by Portia Moore
“I always feel like I should bow or something,” I say sardonically. I notice Ms. Alma cover her laugh by clearing her throat.
“A nod and a little courtesy would work just as well,” he responds dryly, barely glancing up from his computer screen.
“Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Crestfield?” she asks.
“That will be all. Thank you,” he says.
“Good to see you, Mr. Scott,” she says before leaving the room.
“You too,” I say, walking over to Dex’s desk.
“So what brings you here today, nephew? Long time, no hear from,” he says. I hear the amusement in his voice as he leans back in his large leather chair. I don’t understand why he always has to remind of me of our relationship, but I guess if it didn’t matter I wouldn’t be here.
“Kreuk Place. Just leave it alone. You guys own half the United States. Do you really need it?” I ask, exasperated.
He chuckles. “Why don’t you have a seat, Christopher,” he says, gesturing toward one of the chairs in front of his desk.
“I’m okay standing,” I tell him. I’m not going to sit and shoot the breeze with him. I just want him to leave Kreuk Place alone.
He frowns. “I’m sure Gwen has taught you better manners than that. When a host offers you a seat, you take it. Especially when you’re asking a favor of said host. You smile and grant the request,” he says smugly. I take a deep breath and sit down.
“So, how have you been?” he asks, as if we’re best friends. We’re cordial, distant relatives, at best. It didn’t always used to be this way. Ten years ago, after my grandmother died, Dex was sent to boarding school, and the traits that were reminiscent of the better half of his parents seemed to be left behind.
“Fantastic,” I say shortly.
“You haven’t been seeing Dr. Lyce,” he says with an accusatory tone. I fold my arms.
“My condition is neurological not psychological. I don’t understand the point of me going.”
“She’s a neuro-psychiatrist. It’s important that you see her in conjunction with—”
“Kreuk Place, Dex. That’s why I’m here,” I interrupt him. He’s getting off the subject, and I don’t plan on being here all day.
“We’ll talk about this first,” he says calmly, but there’s an edge in his voice that I’m sure causes his employees to cower. Good thing I don’t work for him.
“She’s one of the best in her field. You’re being remiss to disregard her expertise,” he says, a hint of anger in his voice. I take a deep breath and bury the urge to flip him off. I grit my teeth. This guy is capable of bringing out the absolute worst in people.
“Your dad is being remiss by destroying a historical landmark—a place that helps a lot people. What’s he going to do? Build a parking lot?” I shoot back. He leans back in his seat, amused.
“Look. It’s important to lots people here, our family included. Before he starts anything, can you get him to just leave it alone?" I ask, taking a deep breath.
“You know, once something’s underway with my father, it isn’t just started, it’s already done,” he says nonchalantly. I fold my hands in frustration.
“But...that’s not his interest at the moment,” he adds lightly.
Great then, I can leave. “Well, I guess that’s it then,” I say rising from my seat.
“Congratulations are in order aren’t they? I hope we’ll be getting an invitation to the big event,” he says before I’m even a step away from my seat.
“What?”
“You’re engaged to Jenna Mallory,” he says dryly.
I try to hide my surprise. I just proposed to her yesterday. I’d ask how he knows but there’s so many ways. He probably holds the lease on the jewelry store I bought the ring at.
“Are you ready for that step?” he asks. Lucky for me this is the one person whose thoughts I couldn’t care less about.
“Well, since you know everything, you tell me,” I say sarcastically. He smirks and stands from his seat.
“Marriage and family are the greatest gifts humanity was given,” he says, walking around his desk. I fold my arms across my chest, wondering where this is leading. Dexter has always irked me since he left. He’s only three years older than I am, but always feels the need to talk like some Ivy League college professor.
“Sometimes things happen, and they don’t always turn out how you hope or plan for.” There’s a lingering hint of regret in his voice. “Today, for instance, I’d give anything to attend my goddaughter’s first birthday party.” He picks up a picture frame off his desk and reflects on it. I wonder what kind of desperate person would choose him as a godparent. The money hungry kind, no doubt. He’s not even religious, and for teaching a kid values like honesty, integrity, and hard work, he’s not the ideal candidate.
