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

by Monica James

  She can read me like a book. She always has been able to.

  “Nothing, Mom. Sam is really trying.”

  “That’s great news. Isn’t it?” she adds when I remain quiet.

  “Yes, of course it is. It’s just…” How do I explain what’s going on without sounding like a tart?

  “Just what?”

  “Things have changed. I’ve changed.”

  “Change isn’t a bad thing,” she says as we walk to her car. “I would be surprised if things didn’t change.”

  “What do you mean?”

  As she pops the trunk, she asks, “How’s Saxon?”

  I almost trip over my feet, giving away my dilemma. “He’s okay.”

  “Just okay?” She stops by the car, giving me a knowing smile.

  “He’s really incredible. I never thought he could be so…caring and supportive and just a really amazing guy.” She waits for me to continue. “Something has shifted between us, Mom,” I confess, feeling so damn guilty.

  I expect disappointment, but all I get is warmth. “Why is that such a bad thing? It’s wonderful you two are getting along so well.”

  I lower my eyes, ashamed we’re getting along a little too well. “He makes me happy.”

  “Honey, you’re allowed to be happy. Whoever you find that happiness with is your choice. Don’t feel guilty for living. Samuel’s condition is a perfect example of grabbing life by the…”

  “I got it,” I interrupt with a grin. “Thanks, Mom.”

  I instantly feel better. I still feel guilty, but she’s right. Life is too short to live in the dark.

  As we’re going through my things, my cell beeps, indicating that I have a text. As I see who it’s from, I can’t help but smile. It’s a picture message of the fields of sunflowers we rode past. They look just as beautiful today as they did yesterday.

  “Is that from Saxon?” my mom asks.

  Snapping my head up, I nod sheepishly. “How’d you know?”

  Wrapping her arms around me, she reveals, “Because you look happy.”

  Seventeen

  “I really think we made progress, Luce,” Piper says, switching from a red dress to a beige dress as she interchanges hangers while looking in the full-length mirror.

  I peer up from the middle of the floor where I’ve set up camp, flicking through my journals.

  Today went from weird to weirder. After my parents left, Sam and I cleared away anything breakable and made room for the army Piper has invited. This led to Sam asking about certain items and what meaning they have. I told him the porcelain horse was a statue he bought for me when I turned twenty-one. The photo sitting in the wooden frame on the mantel was taken when we visited New York to watch The Knicks. By the end, I had detailed the history of over twenty items, Sam appearing genuinely curious and interested while listening to each story.

  It was nice reliving the happy moments between us because there haven’t been many of late. Well, not with Sam, anyway.

  “He was on his phone most of the time though. I wonder who he was texting.”

  It was me, I silently reply.

  Sam and I had transformed our home into a frat house in under three hours and it was fun. We actually chatted while doing it and in a weird way, it was like we were getting to know one another again. He asked questions about himself, about me, and about his future. It was just like the old times. But when I bounced down the hall and into my bedroom, my chiming cell revealed that the old times are dead and gone.

  I had about twenty text messages from Saxon, all asking if I was okay and if Sam was causing me problems. His concern was really touching, but it made me feel guilty, like Sam was the bad guy.

  I still can’t help but think how long will this last? Or is this change for good? If so, what does that mean for Saxon and me? Will he go? Will we stop being friends? We’ve bonded because of what happened to Sam, and because of it, Saxon promised to take care of me. But what happens if I need to take care of Sam? What happens if things go back to the way they were?

  Those questions plague my mind as I sit in the middle of my room, skimming through my diaries, discovering who I once was. I don’t feel like the same Lucy Tucker. I feel like I’ve grown.

  “Piper, have I always been so pathetic?”

  Piper stops rambling about Saxon, her red dress pressed against her body. “What?”

  “Pathetic,” I repeat, waving my diary in front of me. “Have I always been so…needy?”

  When Piper appears to be weighing up how to respond, I know the answer is yes.

  “Oh my god. Why didn’t you tell me? These diaries make me sound like I was following Sam around like a lost puppy dog. When did I lose my independence? Or the better question is, did I ever have any?”

