Forgetting August (Lost & Found #1)

by J. L. Berg

  I’d just wanted her to have the life she deserved, and now here she was—right back where she’d started.

  She said Brick thought it would bring us both closure—talking about the past as a way to seek out separate futures. I wasn’t sure I agreed. Every path I saw led to her, which was exactly why I needed her so far away.

  But I’d been a selfish man for far too long…and sometimes I thought some of those traits had remained when I awoke. If she was willing to see me, I would always come running.

  * * *

  I’d figured we’d meet for coffee, maybe have lunch or do something traditional and public. I had no lofty beliefs that she wanted to be anywhere with me, but I’d sincerely doubted it would be someplace remote.

  Now I had no idea why I was meeting her in a trashy part of town, where the only form of art was newspaper flying in the breeze and random gang tags painted on the storefront walls.

  Maybe she was hoping I’d get mugged on my way here. Ultimate revenge?

  Guy recovers from two year coma and gets mugged. Again.

  After I’d had all the repairs done to that crazy looking sports car I’d bought on a whim, I’d decided to trade it in for something a bit more sensible after my embarrassing accident. It had been fun for a night, but like so many other things, I’d discovered flashy just wasn’t my style. So I’d downgraded to a domestic SUV. It was a lot less strain on the purse strings, and it drank gas like it was Kool-Aid, but it felt like me the second I got inside.

  It also had a rack on the top for camping gear, and just the thought of that made me happy somehow as I tried to imagine the old August in his crisp suit driving out to the forest and pitching a tent.

  A tap at my window had my nearly jumping out of my seat.

  Nearly—I still kept my cool.

  Everly tried to hide the grin on her face for catching me off guard as I opened the door and hopped out.

  “Another new car?” she asked, taking a long look at the shiny red paint.

  “Yeah, traded the other one in.”

  She nodded but didn’t say anything until she noticed what was in my hand. “What do you have there?”

  “Oh, I found it when I was emptying out a closet. Thought it looked interesting,” I said, holding up the SLR camera. It had been hidden away on a shelf high up in the master closet. I’d done some research on the particular model and it was worth a fortune—basically top of the line, or it had been several years ago.

  I’d considered selling it, or donating it to the local high school, but as soon as my fingers touched it, I knew it was mine.

  “You used to love taking photos. That’s why there are so many boxes of them,” she said, looking down at the camera with soulful eyes.

  “Why’d I stop?”

  “Why did you stop loving so many things?” she asked, then began walking away.

  I quickly followed her down the street, noticing her eyes taking in the dilapidated, tiny apartment buildings. “Why are we here?” I asked, unable to stop myself from clicking a few pictures here and there as we walked.

  “You aren’t the only one with a therapist, August,” she informed me. “And when I spoke to mine, this is some of the advice she gave me.”

  “To drop me off in the ghetto and hope I never find my way back?”

  Again, she tried to cover up the small smirk that threatened to tug at the corner of her mouth. The fact that she didn’t want to share any joy with me stung, but I understood.

  I was still the enemy.

  She had done so much for me already, considering what little I had come to understand about our relationship, and it showed what a kind heart she had. I just hoped whatever she hoped to get out of this little experiment worked.

  “No,” she continued. “She said I should start at beginning. If you and I both need closure, maybe we’ll find it along the way.”

  I nodded, looking around at the unfamiliar area. “So our story begins here?”

  “Yes, but it looked much different a decade ago. As did we, I guess.”

  “I’ve seen pictures of you from ten years ago. You don’t look that different,” I said, remembering the one I had found in my wallet at the hospital.

  Same coppery red hair, same intense blue eyes. If she smiled now, I was sure I’d find the same beautiful girl standing before me.

  But she wouldn’t smile—not for me.

  Not anymore.

  “In 2005, this was a great area for clubbing. I guess there are some nightclubs around here still but it’s not quite the same. Back then, this was the place to be and I spent every weekend sneaking into the best clubs with friends.”

  “And me?” I asked with a questioning gaze.

  “You and your coworkers liked to come here after work—something about blowing off steam. I think you just liked to be part of the team. The loud noise and the dancing never really appealed to you.”

  “But it brought me to you,” I stated. She flinched. “Sorry,” I apologized, realizing what I’d said.

  “It’s okay. Brick reminded me that had I not met you, I wouldn’t have eventually found Ryan. And Ryan is my everything,” she said firmly, each word cutting me like a knife.

  “Right,” I managed to say.

  She abruptly stopped walking and I nearly smacked into her side as she stood looking at a small apartment building to our left.

  “This is where I lived.” She pointed to the second story, where a tattered old sheet fluttered in the wind, serving as a makeshift curtain. Trash lined the streets and what little paint was left on the building was cracked and flaking. It was the type of place you see when you accidentally take the wrong turn off the interstate, and try not to stare as you quickly wait for your GPS to reroute you to safety. Knowing she’d lived here caused permanent damage to my soul; knowing she’d been so close to poverty—so close to danger.