He glances up at me from the picture. “She’s beautiful. Take a look.” He holds out the picture. I don’t care much for the guy, but refusing to look at a picture of his goddaughter would be a prickish move.
I take the picture and my eyes lock on it almost involuntarily. It’s a woman and a little girl. The woman in picture is beautiful with long dark hair and wide, almond-shaped eyes. The little girl in the picture doesn’t look much like her, she looks like—
The picture drops from my hand as a blinding pain shoots through my head. “Ahh!” I grasp my head and hold it.
No. Not now. Not in Dexter’s office.
“Christopher, are you okay?” Dex asks, walking towards me. I stumble backwards, finding the chair I was in earlier. I hear my heart beating in my ears. I haven’t had a headache like this since I can even remember, but it’s never hit so fast and hard.
I groan, gripping my head. I hear Dex’s voice, but it’s starting to sound far away as my vision starts to blur. “Call my parents!” I try to say, but I’m not sure if I’ve even said it at aloud as everything turns black.
Chapter 20
I’m cold but my face is warm, almost hot. My eyelids feel like bricks. I manage to open them and they adjust to the sunlight. My back hurts. I stretch my body. It’s stiff, and cramped up. I lift myself up and see that I’m laid out in the back seat of my truck.
How did I get here? My eyes scan the truck for my cell phone and wallet. I have to have my keys, otherwise how would I have gotten in my truck? This is bad. Out of all of the times for this to happen! Why now?
I see an envelope taped on the rear view mirror, and there’s a word on it. I can't really see what. My contacts have dried out and feel stuck to my eyelids. I reach and grab it; it’s heavy. The envelope is tightly secured, and it takes some effort to free it. Once I do, I can read the word “Open” in red ink. So I do, and in it I find my wallet, phone and keys. My phone is dead. I’m afraid to know what time it is or day even.
I get out of the truck, and thank God, I’m parked behind my parents’ house. The sun is bright; I’m praying it’s mid-afternoon. That’d mean I’ve only been out a few hours. If it’s morning, I’m screwed.
I reach the back door to our house and fiddle for my door key. How did I get here? Think, think! But it’s no use. This has happened a thousand times before.
I walk into the kitchen. It’s empty, no smell of food, and my stomach drops. That means my mom isn’t cooking dinner. Which also means it can’t be the same day, and I've missed dinner with Jenna and her parents. She’s going to kill me!
My eyes find the clock above the table in the kitchen. It’s 11:30, and definitely not p.m. I’ve really screwed up.
“Mom! Dad!” I call out. I rush to the living room. Most likely, they went out looking for me when I missed dinner. This is bad, really bad. All my talk about being better. My two-year, blackout-free stretch, has gone down the drain.
“Chris,” I hear a light, groggy voice call out from behind me. I turn around and see Lisa sitting up on the couch. I didn’t even notice her. I let out a sigh of relief that it’s her. Out of all the people, I’m glad Lisa’s the first to s
ee me. She’ll let me know what’s happened while I was out, and not freak out or be pissed at me.
“Sorry you don’t have a better welcome wagon. Your parents had me driving around all night looking for you. They went out looking for you again early this morning, and had me stay here in case you got back,” she explains.
“How bad did I screw up?” I sigh and take a seat beside her.
“On a scale of one to ten, with your parents, like a five. They’re more worried about you than anything. With Jenna, like a 12.”
I throw my head back into the sofa.
“Ugh. How long?” I groan. Of all days for this to happen…
“Your mom said you’d been gone since three o’ clock yesterday. You still don’t remember anything?” she asks, starting to fold up the blanket she was under. She’s surprisingly calm. Well, not surprisingly. Lisa’s always pretty calm and laid back, even in the most hectic situations, but when she’s pissed, she can go from zero to ten pretty fast.
“The last thing I really remember was telling my parents that I had proposed to Jenna. Everything after that is a blur,” I admit.
