by J. L. Berg
“Let’s un-complicate things—shall we?” she said softly.
“Yes.”
And for the rest of the night, the only redhead I thought of was the one nestled between my thighs.
* * *
Hopefully, the lack of breakfast in the morning dashed any future wedding plans for Meg, but I did promise to call her.
A promise I didn’t plan on fulfilling.
I was starting to see why no one liked me.
But that was what single guys did, right? One-night stands—with no plans of repeat performances.
Although I would miss those tacos.
I definitely couldn’t go back to that place now.
That was truly unfortunate.
But right now, I had greater things on my mind. Today marked one month since I’d been discharged from the hospital. One month since my life had started over. As I took what would hopefully be one of my last cab rides back to the hospital, I thought back on the last four weeks and how much I’d accomplished.
Or how little.
Sure, I now knew several foods I liked, and that I preferred comedy over horror when it came to movies, but it all felt so superficial. I was a multimillionaire with no career because I had no fucking clue how to do what it was I’d been trained to do. If I planned well, I could probably live comfortably on the large amount money I had in the bank for the foreseeable future.
But what would I do with the time? Taste test food and watch bad movies?
There had to be more.
Thoughts like this brought back the fear of nothingness, the sense of loss and the overwhelming feeling that I was no one.
Absolutely no one.
When, if ever, would I feel like someone again? And would it ever be the same?
I finished checking in at the hospital, got my awesome white bracelet again, and was ushered back into a room so I could be evaluated by my doctor once more. If all looked good, I would be given a clean bill of health and my driver’s license would be restored—something I’d been longing for.
No more cabs or long, tedious walks to the grocery store. Ultimate independence was almost mine.
I sat waiting for the doctor to arrive, then started pacing back and forth rather than sitting on that uncomfortable paper-covered exam table. Several brochures on brain injuries and neurological conditions lined the walls and my eyes briefly roamed them, wondering how they would summarize my specific situation.
Coping with total memory loss in three hundred words or less.
Reclaiming a life you don’t remember.
Starting over—a brief guide to living with amnesia.
Yeah, none of those sounded great. Pretty sure I could check “motivational writer” off my list of possible career choices.
Finally the door creaked open and my fragile old doctor appeared. With his white hair and wrinkled, thin skin, Dr. Lawrence looked like he was about twenty years late to his own retirement party, and yet when he spoke, you couldn’t help but pay attention. He demanded attention, owned a room, and was as sharp as a tack.
I was still afraid to be alone with him, for fear that he’d drop over dead and I’d be somehow blamed for it, but I was also glad to have him as my doctor.
“Well, look who it is!” he greeted warmly, taking my hand in his in a friendly handshake. His cold palm felt small in mine but I gladly took it, aware of everything this man had done to keep me alive over the past few years.
It might not seem like much to others—I was just one of his patients, part of his regular duties. But to me, those routines he’d performed had kept me alive. Checking to make sure my muscles hadn’t atrophied, monitoring my brain waves, and running tests… and everything he’d done after I awoke. I had no idea why I was here—why I’d come back, but I knew for a fact I wouldn’t have even had the option had it not been for this man, right here, doing his job.
Sometimes the simplest things we do in a day have the greatest impact.
“How have you been?” he asked as he ushered me to the exam table. I took a seat, ignoring the awful crinkling sound beneath me.
“Good. Not too bad,” I answered as he began checking my heart and lungs. I took breaths when he directed and let them out at the proper time. Everything must have sounded like he’d hoped because he moved on to my eyes, flashing a light back and forth between my pupils.
“And are you adjusting well?” I caught his gaze briefly before his attention centered, and he held up his index finger and told me to focus on it.
“I guess—I mean, as well as can be expected.”
The flashlight disappeared and it was just the two of us once again.
“Any blackout periods or dizzy spells? Any points you can’t remember since you woke up?”
Nope, those were crystal clear…
“No,” I simply answered.
“Well, then I don’t see any reason we need to hold your license any longer. Just continue to take it easy, August,” he advised, placing his hand on my shoulder. “This will get easier.”
I took a deep breath and nodded.
“And the memories?”
He shook his head in uncertainty. “I don’t know. I wish I could give you an answer but, I just don’t know.”
As I watched him walk out the door, I looked up at the brochure board again and wondered what brochure could help me cope with the loss of the important person in my life.
Myself.
* * *
Turns out I didn’t just have a thing for redheads.
I could also be persuaded by a nice shade of ebony… if it came with enough horsepower.
As I walked around the sleek, black Mercedes sport car that looked like something out of a movie, I couldn’t help but grin. And soon that little baby was going to be all mine.
“I’ll take it,” I said smoothly, trying to remind myself that I could indeed afford such a luxurious item. The old August Kincaid probably would have walked in here without a second thought, plunked down his black Amex card, and been done with it.
But now, the entire place gave me anxiety, and I had no idea why. I felt like an impostor.
