Memory of a Melody

by Charli B. Rose

  Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. She blinked up at me a few times before she seemed to get her bearings straight. She stepped out of my hold and led me to the kitchen. “We have leftover Chinese takeout from what Syd brought home last night. We have stuff to make sandwiches and salads.” She opened the fridge and peered inside. “Oh, and there’s some leftover soup my mom sent over, because soup cures all that ails you.” She laughed merrily.

  “How about soup and grilled cheese?” I asked, my stomach growling at the sound of that.

  “Sounds perfect.” She pulled out a container from the fridge. “Vegetable beef.”

  I took it from her, vented the lid and put it in the microwave. After a quick perusal of the settings, I pressed a few buttons and got the soup heating slowly. While I’d been doing that, Willa had pulled out butter, cheese and a loaf of bread. Leaning down next to where I stood, she pulled out a frying pan.

  I quickly took it from her and set it on the stove. Once the heat was on at a medium level, I dropped a dollop of butter in the center so it could melt. Willa had buttered four slices of bread by the time a puddle of golden yellow filled the middle of the pan. I grabbed the slices and placed them in the pan. They sizzled.

  “Where would I find a spatula?” I asked.

  “Oh.” She snapped out of whatever daze she was in. “Right here.” She opened a drawer. “Voila!” she said, brandishing it at me.

  I snatched it out of the air then used it to flip the slices of bread over. “I’ve got this. You relax.”

  Instead of doing that, Willa moved around the kitchen getting napkins and bowls, pouring us glasses of lemonade, and fetching spoons.

  I inhaled deeply, breathing in the rich aroma of the soup. My stomach growled, making Willa giggle.

  Willa had gotten out thick slices of sharp cheddar and thin slices of swiss. I placed them on a couple slices of the buttery bread. Using the spatula, I transferred a top slice to each of the sandwiches. When I pressed them flat, the pan sizzled and popped. “Almost done,” I said as Willa placed everything on the small table in the corner.

  By my head, the microwave beeped. Carefully, I removed the Tupperware container. “Ooh, that’s hot.” I walked quickly to the table, holding the plastic bowl by the edges.

  “I have potholders, silly,” Willa scolded.

  I set the soup down on a folded dishtowel in the center of the table. “I only lost a few layers of skin, no biggie.” I sprinted back to the stove and scooped out our sandwiches, which were cooked to perfection.

  Willa had filled our bowls by the time I got back to the table. I sat in the seat next to her. My knee rubbed against hers beneath the small table.

  “This looks so good,” Willa said as she tore her sandwich in half and dunked a piece into her soup.

  “You eat your grilled cheese just like I do,” I said and followed suit. “Mmm,” I groaned around my first bite. “Where did your mom order the soup from?” I filled my spoon with the hearty beef and vegetable mixture.

  She held her hand over her mouth as she chewed. “A deli down the street. Their cheddar broccoli soup is to die for.”

  “I might just have to take your word for that. Broccoli isn’t exactly my favorite in the soup department. Too mushy.” I took another bite of my sandwich.

  “Normally, I’d agree. But they add some lightly steamed broccoli florets to the soup so that it’s not all cream and there’s still a crunch. It’s phenomenal, especially on a cold day.” She stirred her spoon around in her bowl.

  “Well, for you, I might just give it a shot sometime.” I spooned up some more soup, enjoying it immensely.

  “So, you’re from New York, you make a mean grilled cheese, you don’t like mushy broccoli, you work on fancy cars, you’re in a band about to take the world by storm, you’re close to your mom and sister. What else is important to you, Trystan?” she asked seriously.

  You, my heart shouted. I set my spoon down with a clatter and took a sip of my lemonade. “I’m pretty simple. I want to do a good job, be a good friend, son and brother. I’m ecstatic about the thought of my music being on the radio someday. And I hope to find someone to love and share my life with. Someone to grow old with, like my grandparents had.” I couldn’t believe I actually said all that out loud.

  “That’s a pretty good thing to want out of life. I approve. And I’m sure you’ll find it.” She filled her spoon once more and resumed eating the last of her soup.