“Look. Go get in the shower and clean up. Call Jenna and apologize like your life depends on it,” she sighs.
“But the bottom line is, if you guys are going to be together she’s going to have to get used to this. It’s not like she’s going into this blind. She knows about your condition,” she says simply. I wish it were that simple.
“Easier said than done. Her parents are here from Seattle, and her fiancé doesn't show up for dinner. That’s a promising beginning of an engagement. Her dad already can’t stand me.”
She turns towards me. “She loves you. She’ll get over it. It’s not like you skipped out on her to go get drunk with strippers or something,” she says, patting me on the shoulder.
“Did you?” she grins.
“No!” my eyes bulge. I bet that’s what Jenna thinks.
“You’re no fun, Chris. Go get in the shower. You look like hell. I’ll call your parents and ‘the fiancée’ and tell them you’re safe and sound,” she says, and pushes me toward the stairs.
“Give me your phone, I’ll charge it up for you; go and fix yourself up. You’ll have a much better chance if you flash those ‘forgive-me’ green eyes at her without eye crust and accompanying morning breath,” she jokes.
The shower cleaned me up, but my brain is still fuzzy. I lost 18 hours. Not bad, considering some of my other blackouts lasted weeks at a time, but the timing sucks. If I could remember one thing, some clue as to how I ended up asleep in my truck in the back of my house. Why wouldn’t I just go to bed? And then that weird envelope on my mirror, like I knew I wouldn't find it if it wasn’t there. That means I had to have some form of consciousness or someone was with me. But where’d they go? If someone wanted to rob me, they wouldn’t leave me with my wallet and car. I hear voices down stairs. They’re both women. My stomach drops. I know one has to be Jenna. She’s going to be furious.
“Look give him a break. Don’t you think he feels bad enough?” I hear Lisa's voice before I’m down the stairs.
“Don’t tell me how to act or how to feel. You’re not the one who sat here for hours waiting on her fiancé with her parents, looking like an complete idiot,” Jenna’s voice screeches.
“I’m sorry, but you do know that he has a neurological condition, right? You act like he did this deliberately!” Lisa fires back. Jenna starts to say something, but they both quiet when they see me.
“Hey,” I let out a breath as I walk toward Jenna. She’s wearing big round black sunglasses, and her arms are folded across her chest.
“So you’re alive,” she states sharply.
Lisa huffs. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she starts to walk off, but turns and curtseys. “Queen Jenna, it would be nice if maybe instead of freakin’ out on the guy, you give him a fucking hug,” she says, before storming out of the dining room.
“Have a fantastic day, Lisa!” Jenna shouts sarcastically before turning her attention to me. She takes off her glasses and what I see breaks my heart. Her eyes are puffy. I can tell she’s been crying.
“So you think I’m being a bitch, too? That I don’t have a right to be upset? That I’m just this selfish angry pre-bridezilla?”
“Jenna, I’m sorry,” I try to pull her into a hug but she pushes me away. She sits down and covers her face.
“So what happened, Chris?” she asks, and I really wish I could give her an answer.
“I—I don’t know. The last thing I remember is telling my parents we were engaged,” I admit, sitting in the chair across from her.
“You know you talked to me right?” she asks sharply. I shake my head. I don’t remember talking to her after telling my parents.
“Yeah you told me your mom wasn’t thrilled about us getting married and then rushed me off the phone,” she says in a huff. I know I wouldn’t have told her that. At least, I wouldn’t have used those words.
“Did I tell you where I was?” I ask, confused.
“No. You rushed me off the phone and said you’d call me back in a few minutes. Next thing I know, my parents are at my house, and I still haven’t heard from you. Then we’re at your door, and your parents have no clue where you are. That was so much fun. My father was absolutely thrilled,” she says in an exaggerated tone as the doorbell rings.
“I thought I was doing better, Jenna. I never would have dragged you into this if I knew this was starting again.” I stand up and hold my head in frustration. No woman in her right mind would want to deal with this. I don’t want to deal with this. I hear her sigh.
