a memory I’ll never forget. It’s one that still haunts me to this day.”

  I don’t know why I’m telling Saxon this. It’s not an easy memory for me to share. But I know he won’t judge me for som
ething that wasn’t my fault.

  “There was a room next door to mine which was always locked. I was too young to understand then, but later on I found out that Nigel and Denise had lost a daughter to SIDS. The maid forgot to lock the door and the inquisitive four-year-old me thought it would be cool to see what was inside. When I stepped inside, I thought I had stumbled upon a goldmine. The pink room had every toy imaginable locked inside. To a kid who had nothing, this was the ultimate jackpot. Looking back, it was an untouched time capsule, a shrine to the daughter they lost.”

  Wiping my tears away with the back of my hand, I continue. “A teddy bear sitting alone on a rocking chair in the corner of the room caught my eye. He looked so sad, so lonely, kind of like me. I was so desperate for a friend. A stuffed bear was better than having no one at all. So I walked over, not understanding the consequences, and decided he was to be my new best friend. I still remember the feel of him, the smell. He was perfect. But our friendship was short-lived.

  Nigel charged into the room, slapping me so hard across the cheek I lost two teeth. I’d been hit before, but never like this. I didn’t understand what I had done wrong. I was four. I tried to give Nigel the bear, apologizing for touching something that wasn’t mine. But it was too late. He grabbed me by the ponytail, ignoring my cries for help and dragged me over to the bed. He then threw me onto my stomach. I heard his belt being unbuckled.”

  Saxon’s eyes turn murderous.

  The near darkness makes my tale easier to tell. “I-I didn’t understand what he was doing, but he made his intentions clear when he yanked up my dress and slapped me so hard across the behind with his belt, tears stung my eyes. He made sure he used the buckle. I don’t know how many times he hit me. I’d passed out by strike number five, still clutching onto that teddy, needing someone to hold my hand.

  I woke up in the hospital where a nice lady told me that the bad man was gone. Sadly, the scars from that night will remain with me forever. He whipped me so hard he tore the skin off my back and behind. I don’t know how many stitches I got to piece me back together again. But it was enough to leave me looking like this.” I gesture to my body, not hiding my disgust. “Not long after, Simon and Maggie came into my world, saving me from becoming another statistic.

  “I’ve been keeping journals ever since. Obviously, when I was too young to write, I relied on drawing to express my sadness and fears. Maggie and Simon were told what had happened and Mom recognized my pictures as a form of therapy. She kept every one. And I’m glad she did. I went to therapy when I was old enough to talk about what had happened. That’s when I began writing in my journals.”

  Saxon nods, appreciating their significance.

  “On my eighteenth birthday, I burned that bear. I know it was kind of morbid me holding onto it, but he was a reminder of who I once was, and who I was now. My childhood wasn’t easy, but I’m not a victim. Not anymore. And I’ll be damned if I stand by and let another human being be treated the way I was.”

  “So that’s why you do what you do,” Saxon says in sudden understanding.

  “Yes. I fight in the name of the four-year-old me. I was silent, but not anymore. Every time I help someone, I’m taking back a small piece of me. So you see, we’ve both got scars. My perfect life isn’t so perfect after all,” I say, referring to his comment at the hospital.

  He turns his cheek, ashamed. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I didn’t know.”

  For once, I’m the one who comforts him, and it feels nice. After revealing my vulnerabilities, I feel strong. “Sshh, there’s no need for you to be sorry.”

  The room is silent, heavy with emotion. It’s a feeling I’m all too used to when I dig up the ghosts of my pasts.

  “I’m going to find that motherfucker…and kill him.” The anger behind Saxon’s promise displays that he’s not joking.

  His response is so different than Samuel’s. Sam was understanding, and sorry for what had happened, but Saxon has launched into full-blown protection mode. He looks like he’s about to jump on his Harley and ride to Hollywood and kill Nigel with his bare hands.

  “He already did it for you. Well, a twenty gauge shotgun did,” I say, revealing that Nigel took his own life. His clenched jaw whines in anger.

  “I didn’t tell you this expecting you to avenge my childhood, or for you to look at me differently. I told you because I…trust you, Saxon. I want you to know all there is to me, and I hope one day, you’ll feel the same.”

  I know he too has skeletons in his closet, ones I hope he feels comfortable to release one day. But not today because suddenly, I’m dog tired.

  “Thank you for listening to my story.”

  His face softens. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

  A yawn escapes me and my eyes begin to droop shut. Saxon pulls back the woolen blanket on the bed. White sheets have never looked more comforting and my body sings in ecstasy when I slip inside. Saxon draws the blanket over me while I sigh, never feeling more at peace.