  We ate the rest of our lunch in companionable silence. When we finished, I gathered up our dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher.

  “This is weird, right?” Willa said from behind me.

  “What’s weird?” I asked as I closed the door on the appliance.

  “How we’re so comfortable with each other. I mean, we don’t really know each other that well. But I feel like I know you. I’ve thought about it a lot. This is so out of character for me.” She looked so perplexed.

  “What do you mean, out of character?” I asked.

  “I’m a planner. I don’t do spontaneous. I don’t instantly feel at ease with someone new. I mean, I’m twenty-three years old, and I’ve never been on a blind date, never picked up a guy at a bar, never danced with a stranger, never kissed on a first date, never flirted with someone, never had a one-night stand. I’m a pretty low-key girl. So, meeting you and feeling this instant … connection is blowing my mind. It’s hard to wrap my head around. I know I sound crazy.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and stared at the floor.

  My heart galloped like one of her family’s race horses. Did she feel a sense of déjà vu from this conversation? “You’re not crazy. And I know exactly what you mean. I’ve never met a stranger and felt as if I’d known her my whole life. I’ve never been able to read another person and instantly guess what she’s thinking. I’ve never been so … inspired before. I don’t know how this happened. But I do know the way we seem to fit … has to mean something.”

  She peeked at me without lifting her head. “You think?”

  “Maybe it’s because of the traumatic experience we shared through your attack,” I suggested, not wanting to reveal too much of my own feelings.

  “That could be it. Who knows? Whatever it is, I’m really glad to have met you, Trystan.” She smiled at me shyly.

  “Me too, Willa. Me too.”

  21

  Willa

  I rolled over, feeling the cool slide of cotton against my bare skin. A strong arm wound around my waist and tugged me backward. Warm breath blew against my neck right before an open-mouthed kiss was planted there.

  “Are you awake?” a deep, sexy voice murmured in my ear.

  “Mm-hmm,” I moaned.

  His fingers moved lightly up the middle of my torso. When they circled my nipple, I arched my back, pressing my butt into his crotch. His erection throbbed against me, nestled in between my cheeks. He slipped his lower arm between me and the mattress to cradle my other breast. Calloused fingertips kneaded my flesh. Fire was starting to lick along the surface of my skin.

  ♪ Still Falling for You by Ellie Goulding

  A warm palm skated down to my core. “Are you wet for me, princess?” he whispered, his voice thick with sleep.

  Chills ran over my body at the endearment. “So wet,” I answered back wantonly. The response was so unlike me.

  His fingers dipped inside to see for himself. I moaned as he slid them up to my swollen flesh, caressing my clit lightly.

  “More,” I groaned.

  He increased the pressure with his fingers while his other hand plucked at a nipple and his lips sucked along my neck. All my nerve endings stood on end, eager receptors for the fire he was igniting.

  With a few more expert touches, I burst into flames and embraced the bliss of soaring into the sun.

  Before I’d fully come back to Earth, he rolled me over and captured my mouth with his. Kissing him was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. It wasn’t just a physical meshin
g of mouths—it was a meeting of hearts, melding of souls.

  Gripping my hips, he lifted me and shifted me onto his body.

  “Ride me, princess,” he growled, need lacing his command.

  His previous ministrations had paved the way for him to easily thrust up inside me once I positioned myself over his throbbing cock. When I sank all the way down, we moaned in unison. I planted my palms on his chest, right on the ink adorning the flesh.

  At first, I set a slow pace, arching my back to take him deeper. I closed my eyes, reveling in the pleasure already shooting through me.

  Those strong, calloused hands guided my movements even as his hips jutted up beneath me. The slap of skin on skin filled my ears. Before long, his pace faltered. He halted us and sat up, remaining buried in me as I perched on his lap. He wrapped his arms around me and steered my face closer to his. I opened my eyes and stared into the most beautiful pools of aqua, swimming with passion and adoration. It was all I could see. My heart stuttered at the intensity. Once my mouth was fused with his again, he began to glide me slowly along his cock.