A hoax.
I worried that somehow, at any given minute, a team of guards and police were going to rush in, arrest me, and charge me with falsely impersonating another person.
Because this couldn’t possibly be my life. Fancy cars and unlimited bank accounts.
But it was, and as I signed on the dotted line and handed over my fancy credit card, I finally saw it. The reality of my life.
I was fucking loaded, and so far I’d done nothing but buy buckets of ice cream, cash in a couple free tickets to the ballet, and take my therapist out for dinner.
It was time to celebrate.
Chapter Thirteen
Everly
It was dark. The apartment had gone quiet long ago.
And yet I still lay awake in our bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep because of the flood of thoughts filling my head.
There were too many, and yet not enough, and then so many I didn’t want to face.
Ryan hadn’t said anything, but I knew the casual conversation he’d witnessed between August and me the night before had unnerved him.
He wasn’t the only one.
It had unnerved me, too. It unraveled me and sent me to a place within my head where I didn’t want to dwell.
A place where he became more than the monster I’d turned him into, and I could never allow him to be. Because if he wasn’t the monster in this fucked up fairy tale, then who was?
After that one glance, I’d never once looked back up at our old theater box, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was on my mind.
Even if he had been.
Instead, I’d followed every twirl, every lift as Sarah flawlessly performed the role of her dreams, bringing the swan princess to life on stage. She had been phenomenal and I’d finally found myself caught up in her brilliance, rather than my own selfish world.
> When I met her back stage once again, all thoughts had been firmly back in place, focused on her, as Ryan and I congratulated her. We’d offered to take her out to celebrate but she’d sadly declined, explaining the cast was going out together, but promised to meet up with us later in the week.
On our drive home that night, as I watched the city pass by in a blur, I tried not to envision August and his redheaded date in the back of a darkened car. Ryan had interrupted my dark thoughts, bringing me back to reality.
“You seem better,” he’d said, reaching across the seat to grasp my hand. I’d looked over to see a small grin tugging at his lips.
“Better? Than what?”
“Well, you seemed a bit tense after the show started. Did running into August scare you?”
I closed my eyes briefly as the memory flooded back. Spread your legs…relax.
“Yes,” I had quickly answered, giving a hesitant smile. “Just threw me off, I guess.”
Another white lie.
Guilt pulled heavily at my conscience.
“Well, it’s a good thing I came when I did,” he’d said, giving me a sideways glance as we pulled onto a side street near our apartment.
“You’re always there when I need you.”
And he was.
I rolled over to watch him sleep. The sound of his even breathing filled me with such peace, I found myself listening to its steady rhythm until I felt my own body drifting off.
Even in sleep, he still was there for me.
What felt like moments later, I was awakened by a noise—a phone, maybe. I sat up, rubbing my tired eyes as I looked over to my nightstand. My cellphone buzzed around next to me.
Why did I insist on putting that thing next to me at night?
Oh right; in case of emergencies.
Suddenly, I looked at the time as I grabbed the phone. Three in the morning—my heart pounded in my chest as I thought of Sarah out late at night with the cast.
“Hello?” I answered, my voice tired and groggy. Ryan’s hand reached out for me in the darkness and he too awoke.
“Who is it?” he asked, his head buried in the pillow.
“Miss Adams?” someone asked.
“Yes, this is she.”
“This is Doctor Maven from the UCSF Emergency Room. We have August Kincaid here—he was in a car accident.”
There were many emotions I should have felt at that moment. Confusion should have probably topped them all as I wondered why I was being called at all, but the second I heard “August” and “car accident” in the same sentence, I couldn’t breathe.
“Is he okay?” I asked, taking long, slow breaths to keep my emotions from spilling down my cheeks.
“Yes, a bit banged up. Perhaps a few bruised ribs and a sprained ankle. But he’s fine. Or will be.”
“Do I need to come down?” I asked, already rising from the bed.
“He will need a ride home—he’s pretty out of it from the pain meds.”
“That’s fine,” I answered before hanging up, not even realizing what I was signing up for. I was in some sort of zombie mode, where August was in need and I’d just responded.
Without even thinking of the repercussions or consequences.
Especially the big one sitting on the bed, staring at me right now.
“What was that all about?” Ryan asked, his eyes hooded with concern and doubt.
“August was in a car accident tonight. They need someone to give him a ride home,” I answered very casually, pulling out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from my drawer.
His hand met mine instantly. I hadn’t even seen him get up.
“And why does that person have to be you?” he asked. I looked up at him. His expression was full of the same intensity I’d seen at the ballet when he’d pulled me away from August in the lobby of the theater.
“I guess he still has me listed as his emergency contact,” I said with caution, stepping out of his grasp to get dressed.
“Damn it, Ev!” he shouted, his voice filling the room. “What is going on with you?”