  I’m not sure how long later, but the mattress dips besides me. I instantly let out a low hum, feeling safe and at home with Saxon by my side.

  Caught between reality and the dream world, I whisper my fears aloud.

  “Will you take care of me?”

  His heavy breathing fills the night air.

  “Yes,” he replies after a drawn-out silence.

  “You promise?” I know this can’t last forever, and I’m afraid.

  He counters with so much emotion, his sincerity brings tears to my eyes. “Yes, I promise.”

  “For how long?”

  Pause… “For as long as you want me to.”

  As I fall into a deep sleep, the word “forever” replaces goodnight.

  Sixteen

  I wake, almost certain I’ve been run over by a steam train. Twice.

  I know it’s bright out, and that fact has me turning into my delectable smelling pillow. When my pillow begins breathing, however, I know I’ve missed the memo.

  Against my better judgment, I pry open one eye to hazily see my pillow is made of flesh—warm, supple, muscular flesh. The intricate tattoos reveal that chest belongs to Saxon.

  Cataloging through what I can remember, I recall ending one of the funnest nights of my life in Saxon’s bed, where I still remain. Something has shifted between Saxon and I, I can feel it. I don’t know what, but I know it’s something which makes me happy. My mood dampens however when I remember Sam.

  I don’t know where he is, or if he’ll ever be back. He’s made his feelings perfectly clear and I have to accept it, whether I like it or not. It hurts, but what other choice do I have? I can’t force him to remember. And I certainly can’t force him to love me.

  “Mornin’.”

  Saxon’s hoarse voice reminds me of his promise—his promise to look after me for as long as I want him to. It wasn’t fair of me to ask, but I can’t do this without him. It concerns me that “this” is living.

  “Good morning,” I reply croakily.

  “How you feeling?”

  Considering the amount of alcohol I consumed and the fight with Samuel which triggered my alcoholism, I feel okay. “Better than I thought I would.”

  “Good to hear.”

  We’re both very aware that I’m wrapped in Saxon’s arms, snuggled tightly against his chest. I should shift away, especially since I’m wearing nothing but a bra and boy shorts. But I don’t want to. The thought turns my stomach.

  As if on cue, my belly grumbles.

  “Are you hungry?” Saxon asks, chuckling.

  “A little.” Shifting slightly, I draw back so we’re sharing the same pillow. We’re inches apart, breathing in the same air, and it’s nice.

  The early morning light highlights the rolling green swirls in his eyes, which seems to complement the heavier beard lining his strong jaw. It’s funny. When looking at Saxon, I no longer see Samuel. In my eyes, they’re no longer carbon copies of each other, a fact which I’m sure
Saxon would be thrilled about.

  “I’ll make us some breakfast. And coffee.”

  The suggestion of food and coffee has me groaning in excitement. “Yes, please. Feel free to serve up anything greasy or fried.”

  “I think I can manage that.” I melt when a dimple hugs his left cheek.

  He pulls back the sheet and slips out of bed, appearing unconcerned that the only thing he’s wearing are a pair of black boxers. I avert my eyes, only for them to stubbornly rise back up again, zeroing in on his magnificent body.

  He’s lean, but muscular, his frame radiating nothing but strength. A true rugged, masculine body.

  When my gaze lingers on his flank, he turns his back and quickly retrieves the discarded t-shirt off the floor. I scold myself for openly staring, making him feel uncomfortable.

  “I’ll meet you out there,” he says, stepping into his jeans.

  “Okay.”

  He gives me a final look before closing the door behind him.

  Sighing, I throw an arm over my eyes, embarrassed and angry at myself for being unable to control my emotions around Saxon. We’re friends, he’s also Samuel’s brother—I need to remember that.

  I slowly sit up, the room spinning as I try and gather my bearings. When I think I’m steady enough, I pull back the blanket and stand. The room is a little lopsided, but I manage to walk across the room without bumping into anything or tripping over my two left feet.

  I feel beyond wicked standing in Saxon’s bedroom in only my underwear and decide to hunt through his drawers to borrow a t-shirt. My shirt and shorts have way too many buttons and zips to hurdle through. I find a Harley Davidson shirt which I recognize as the one he wore the first time I saw him at the hospital. I remember how happy I was to see him. How I threw myself into his arms without any reservations and how he caught me just as freely.

  Drawing the shirt to my nose, I take a big sniff, relishing in his familiar, comforting smell. Slipping it on, I smile when it hangs to my knees. Just as I’m about to close the drawer, I see his journal sitting hidden underneath his clothes.