  Fire sparked once more, and I happily leaped into the flames, taking him with me this time.

  I jolted upright in bed, my skin flushed and clammy. What the hell was that?

  My mind flipped through the details, cataloging each touch and emotion from my nighttime tryst, especially the elements that were out of place.

  I shook off the remnants of the most erotic dream I’d ever had and got dressed. I plodded to the kitchen and found Syd at the bar, drinking coffee.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” she asked, her eyes still on her phone.

  “Fine,” I mumbled as I shuffled to the coffee maker and popped in a pod to get my morning started right. Though, with the heat and buzzing in my skin from that dream, I wasn’t sure coffee was a good idea.

  Syd glanced up at my one-word response. A frown turned her lips down.

  I tried to force myself to act normal, but it didn’t work. She knew me too well.

  “What’s wrong? Why are you so flushed? Are you coming down with something?” She was in overprotective mode. In a flash, she was by my side. Her hand pressed against my forehead, checking for a fever.

  “No. I just woke up from a really … vivid dream,” I said vaguely.

  “A nightmare about the attack?” Syd asked anxiously.

  That would certainly be a lot less complicated. “No. I uh …” I swallowed hard and grabbed my steaming coffee cup. “It was a sex dream,” I confessed in a whisper.

  Much to my dismay, Syd chuckled and returned to her perch at the bar. “Missing sex with Cade so much you’re dreaming about it now?” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe you guys decided to try to revirginize yourself for your wedding night.” She muttered something else under her breath, but I didn’t catch it.

  I sank onto the stool across from her and grabbed an apple from the basket. “It wasn’t Cade in my dream …” I peeked up at her without lifting my head.

  Her head popped up, and she gaped at me. “Who was it?”

  I took a swallow of my coffee and shrugged. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see his face.”

  “Then how do you know it wasn’t Cade?” Syd asked, curiosity dripping from her words.

  “His eyes weren’t the same color. This guy had a tattoo on his chest. He called me princess.”

  “How cute,” Syd said sarcastically.

  “Believe me, it wasn’t cute. It was hot as hell. And this man …” I shook my head, searching for the right words. “His touch and kiss were different. So different from any I’ve ever experienced.”

  “Wow.” Syd sipped her coffee.

  I sank my teeth into my apple. Thoughtfully, I chewed the bite of the tart fruit. “The dream was so real, Syd.”

  “Don’t look so worried. It was just a dream.” Syd patted my hand reassuringly.

  “What if it wasn’t though? What if it was a memory?” I said, voicing my fears out loud.

  Syd didn’t answer. Instead, she lifted her coffee mug to her lips.

  “I mean, it has to be just a dream. There’s no way it can be a real memory. I must have watched a steamy romance movie or read a book that made a lasting impression on me. Or something,” I rambled. I had been reading CD Reiss’s Iron Crowne before bed last night. Though Byron was much more demanding than the mysterious man in my dream.

  “Maybe so.” Though her words agreed with me, there was still a hint of something else in her tone.

  “What’s on the agenda today?” I asked, eager to change the subject.

  “Well, I figured we’d go see the florist so you can look over the stuff you picked out that you can’t remember. They got in the vases right before your attack, so you haven’t been to see them yet. And you have to select which of your bridal portraits you want enlarged,” Syd said.

  “Sounds like a plan. I have no idea how I’m going to get up to speed and finish everything with so little time before the wedding. Our mothers are going to be so disappointed if I don’t deliver the type of wedding they’re envisioning.” I took another bite of the apple. Juice dribbled down my chin. Grabbing a napkin from the holder, I wiped it off.

  Syd didn’t try to dispute my words or offer platitudes. She knew mine and Cade’s mothers well enough. “Go finish getting ready. I have time this morning before a new designer is coming by the boutique.”

  I finished my apple then I did as she suggested, reliving bits of my dream the entire time. I was pretty sure it would become part of my routine whether I wanted it to or not. And while a big part of me hoped it was simply some wild dream my imagination had cooked up, a small part of me longed for it to truly be a memory. Because then it meant someone really cherished me and desired me with that kind of passion.