“You’re not dragging me into anything, Chris. I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you too. It’s just, ugh, the timing couldn’t be worse, could it?” She laughs, and her slender arms wrap around my stomach. I wrap my arms around her back as I take in her scent. She smells like berries mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke. I pull back from her.
“Come on, Jenna. I thought you were done with that?” I say, disappointed. She’s been cigarette-free for the past three months after my guilt tripping and nagging. I blame my mom being diagnosed with cancer for that.
“I pretty much earned a smoke after yesterday, and it wasn’t that many,” she says, defending herself. I can’t argue with that. The doorbell rings again, and again, and then there’s frantic knocking.
“Who the hell is that?” Jenna asks.
“I don’t know.” My parents have keys, and Lisa would come through the back of the house.
“Let me get the door,” I say. I feel relieved. She’s mad, but she’s still with me.
I open the door, and see a woman retreating down the stairs.
“Can I help you?” I ask. She sort of stumbles over her own feet and grabs the railing. I instinctively step forward. Maybe she’s disoriented. She says something, but she’s facing the opposite way. Her voice is light, and I can barely hear her. She turns around, and her eyes lock onto mine.
They’re bright, hazel, and almond-shaped. Her stare is ethereal, haunting, and won’t let go of me. They make me feel like I’ve seen her before, or known her forever but that’s impossible. She’s not someone I’d forget, too beautiful to be forgotten.
Maybe I saw her in a movie, or she was in a show I used to watch when I was a kid. She’s grown up, and that’s why I can't place her. That has to be it. Maybe she’s an actress whose car stopped in our little town and she needs her tire changed or something. But none of that explains why she’s crying. And now touching my face, and I’m frozen, stuck in place. I can’t move. I’m telling my feet to step backwards but they won’t budge.
“It’s you,” she says, throwing her arms around me. The wind blows her long dark hair in my face. I steal another glance at her and even though she’s crying, her face is lit up with recognition. She knows me, or thinks she does. I'm getting more freaked out by the minute. She’s holding me so tight I can feel her heart beat. It’s almost stampeding thro
ugh her chest. Hell, maybe it’s mine. This random, albeit beautiful woman is crying and hugging me while my fiancé is less than a few feet away, and I can’t move. The worst part is that my brain isn’t connecting with my body because my arms are moving to hug her—well, they’re trying to, but that sure as hell isn’t happening!
I’m all for helping a woman in distress, but if Jenna finds me out here hugging this girl, especially after yesterday, I’m screwed. But it’s taking so much to stop them. I’m literally shaking, or maybe her shaking is causing me to shake. Before I can open my mouth to ask who she is, I hear footsteps behind me.
“I’ve missed you so much,” Hazel Eyes says, squeezing me tighter.
“Chris, who is this?” Jenna’s voice sends a chill up my spine, and the girl lets me go. She looks up at me, confusion replacing the previous euphoria on her face.
“Chris?”
She steps away from me, her attention turning to Jenna.
“Chris? His name isn’t Chris!” Her voice is sharp and a little terrifying. Her gaze is directed back at me, the vulnerable exterior she previously had is gone. Now there’s fire behind her eyes. Jenna walks closer to us, surprisingly calmer than I thought she would be.
“I—I don't know!” I answer quickly. I’m trying to move again but my freakin’ body isn’t working. I can’t move away from this girl.
“Who am I? Who are you?” she asks, her voice raising an octave and a second later, with the look she gives me, I swear she’s about to throw a right hook my way. I’m starting to think this woman, with eyes like an angel, no taller than maybe 5’3”, could be out of her mind crazy, and my damn feet won’t let me get away from her.
“What!” she shouts angrily, but the disbelief in her voice and despair in her eyes makes my heart break. I don’t know who she thinks I am, but if it’d take away the hurt in her eyes, I’d be whoever she wants me to be.
What is wrong with me?
“I think you have me confused with someone else,” I tell her hesitantly. I turn to Jenna. The calmness I was surprised by earlier is suddenly replaced with the anger I expected.
