by J. L. Berg
And the perfect woman to worship.
Bills. Need to pay bills.
It had been three days since I’d asked Brick to take away the photo boxes. Three days, and yet I still couldn’t go a few minutes without thinking of her. Even my subconscious was dreaming of her. My mind would drift as I brewed a fresh pot of coffee—the smell alone making me think of her—and I’d start wondering whether she was working, and if she liked her job at that little coffee house. Even today, as I grabbed the bills off the counter, I thought about how she’d handled everything for me for the two years I was in the hospital.
She’d giving over everything to my lawyer and accountant—making sure everything was taken care of. Even my cell phone bill had been paid, for two years, even while everyone assumed I’d never wake up.
Why? Did she secretly hope I would…or had that just been an oversight?
Whatever her reasons, she’d stopped the moment I awoke. All the bills came to me now, and it was about time I figured them out. I could have simply handed everything back over to the same accountant she’d used for the last few years, but for someone who currently didn’t have a job—it just seemed ridiculous. I had plenty of time, and I really needed to understand my own finances.
For someone with no memory of their past—I was the easiest fucking target on the planet right now. I didn’t want to be walking around with amnesia and also be poor. It was time to start using all those smarts I’d apparently been blessed with.
First bill on the stack—hospital bill. Easy; paid. Next. Utility bill—check.
I went through several like this—lightning fast—and I thought I’d be done in no time. I’d barely made a dent in my giant cup of coffee, and it was still piping hot.
And then I found the bill from an attorney.
Fuck.
The dude who’d hit me in the intersection was suing for damages and hospital fees. Looked like I needed my lawyer—and fast. Not remembering much from my first few days after waking up in the hospital, I couldn’t recall the law firm that had contacted me off the top of my head. Pulling out my phone, I clicked through my old contacts, having previously discovered my former self had liked to list contacts in random ways. Dentist was listed just like that—“dentist.” I’d spent several nights looking at this strange organizational system. Some people were just an occupation, while others had names—like Everly. But then some were just a string of initials. Not a single person had a last name, which made the whole listing seem very murky and clandestine. Did he think he was a spy? Whatever the reason, it made me hate myself a little more.
As I made my way down the list, I couldn’t help but chuckle at some of the notations—“Everly’s hippie doctor”—there had to be a story behind that one, I was sure. One that I’d probably never discover.
Shaking my head as I scrolled down, I found the one I needed: “lawyer”.
Who knew what his name was, or if he’d even remember me after all this time, but it was worth a try.
After a few rings, a secretary answered, saying, “Johnson, Doyle and Platt”. The names now sounded suddenly familiar, and I quickly introduced myself. As if I’d said some magic word, she quickly cut me off and placed me on hold.
“August Kincaid—it’s Jeff Doyle. Is it really you?” A gruff-sounding older man came on the line.
“Yes, it is, sir,” I answered.
“Well, I’ll be damned. I thought you were dead,” he chuckled. An odd response considering the comment.
“Nope, just in a coma—for a couple of years,” I deadpanned.
“Oh, that’s right—” he cleared his throat—maybe because of a lack of anything to say to that. “What can I do for you, son? Already got yourself in hot water?” There was that arrogant chuckle again.
“Had a bit of a fender bender. Need some representation.”
“Not a problem—figured it was something to do with you and Trent, and I can’t lie, you had me worried.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, so I just made a noncommittal noise to move the conversation along. I was sick of telling people my sad story of loss—seeing their sympathetic looks, hearing their apologies. He obviously remembered my coma now that we were on the phone, but had no idea I was still suffering from the after-effects. To him, I was August Kincaid—whatever that meant.
For now, it was good enough.
He’d find out soon enough. But for now, I was just August and he was just my lawyer. No sappy eyes—no sad comments. Nothing.
We made an appointment to meet up later in the week to go over everything and he switched me over to his secretary to finalize everything. Within minutes, I was done with the call and back to the silence of the dark, barren room.
I looked down at the cell phone still in my hand and started searching through the contacts, looking for one specific name.
Trent.
There it was. No initials…no occupation. Just Trent.
Who are you and what missing piece are you to long lost puzzle of my past?
Chapter Fifteen
Everly
I’d done everything I could to go back—to create the life Ryan and I had lived before that fateful phone call had changed everything.
Like the personal poltergeist he’d become in my life, August had reentered our lives, and nothing since had been the same. We fought more, argued about trivial things, and there was this tension that had never been there before. But no matter how many movie nights, or passion-filled hours we spent in each other’s arms, we couldn’t find a way back to the way it had been. Things were just different and I didn’t know how to fix it.
I’d said good-bye—I’d made up my mind. No more August. No more favors or late night trips to the ER. I was done. But deep down, I don’t think my heart had agreed.
And wasn’t that the ironic part of it all?
It was my heart that had chosen Ryan—my heart that had screamed yes when he’d presented me with the ring I now wore on my left hand, and it was this heart still that reached out for him in the middle of the night.