  Piper tosses the dresses onto the bed and sits down beside me. “You were never pathetic. Just in love. You were smitten by Sam, everyone could see that. There’s nothing wrong with that. He loves you more than life itself. You’re his, or were, his world.”

  Sighing, I confess, “But I feel like I’ve sacrificed pieces of myself to fit into Samuel’s world.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I never ate red meat, but a year into our relationship, I was chomping on a steak like a famished caveman.”

  Piper giggles. “Choosing to eat red meat is hardly sacrificing your independence.”

  “I know, but it started out with little things. I only went to the college that I did because Sam went there. I never really explored my options. I would have loved to travel to places like Tibet, Nepal, or Peru and done some soul searching. But instead, I feel like I settled.” I can’t believe I’m saying this aloud, as I didn’t even know I felt this way.

  No one’s relationship is perfect and that’s the problem. I thought mine was. Sam was my perfect guy. He was the one guy everyone wanted and he wanted me. I felt privileged to be seen with him. How sad is that?

  “For argument’s sake, let’s say that you did settle. Why the sudden epiphany? I know Sam has been a complete asshole to you, but there’s got to be a reason why you’re thinking this way,” she wisely says. But I can’t tell her. If I tell her, then I’ll have to admit to myself that the reason is Saxon.

  He’s pushed my buttons from the get go, but in some strange, unexpected way, he’s helped me uncover who I want to be. It makes no sense, but I feel that Samuel and I both woke up after his accident changed people.

  Piper is still looking at me, waiting for an answer, but it’s an answer I can’t give. “I’m just being stupid,” I say, dismissing my thoughts. Stretching out, I drag the red dress off the bed. “This is nice, except, where’s the rest of it?”

  Piper bursts into laughter. “Hopefully by the end of the night, on Saxon’s bedroom floor.” Her comment makes me feel uneasy, but I smile.

  Looking at the lone dress sitting on the bed, I reach for it and finger the soft silk. The dress is actually a beige, sleeveless romper with a pretty floating feather print. The plunging neckline matches the short shorts, but it’s tasteful enough that if I bent over, I wouldn’t be flashing the entire room.

  “Can I wear this?”

  Piper doesn’t hide her surprise. “I didn’t think it was your style.” Just as I open my mouth, she amends, “Which is exactly why you should wear it. Nothing like kicking off your newfound independence with some cleavage.”

  No matter my mood, Piper can always pick me up off the ground. I feel incredibly guilty for not telling her about what happened between Saxon and me. The thought has me wondering if he told her about why he left his bike at the saloon. I haven’t seen him since his return, so I haven’t been able to ask him.

  “Did Saxon tell you why he left his bike?” I decide to ask, curious.

  She pops her gum. “Just that he went out and had the best night of his life.” I gulp. “He didn’t tell me who he went with. Do you know?”

  I pull at an invisible thread on the romper. “Nope, no idea.” The moment
the lie leaves my lips, I feel like the world’s worst friend. There is no reason for me to lie, but I did. I’m too gutless to look at the bigger picture.

  “Oh well. I’ll just have to make sure tonight is the best night of his life, so all other nights pale in comparison.” When she wiggles her eyebrows up and down, I shake my head, laughing.

  “Did you want to get ready first? I really should clean up this mess,” I say, referring to my diaries littering the floor.

  “Yes, best to take the temptation away from prying eyes,” she replies with bite. “Still can’t believe he read them. He broke like some vow doing so.” Her harmless comment has me lowering my eyes because I’m the one guilty of that.

  * * * * *

  “It’s not too much?”

  “Yes, it’s way too much, but that’s not a bad thing,” Piper says, smacking my hand away as I try and wipe away the layers of gloss she’s applied to my lips.

  I would have never bothered dressing up in the past, seeing as there are more important things in the world, like feeding the hungry, but it does feel kind of liberating shedding the old me and starting with something fresh.

  Piper curled my long hair, the honey blonde curls falling down my back, making me feel feminine and pretty. She then went to town on my face, plumping, primping, and painting every surface until I emerged looking like someone other than me.