  “How long?” I asked softly.

  “Since the day I turned eighteen and wasn’t worth anything to my foster parents anymore.”

  I hadn’t known she was a foster kid. I guess there was a lot I didn’t know about her.

  “What about school? What about a job?”

  She shook her head. “This particular couple only cared about the cash—nothing else. They kicked me out and replaced me the same day with someone younger. There are people who do it for the right reasons, but it’s far from a perfect system.”

  “Everly—”

  “Please don’t talk,” she begged, before saying, “I remember being embarrassed to take you here. For the first several weeks we dated, you’d ask to see where I lived, and I’d always make lame excuses—like my roommate had a guy over, or I hadn’t had time to clean. But finally you figured it out. Snuck a peak at my license and instead of going to your place, we ended up here.”

  She took a deep breath as I watched her nearly relive the memory as it played out through her words.

  “I was terrified. I thought you’d leave the moment you saw the place. You were four years older than me. For an eighteen-year-girl from the foster system, you seemed like something out of a fairy tale.”

  “What happened?” I asked, turning toward her as she watched the sheet flutter from the second story window.

  “You took my hand, walked me to my apartment, and held out your hand.”

  “My hand?”

  “Yep, you placed it in yours and shook it and then did the craziest thing.”

  * * *

  “Hi, I’m August Kincaid.”

  “Everly Adams.”

  “Good. Now that we have that out of the day, won’t you invite me into your lovely home?”

  * * *

  “I thought you were crazy at first, but just that small act of kindness gave me the courage to open that door and let you in—both literally and emotionally. We spent the entire night talking—about life, past and present, and where we saw ourselves ten years from then.”

  “And where did you see yourself ten years from that night?” I a
sked. Her eyes suddenly turned away from the apartment building.

  “It doesn’t matter now,” she snapped. “Plans change—for better, for worse. We adapt. And all that matters is what’s in front of us.”

  “And you have Ryan now,” I concluded.

  “Yes.”

  Silence followed us as we moved down the street past the old clubs and the dingy storefronts.

  “Why do you want to know about the past—about us—so badly?” she blurted out as we reached my car. I turned to face her, and saw red blotches of anger tinting her face. I took a second or two to collect my thoughts before responding.

  “Have you ever watched a mystery or a thriller type movie?”

  “What?”

  “You know, like Inception or Gone Girl? Where you just have no fucking clue what’s going on until the very end?”

  “I know what type of movie you’re talking about. And no—not really, if you must know. I’m not a mystery lover—I always see the plot twists from a mile away. But what I don’t see is why you’re bringing up movies—right now!” she huffed.

  “I’m trying to explain my answer. Would you just give me a second,” I answered gruffly.

  She threw her arms across her chest, and I tried to ignore the way they pressed her breasts high and tight against her shirt. I decided to look at the stop sign across the street instead.

  That was safer.

  “Anyway, as I was saying—I’ve been watching a lot of movies lately—in an effort to discover the new me. Well, I’ve decided I hate thrillers and mysteries. The intense feeling of never knowing what is going on—that sick, twist-in-the-gut feeling of knowing there is something missing and you just don’t know what it is. I hate it—with a passion. That’s my life—all that damn time. Knowing there are clues and memories out there, within reach, but having no idea how to get to them.”

  “Why do you need to know so badly? I mean, couldn’t you just start over new?” she asked softly.

  “I tried. I am trying, but I’m always pulled back to this dark black hole of nothingness. I need to fill in the blanks. I need to make sure I don’t…”

  “You don’t what?” she pressed.

  “I don’t want to become that man again,” I confessed, turning toward her. Her hesitant eyes met mine, and she nodded.

  “Then we keep going. One memory at a time.”

  No smile of encouragement, no friendly good-bye as she turned toward her car, but she had given me the promise of more.

  More time with her.

  More memories of us, and more chances to change her mind.

  She might never love me again, but maybe she’d find it in her heart to forgive the man I was trying to become.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Everly

  I don’t like this, Tabitha.” I shook my head as I copied Ryan’s signature move in the middle of her suddenly very cramped office and paced back and forth, really wishing there was a window I could open.

  Or a door.

  “Are you sure that’s the reason it’s bothering you?” she asked calmly. I hated calm right now.

  Calm could kiss my ass.

  It had been two hours since my meeting with August and I was so amped up on coffee and rage and forty other different emotions I hadn’t sorted out, calm was just about the last thing I wanted to hear.

  “Like what? Like how this was just about the worst idea on the planet? Getting two people together like him and me? Shit, it’s like putting the atomic bomb and its detonator in the same room and waiting around to see what happens. So fucking stupid.”

  She let me take another layer off her carpet before responding.

  “Why are you so convinced this is such a bad idea? Is it based on your past? Because of what you’ve been through together already—or are you afraid of what might happen if you get close again?”

  “We are never getting close again. Ever,” I answered with a finality that I hoped ended that train of thought.