  22

  Trystan

  I strummed perfectly through the bridge, blending notes with Nix while Rafe kept a steady beat. The pace slowed marginally as we flowed into the last verse. Everything—every word, every note, every beat—felt so in sync. We were on in a way we’d never been before, and we’d had some pretty epic moments as a band. It was like we were one mind, anticipating each move several notes ahead. And there wasn’t a better time to be on than now.

  A few seconds after the last note faded, a voice came over the speaker from the sound booth. “That was perfect, guys.”

  Mack walked through the adjoining door, a huge grin on his face. “You guys killed it. They’re going to love you. I’m going to pitch you guys at Monday’s meeting.”

  “What?” I asked, stunned he was already prepared to go to bat on our behalf.

  “Yeah. You guys are ready.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I just need you to lay down one more track.”

  “Which one?” Nix asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  “You know the one. The best one,” Mack said, a knowing look on his face.

  “‘Willa Love,’” I stated.

  “‘Will a Love’ is money,” Mack said, patting us on the back.

  I didn’t correct him on the song’s actual title. And he was right. It was definitely the best and most passionate of our songs, even if it was more ballad than rock.

  Mack returned to the booth while we settled back in place with our instruments. And I played my heart. Played it for a girl who might never remember what we were to each other.

  After grabbing a quick lunch, I headed to the shop. I wasn’t on the schedule today, but I needed the distraction. Working on a high-end engine forced me to maintain my concentration. It didn’t allow me the space to get lost in thoughts of Willa or the wedding stuff she was doing with Sydney today.

  I was almost done when Tim yelled, “Yo, Trystan, some guys are here to see you.”

  “Be right there,” I shouted back.

  I finished tightening the bolts and wiped my hands on a rag. I figured it was the guys coming by to talk about our morning some more. They were soaring when I left them a few hours ago.

&
nbsp; When I walked into the lobby, Tim tipped his head indicating whoever was there to see me was in his office. That was odd.

  Confused, I walked into the small room. Waiting for me were Detectives Greene and Patterson, the cops from the hospital.

  “Hey, Trystan. Do you remember us?” Detective Greene asked.

  “Of course, Detective Greene. What can I do for you?” I thrust my hands in my pockets to keep from fidgeting.

  “We have some mugshots we hoped you could take a look at,” Detective Patterson said and handed me a stack of images.

  I started to flip through the photos. The first few were guys I’d never seen before. When I got close to the bottom of the stack, I froze. I recognized the tattoo. “Him. This is one of the guys from that day. One who attacked Willa.” My hand trembled as I handed the images to Detective Patterson.

  “That’s odd,” Detective Greene said as he peered at the top mugshot.

  “Yeah. That area isn’t his usual stomping grounds,” Detective Patterson murmured.

  I was confused. “What are you talking about?” I demanded.

  “This is Jimmy DiAngelo. He’s the muscle for a big-time loan shark named Tony Casteel. But Jimmy has a regular area, and your neighborhood is nowhere near it,” Detective Greene explained.

  “Willa must have borrowed money from Tony,” Detective Patterson said, tucking the images back into a folder.

  “No way,” I said vehemently. “There’s no way she’d be involved in something like that.”

  “How would you know what Ms. Larkin is like? I thought you just met her on the sidewalk?” Detective Greene asked skeptically.

  Shit. “I never said that I’d just met her.” I dragged my fingers through my hair, frustratedly. “I actually met Willa the night before. We had this incredible night together.” I sighed, remembering it. “Anyway, she was leaving my place that morning. I was waving to her from the window of my apartment when those guys accosted her. I ran down immediately. I rode with her to the hospital. And then when she finally woke up …” I had to swallow hard to get the lump to dislodge from my throat. “When she finally woke up, she didn’t remember me or the past six months of her life. The doctors told us we couldn’t tell her the things she’d forgotten. Told us she needed to remember things on her own,” I finished helplessly.