  My green eyes look huge, thanks to the warm bronze eye shadow Piper caked on. She ditched the black eyeliner and used a plum color instead. My long lashes look like they’re on steroids with the layers of mascara coating them. I drew the line at hooker red lipstick and we settled on a clear gloss instead.

  Piper looks amazing in a red tunic dress. She’s got a runner’s body with incredible long legs and not an ounce of jiggle on her. She’s wearing black pumps which add about five inches to her small frame. She’s dressed to impress and I know she’s only interested in impressing one man tonight. Her long hair is straightened, not a strand out of place, and her red lips look wickedly inviting. Saxon doesn’t stand a chance.

  Thinking of another beauty that may be fighting for his attention tonight, I realize Saxon is going to be one busy boy. I still haven’t spoken to him since this morning, and haven’t replied to his texts either. I don’t know what to say other than Sam has been fine—great, in fact. I feel like I’m rubbing his nose in something that isn’t there.

  “C’mon, let’s go. Sam may not remember you, but he sure as shit will after he sees you in that outfit.” I nervously brush my hands down my romper.

  We walk towards the door and like predicted, I trip, thanks to the monster heels Piper insisted I wear. I may be on a path of self discovery, but in these shoes, I’ll be tripping every step of the way. I’m certain they leave a dent in the wall as I kick them off. Piper watches in horror as I bend down and slip into my black cowboy boots.

  “No.”

  “Yes,” I reply, my feet singing in relief.

  When she hears Bon Jovi blaring down the hallway, she gives up arguing and claps excitedly. “This is my jam!”

  I follow behind her as she practically runs into the living room. There are about a dozen people mingling down the corridor, and I don’t know a single one. When I round the corner however, that dozen is quickly replaced by a dozen more faces I don’t recognize.

  Piper is long gone, swallowed up in the sea of people, leaving me to fend for myself. At a guess, I would say there are roughly one hundred people mingling in my home. When I hear rowdy laughter from outside however, I know that number will multiply, as the night is still young.

  Still feeling hung over, I decide to stick to water, which is a shame as alcohol would help make the night go faster. Politely pushing past random strangers, I enter my crowded kitchen but come to a screeching halt. A circle has formed around a young girl who barely looks twenty-one, sucking on a beer bong hose. She’s in denim shorts and a bright pink bikini top, which only adds to the frat party vibe.

  I have no idea who these people are, where they’ve come from, and how Piper knows them, but I smile as I duck and weave past them, adamant to have a good time. I grab a bottle of water and decide to sit out on the porch and enjoy the warm night, but when I turn around, I smack straight into Samuel.

  “I’m sorry!” we say at the same time, smiling.

  He looks incredibly handsome in black jeans and a white V neck t-shirt. His longer hair is styled messily, but it suits him. His jaw line is coated with a light scruff, giving him an edgier, non-Sam look.

  He looks down at my drink and shakes his head, mockingly. “You can do better than that.”

  “No, no, water is fine,” I reply, still smiling. “My liver needs a night off.” The moment I confess my sins, I zip my lips, kicking myself for the over share. Samuel has no idea what I did last night and I’d like to keep it that way.

  “Ah, c’mon. One glass of wine can’t hurt.” When his eyes twinkle and a familiar dimple touches his right cheek, I cave. It’s the same face he pulled whenever he wanted something in the past and then, just like now, it has worked.

  “Okay, just one,” I say, holding up my finger.

  “Stay right here.” He points to the spot where I stand.

  When he pushes past a couple making out against the fridge, he gestures to them and pulls a mock disgusted face. I can’t help but laugh. The wine sits at the end of the counter, and Samuel is having a hard time reaching it as a billion people stand in the way.

  His fun, laidback attitude reminds me so much of whom he used to be. It’s almost enough for me to forget the past few weeks—almost. One song ends and then another begins and that song suits the person who has just walked into the room to a tee. “Sex on Fire” by Kings of Leon fills the space between us as I lock eyes with Saxon Stone.