  But Tabitha wasn’t afraid of me or my stern voice, and she had a knack for picking on the subjects I wanted to avoid the most. I really hated that trait in her.

  “Why?” she pressed on.

  “Because, I—” I stopped myself, realizing I was lashing out, rather than thinking. Why didn’t I want to get close to him? He was a different person—a far cry from the August I’d left in that hospital room two years ago.

  “He’s too dangerous,” I finally admitted.

  She nodded, understanding my intention. The old August was dangerous because of the harm he could do to me as a person. The new August—he was dangerous for an entirely different reason, and I wasn’t sure my heart could take it.

  “So are you giving up? Walking away?” she asked. I got the feeling she knew the answer before she even asked.

  “No,” I answered. “I agree with Mr. Abrams—that closure could be found for both of us by letting go of the past. August doesn’t have any memories of himself, so I am simply giving him that. It doesn’t need to be anything more.”

  “And Ryan agrees?” she asked, watching me finally take a seat in one of the nearby chairs.

  “He’s agreeable—enough. He doesn’t like the idea of me being anywhere near August—nor do I, but considering how things have been between us, he’s willing to make the sacrifice. We’ve never encountered difficulties in our relationship. The biggest drama we had before this was what color towels should be bought for the bathroom and whether the yellow and blue went well together. He knew I was damaged when he and I got together, but I just don’t think he ever really thought about when this moment would happen—if it ever would. Neither of us did. We lived in this August-free bubble of bliss, and suddenly it’s been blown to smithereens.”

  “No one ever prepares for these types of things, Everly—whether it be a tragedy or something else equally life-altering. Those who say they do are still never prepared for the battle it takes—on your emotions, your general health and well-being. And your relationships. It’s normal to see everything suffer slightly. And yes, this situation is unique, but it doesn’t make it any less important. You were a victim of abuse.

  “While verbal abuse may not make headlines, it still hurts. There are no scars…no reminders on the flesh, but you have wounds. You have memories and days that you’ll relive over and over again. And even though that man is gone, his face, the man you once loved—is still here. It’s a hard thing to cope with. Do you trust him—do you not? It’s something only you can decide. If he had just woke up August, with all his memories intact, this would be a much different conversation, but he didn’t. So the struggle begins.”

  The struggle had begun the very moment I saw him walk into the coffee shop, so lost and alone. It was in that moment that I’d truly realized he was gone.

  “But what if he comes back—the real August?” I asked.

  “Ah, but what if he doesn’t?”

  And that was the real question—the one I was too frightened to ask myself.

  What if this was the real August?

  Could I truly hate a man who didn’t remember any of the sins he’d committed? If you took away the hurt and the pain I felt for him, what was left?

  * * *

  “I thought you said you liked where I lived…that it didn’t bother you,” I said accusingly, my hands opening wide in a mock display as I spun around the small space of my apartment.

  “Would you listen to what I’m saying…Jesus, woman,” August cursed. “It’s not about being embarrassed or bothered.”

  “So you want to rescue me—that’s it,” I stomped my foot, turning away from him with resentment. After everything I’d shared—everything I’d told him of my life growing up…

  “For the love of Christ—” Hands gripped my waist and spun me around. “I know you don’t need to be saved. I just want to be with you—all the damn time. I’m trying to tell you I love you, Everly!”

  His kiss was punishing—brutal to the point of pain, our lips meetin
g over and over. He’d asked me to move in with him and I’d lashed out in typical Everly fashion.

  Nothing good had ever happened in my life.

  Until him.

  His hands wove deep groves in my hair as our frenzied passion slowed. “Move in with me. Please. Warm my bed, live in my arms…never leave.”

  “Yes,” I answered, finally realizing what it felt like to be cherished.

  To be loved.

  * * *

  “Showing me more real estate today?” August’s voice cut through the lingering memory…bringing me back to the present. I blinked several times, looking out onto the street where our first house still stood.

  The house we’d rented when I’d finally agreed to move in with him.

  * * *

  “So are you going to move into the ghetto with me? Or do you just expect me to pick up all my things and move into that disgusting bachelor pad with you?” I smiled, running my hands over his naked chest.

  He looked down at me, placing a single kiss on the top of my head.

  “Hell—we can find someplace entirely new if you want’ I don’t care. As long as I wake up like this every morning.”

  And so we had.

  I’d planned to make that house my next stop on this little roadmap of the “This was our life” journey, but suddenly it felt too private.

  Too real.

  And I just wasn’t ready to give it up.

  “No.” I finally answered his question. “Just a meeting place,” I explained.

  His eyes roamed the street and I studied him, waiting for some sort of spark— a hint of something that would tell me he remembered, but there was nothing.

  To him—it was just a street.

  Nothing special.

  And for some reason, that hurt…just a little.

  “So, what are we doing today?” he asked, curiosity peaking as he turned to me. I immediately looked away, crossing my arms in front of myself as I tried to think of a new plan.