“Nothing!” I yelled, taken aback by the roaring thunder of his voice. Ryan very rarely raised his voice—especially to me. “Nothing. He just needs someone to take him home. I’ll be right back.” I turned toward the bed and began pulling on my jeans, the awkward silence filling the spaces where I should have been apologizing—begging for forgiveness for all the stupid mistakes I’d made.
“You know this is way more than just a simple ride.” His hand touched my shoulder tentatively, and I turned.
“We knew this would be tricky,” I said softly. “We knew if he woke up, it would be rough.”
He nodded. “I just expected something much different from casual conversations and rides around town.”
“Me too,” I admitted.
“I feel like we’re drifting, Everly, during a time when we should be growing closer. We’re getting married soon and I barely see you.”
I looked up into his eyes and saw hurt…pain, vulnerability.
I’d done that and I wanted it gone. All of it.
“It’s the wedding planning. It’s too much,” I blurted out without thinking.
That was only partially the truth. Wedding planning did cause me stress but it wasn’t the reason I’d been mentally checking out.
So many lies. So many secrets. When would it end?
“I never said we had to have a big wedding, Ev.”
“I know. I just thought that was how it was done,” I said.
“Well, who says we have to do it the way it is supposed to be done?” he replied, his eyebrow lifting mischievously. “Let’s elope!”
“What?” I choked out.
“Let’s just do away with tradition and go away this weekend and get married! We can fly to Vegas, or drive down Highway One and find a little chapel somewhere. Whatever you want to do.”
Looking up at him once again, I didn’t see hurt or pain anymore. I saw hundreds of possibilities and I wanted to make each and every one of those come true. For him. For us and for our future.
“Yes,” I answered.
He picked me up and twirled me around the room while I squealed. It was like our proposal all over again, only I was half-dressed and he was wearing boxers.
“I’ll start Googling places while you’re gone,” he said happily, kissing my cheek with exuberance. “Hurry back.”
No more ill feelings about the hospital or August. Just happiness.
And that was exactly the way it should be.
* * *
A little banged up, the attending doctor had said…
Jesus, he looked like he’d gotten thrown into the middle of a boxing ring with one hand tied behind his back.
And the worst part of all? The smug little grin on his damned face.
The “I don’t give a shit about any of this” attitude he was sporting.
I wanted to punch him. No, I wanted to kill him… and then punch him.
Asshole.
“Fuck! What the hell is wrong with you?” The words finally burst free from my mouth as we sped down the highway. He’d been discharged with pain pills, directions for how to wrap and care for his wounds, and a future date to check in with his primary care physician…which he didn’t have.
Irresponsible asshole.
Silence spread between us after my rather vocal outburst, and he turned toward me. “Can’t a guy wreck a car and not be interrogated about it?”
More smug grinning.
Steam billowed out of my ears as I plotted various ways to slap that stupid expression off his damned face. God, I hated him.
No more words were exchanged until we arrived at his house. He didn’t bother moving as I pulled into the driveway and got out to retrieve his crutches. As I yanked open the passenger door, he greeted me with his dopey smile.
“You’re too good to me,” he commented. The drugs he had been given in the emergency room were clearly making their presence known.
“Uh huh,” I agreed as I placed the crutches out in front of him so he could use them to stand. He wobbled a little but made it upright. Slowly, we got to the front door.
“Do you have the key?” I asked, looking at him with annoyance.
“Oh, right.”
He fished around in his pocket for what seemed like an eternity, until he pulled out a small set of keys. A shiny, new car key was strung next to the familiar house key and I rolled my eyes, trying not to imagine what that expensive car must look like now.
“What thought process did you go through when you decided to buy a car… and then hours later, crash it?” I asked, dangling the key in front of him before I used the other to let us in.
“Hmmm, well…I thought, ‘Pretty car…I want,’ and that was about it.”
At least he hadn’t been drunk when he’d crashed. Otherwise, he’d be facing jail time along with those cuts and bruises. Apparently spending two years in a hospital bed had made him a bit rusty behind the wheel. He’d been broadsided when he failed to stop at a light. No doubt he’d be slapped with a fine and have to pay damages for other driver’s car, but I doubted any of that mattered to him now.
“Go sit on the couch. I’ll get you some water,” I replied curtly before disappearing into the kitchen. Flipping a switch, I watched the large space become illuminated with light.
The room still looked the same—like taking a walk back in time.
I took my time walking around, admiring the beautiful cherrywood cabinets and polished marble countertops. During the day, light would filter in from the skylights. I rested my hands against the edge of the counter and took several deep breaths.
This had always been one of my favorite spaces—when things were good between August and me.
The inability to decide what I wanted to do with my life wasn’t a new thing. I’d been “wandering” for years, trying to find my niche in the world. Before we lived here, I’d dabbled with college, taken a few classes and tried out several majors, but nothing ever stuck.
After August hit it big and I had no reason to seek work, I’d turned to the kitchen, watching cooking shows and copying what their chefs did. It wasn’t anything amazing, but it gave me something to do during the day that was my own.