  He stops, not caring that people are trying to get past. The only thing he seems to care about is me. His commanding presence fills the kitchen and, it fills my…heart. I’ve missed him. I don’t know what is happening between Saxon and me, but I can’t deny that something is there.

  I wish I could control my emotions around him, but I can’t. My lips hurt as I grin. I’m pretty sure I resemble the Joker. As he adjusts his backwards turned baseball cap, his biceps move in just the right way so I can admire the rest of him. He’s wearing a white Santa Cruz muscle tank which hangs low on his flank, exposing his ripped obliques and scripted tattoo which I can’t read. The wings from his chest piece peer out from under his tank, complementing the colorful artwork running down his arm. His hair is mussed, the dirty blond drawing out the sea green in his eyes. He is beautiful.

  I can’t take my eyes off of him, and he’s making no secret of the fact that he can’t take his eyes off of me either. I feel hot all over. As he scans down my body, his gaze heated and hungry, I shamefully press my legs together, turned on.

  “Here you go.” The familiar voice jars me from my very inappropriate behavior and I guiltily lower my eyes.

  There was a time when I craved to hear that voice, but now I crave to hear another—the one which filled a hole when I needed Sam’s familiarity. But now, I need Saxon’s.

  “Th-thanks, Sam,” I stutter, angry at myself for thinking something which I shouldn’t. This newfound independence is turning me into a tramp.

  “You look nice tonight,” he says, sipping his Budweiser. I gulp down my wine, wishing I could drown in it.

  I don’t know where Saxon is and I’m too nervous to look up and seek him out. He no doubt saw Sam give me a drink without throwing it in my face, and the fact I haven’t replied to his texts highlights that something is askew. But why do I feel guilty? This is what we both wanted, right? For Sam to remember. That’s why he’s here. The butterflies within hint otherwise.

  “Do you want to dance?” Sam asks, again snapping me from somewhere other than here.

  I crinkle my nose. “I’m not a very good dancer.”

  “It’s okay, neither am I. I don’t think?” he adds, smirkin
g.

  “You’re right. You’re a terrible dancer,” I tease.

  “Well, let’s be terrible dancers together then.” Before I have time to protest, he grabs my forearm and pulls me through the crowd.

  The room spins as faces I don’t know whizz past me and laughter fills the air. Everyone seems to be having a good time and so does Sam. He begins a ridiculous jig to some alternative rock song, making fun of his nonexistent dancing skills. Not that I can talk, as I’m not any better. I move to the upbeat tempo, trying my best to stay in time, but give up soon after.

  Thankfully, the song ends, but when “She Will Be Loved” by Maroon 5 takes its place, I wish we were dancing to anything but this. Sam looks at me while I chew the inside of my cheek. I feel silly standing in the middle of the room, motionless, seeing as we have prime real estate in the middle of the “dance floor.”

  When Sam offers me his hand, I gingerly take it. Looking up at him from under my lashes, I suck in a breath when he pulls me into his arms. I stand rigid, my heart racing and my feet feeling like lead. Everything about him is so familiar, but my reaction to him is not. He begins to sway slowly, and I hesitantly follow his lead. As Adam Levine sings about being loved, I can’t help but see the irony of this particular song and my situation.

  Weeks ago, I would have given anything to be loved by Samuel, but now, the love that once was shared between us isn’t there. Warranted, Sam doesn’t remember that love, but I do. And I don’t remember it feeling this forced. I made peace with the fact that Sam and I may never go back to the way things were. But his change of attitude has just thrown a monkey wrench in the works.

  I need to talk to Sophia. She’s the only person who can explain to me what’s going on.

  Thoughts of her have me looking over Sam’s shoulder, searching the room for Saxon. When I find him, I wish I had just kept my eyes glued to the floor. He’s standing with his back pressed against the wall, watching me—watching us. Piper is talking to him, but he isn’t listening to a word she says.

  I loosen my grip around Sam’s shoulders, feeling guilty—always guilt. Why am I riddled with this constant shame? But it’s too late. Saxon’s hard jaw, folded arms, and cold eyes reveal that he’s seen it all. Seen my fiancé get me a drink and ask me to dance. Why is that so bad?