Each night. Every night.
Why would the same heart who loved a man so fiercely keep me from him at the same time?
When I’d asked Dr. Lawrence that day in the hospital how all this was possible—how August could remember how to tie his shoes but not remember his own name—he’d simply said, “The mind is a unique and powerful thing.”
Perhaps the heart was as well.
As I opened the apartment door, home from another shift at work, I looked around the empty apartment and wondered what my heart was trying to tell me that I couldn’t see for myself.
Blankets lay in a heap, left on the floor after our late-night television binge. Two coffee cups sat empty on the table nearby, and I remembered snuggling into Ryan’s warmth as we clung to cups of decaf and watched the latest episode of our favorite show. I’d buried my head into his shoulder at the gory parts and laughed when something funny had happened, and never once had I thought about August or my muddled feeling about his return.
It had just been the two of us, and our simple life together.
And that was all this heart—all I’d ever wanted.
A knock pulled me out of my deep thoughts just as I was considering making a cup of coffee after my eight-hour shift. There was a reason I worked in a coffee shop: I had a serious addiction to the dark brew.
Quickly putting my coffee thoughts aside, I ran to the door to answer it. Outside stood a man I’d never seen before.
Shit—I really should have checked before throwing open the door.
Please don’t be a burglar.
Or a rapist.
Or one of those people who hands out pamphlets.
“Hi, are you Everly Adams?” he asked, his voice calm and sweet—the exact opposite of what I would expect from a serial killer.
Maybe that was what he wanted me to think?
“Um, maybe? Who are you?” I asked, my timid voice sounding anything but fi
erce.
“Sorry—I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, taking a step back. “My name is Brick Abrams. I’m a therapist.”
Totally confused.
“And you go door to door?” I questioned lamely.
He laughed, and tiny crinkled lines appeared around his worn brown eyes. “No; not usually, anyway. Although lately it seems to have become a habit. I’m here for a friend.” It was then that I noticed he had several boxes next to his feet.
“Do you mind if I show you something? You don’t have to let me in if you don’t want to,” he added as he bent down to open one of the boxes. Curiosity got the better of me, and even though I should have been concerned with my safety and what exactly he had in those boxes, I felt an instant kinship to this man—like I’d known him my entire life. I don’t know why, but he felt like a friend I’d always had but never known.
Luckily, nothing scary or perverted came out of the box, only a handful of pictures. But when I got a closer look, I discovered that photos could indeed be more intimidating than my worst fears.
And right now, my worst fears were sitting in those boxes.
“What did you say the name of your friend was, Mr. Abrams?” I asked, tearing my eyes away from the pictures.
“I didn’t, but I’m sure you could guess.”
Swallowing the lump that had now formed in my throat, I nodded. “Yes, but I don’t think I can help you, Mr. Abrams.”
I slowly backed away. His sad eyes met mine as I began to push the door closed.
“But what if he could help you?”
“He’s already done enough, don’t you think?” I said, feeling the anger rising in my veins.
“I honestly don’t know—and neither does he. That’s the problem,” he began, and I slowly pulled the door open, allowing the crazy man to gather up his boxes and enter. If anyone ever asked, I’d deny everything and say it was simply caffeine withdrawal that made me to open the door, but really, I was suddenly just interested.
Interested in this man who seemed so much like a friend.
He took a seat at our small dining room table as I began brewing a pot of coffee. Being the old friends we were now, I just assumed he would join me. I didn’t hang out with people who didn’t like coffee—people like that couldn’t be trusted.
“So, you’re August’s therapist?” I asked, looking over my shoulder as I moved about the kitchen.
“Something like that. I’m a therapist, and I know August. Let’s just say I want to help him.”
“Okay,” I replied, feeling like he’d just evaded that question better than a politician on election day.
“August has no memory of his past—no understanding of who he is or why he became the person he is today. He’s truly floundering. You hate a man who doesn’t exist anymore.”
As I stared at the coffee pot, waiting for it to brew, I let his words percolate and settle as I formed a response. “That doesn’t mean I have to forgive him just because he doesn’t remember.”
“No, but shouldn’t you at least give him the opportunity to move on—to find a new life?”
“Why? He destroyed mine,” I spat.
“Did he?” He looked around, admiring our quaint little apartment with its secondhand furniture I’d lovingly restored on my days off. I’d used new fabric so it would all somehow match. The place was rustic, the total opposite of the house I’d decorated before, but it was still nonetheless home.
“Seems to me, if this is where you were supposed to be all along, how you got here would have been worth all the trouble.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but couldn’t form a rebuttal. I’d never seen my years with August simply as a long path to get me to Ryan. There had always been the time in my life with August, and then now. Two completely different worlds—separate from each other.
“I just want to move on,” I sighed, taking the two cups of coffee I’d just poured and placing them between us as I sat down to join him.
“And so does he. What if you could do that—together?”
“I nearly gutpunched him the last time I saw him,” I confessed. “While he was injured.”
A smirk pulled across his lips, “He just needs answers. Maybe by giving them to him, you’ll find the closure you need to move on.”
“So you want me to just talk to him?”
He nodded, taking a sip of coffee.
“And that’s it?”
“That’s what he needs, Everly. What he’s desperate for. He needs to fill in the blanks.”
“And you think by doing this, I’ll be able to find closure to all of this pain and anger I’ve been harboring as well?” I asked doubtfully.
“Talking with him could heal many wounds,” he answered.
“Hmm,” was all I could manage.
But even after we’d said our good-byes, even after my second cup of coffee had long since gone cold…I found myself returning to that single sentence and wondering whether he was right.
Was I still so wounded? And if so, could I find the healing I needed to move on without the man who’d caused me so much pain?
* * *
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Everly.” Ryan looked up from his spot on the sofa.
“I know it sounds crazy—”
“Crazy? It’s insane. No, it’s more than insane. You can’t seriously be considering it.”
My lack of response had his eyes rounding with shock as he stood, ready to pace. He loved to pace. And I loved to flee. Those were our standard responses to an argument. He’d pace…talk, battle it out until everything was out in the open and well-discussed, like a well-functioning person—and me? I just wanted space. I’d learned through counseling and my time with Ryan that normal couples discussed their grievances with each other, but the practice still felt foreign to me.
When August got angry or frustrated—or hell, even just wanted to go out for an evening—I’d ended up locked in my bedroom.
I knew Ryan was different. I understood they weren’t the same person, but the need to flee still remained. Even though he never raised his voice, never lashed out in anger, I could still feel his disappointment swirling around the room like a choking fog, and I suddenly couldn’t breathe.
I rose to open a window. The fresh air dampened my frantic nerves.
“At first, no,” I admitted, “I thought the idea was as ludicrous as you do. But, then I went and spoke to Tabitha.”
He shook his head in disbelief, a wayward lock of hair falling over his eyes, hiding his expression from me.
“She wants you to do this?” he asked softly, turning away from me to begin his pacing again.
“She didn’t give me an opinion one way or another—she just helped me understand the situation.”
“And what is the situation, exactly?” he asked, running a frustrated hand over his face.
“Things aren’t the same, Ryan—since August came back. For me, for you. It’s different. And no matter how hard we try, it’s been impossible to go back to the way things used to be.”
“It will just take some time,” he stated, grasping at invisible straws.
“No—I don’t think simply time will fix this,” I said. “Ignoring a problem never solves it.”
“Then we’ll move,” he simply stated. “I can find a job somewhere else, and there are coffee shops all over America. Hell, there’s a Starbucks on every corner. Rent is expensive here anyway.”
He was rambling now. He felt threatened.
Closing the gap the separated us, I took his hand in mine. “I don’t want to move, Ryan. And neither do you. The Giants are here and you have a fantastic career. You love this city—don’t deny it.”
His eyes met mine. “I love you more.”
“I know.”
When his lips touched mine, I felt the desperation in his touch, tasted the need in each lingering kiss as he carried me to the bedroom. He was scared—so very scared of losing me. We made love slowly, as if our bodies were me
morizing every single inch of each another. Hours later, he still cradled me in his arms as we quietly held each other. Neither of us spoke, too afraid to break the calming spell that seemed to have been cast the second our bodies had met.
But spells are meant to be broken, and real life always seems to find its way back to the forefront of our minds.
“I know I’m different from most men,” Ryan finally said, breaking the silence. I turned to face him in the moonlight.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I see the difference—between me and August…even now. I’m shy, and reserved. A lover, not a fighter if you will. These are qualities about myself I’ve known my entire life. My parents were gentle-natured and raised me to be so.”
“Ryan—”
“No, let me finish. It’s these qualities that first made me so appealing to you, I think—my stark contrast to him. I took care of you in a way that he never did—never would. But please, make no mistake that if it ever came down to it—”
My fingers moved across his worried face as he struggled to find the words.
“—I would fight for you, Everly. Do what you need to do to heal—to find the closure you need, but please know that I would tear apart heaven and earth if I had to—for you. This is not me backing away.”
I tenderly touched my lips to his. “I know. Believe me, I know.”
And as I surrendered back into his embrace, the taste of his kiss was the only thing racing through my mind that night.
He was my future—and soon my past would be nothing more than a distant memory.
Chapter Sixteen
August
Fifteen minutes had passed, and I was still looking down at my phone in awe.
She’d called me. By choice.
When her name had appeared on my phone I’d thought it was a cruel joke.
Why—especially after she’d walked away that night, making it clear it would most likely be the last time I saw her, would she ever try to reestablish contact with me?
Simple—Brick.
Probably violating every rule in whatever code of ethics he was supposed to follow, Brick had gone out of his way to make sure he broke every damn promise he’d made to me by seeking out Everly and doing the exact opposite of what I’d asked of him.
