Blast From the Past (2 page)

She looked up when she heard a soft cough, not realizing she wasn’t alone in the old church, and when she squinted in the darkness, she detected a lone figure kneeling in the front pew, head bowed down, and hands folded in prayer.

A male figure, with long dark hair and a set of remarkable sideburns…

There isn’t much that one can’t do with a stick of incense and a burning candle, thought Amy as the shock of recognition faded away, to chase a demon. Though she doubted whether either or both of these would suffice to chase Brad Fuller from both her mind and her life.

She slowly got up, and noiselessly made her way down the aisle until she’d arrived near the church entrance. She wondered briefly whether she wasn’t making a total fool of herself by sneaking out for Brad’s sake, but knew in her heart she’d postpone meeting the man for as long as she could.

In fact, if she was absolutely honest with herself, if she never laid eyes on him ever again, she’d die a happy woman. Perhaps.

And she’d just opened the inner door that led into the antechamber, when footsteps sounded behind her, and she knew she was busted. Hurrying through to the vestibule, she practically ran to the outer door, but before she could reach it, a familiar baritone arrested her progress.

“Amy? Is that you?”

Once again plastering her best salesperson smile on her face, she whirled around to face the man she hadn’t laid eyes on in a decade. “Hi, Brad. Didn’t know it was you in there, or I would have…”

He smirked. “You would have run even faster, I bet.”

She frowned, the dark coolness of the church providing an eerie backdrop for her first conversation with Brad in years. “No, I swear I didn’t know you were in there.”

He fixed her with a piercing stare, and a slow smile spread on his lips. He always did have a way of knowing when she was spouting bull. He still looked pretty much the same: deeper lines around his eyes perhaps, and a groove on his erstwhile smooth forehead. His hair was tousled and lay in lazy black curls over his shoulders, and those sideburns weren’t half as hideous as she’d reckoned. If anything, they added to his appeal. His eyes were still dark as coal, and had the capability of freezing the blood in her veins when he looked at her like this, and that crooked smile still kindled the fire in her heart.

“What—” she swallowed away a lump. “What are you doing here?”

“Praying,” he stated simply. “Same as you, I guess.”

She would have asked what he was praying for, but that was an impropriety she wasn’t prepared to get into. Not now, at least. “I was just across the street and I thought…”

He darted a quick look at the door. “The Crooked Bow. That’s you, huh?”

She grimaced. “All me. Well, Jackie, too. We’re, um, in this thing together.”

He nodded slowly, studying her intently. “So I heard.” He then reached out a hand and brushed a straying lock of hair from her brow. “You still look the same,” he added slowly. “Haven’t changed a bit.”

“You changed,” she said abruptly as she jerked away her head. The touch of his hand annoyed her, as did his presence. Suddenly, the small entrance hall appeared suppressing, as if she couldn’t get enough air in here.

“For better of for worse?”

She looked away, searching for an escape. His eyes remained locked on hers, however, and she felt frozen in place. Even her breathing had become labored. “I—just different, I guess. Older, you know.”

He seemed disappointed, and softly added, “You came here to pray and look what you got. A piece of your past back.”

“Not a piece I was hoping to find,” she countered.

“Me, neither,” he murmured. “But in life you don’t always get what you want.”

“Could we just…” She pushed at her abundant hair. “… pretend this meeting never happened? I
have
changed, Brad,” she added when he arched his brows questioningly. “You might not notice, but I have changed a great deal. And the last thing I want is to revisit the past.”

“What if the past wants to revisit you?”

Once again, his hand stole out, and reached for the dangling shock of blond that was her trademark. She abruptly jerked her head out of reach. “Then I would say there’s not a chance in hell I’d allow that to happen.”

His mouth quirked up at the corners. “Hey, guess what. It already has.”

She rolled her eyes at the man to whom her heart had once belonged. “I’m so out of here,” she muttered, and took a step closer to the door. But before she had the chance to reach it, he’d grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She slammed up against his hard form, and when his mouth crashed down on hers, she had a sudden inclination to haul off and kick her assailant in the shin.

But then he placed his hand on her cheek, and his lips, probing and stirring something deep within her, wiped that intention from her mind as easily as he’d pressed her to his chest and folded her in his arms.

Like before, her mind went blank, and she felt as if her body clicked into place, arriving just where it needed to be, her softness melding against Brad’s unyielding hardness. For a brief moment she was carried back in time, when she and Brad had been two halves of a whole, soul mates for life, and the heat that surged through her at his touch slammed all common sense out of her.

For the briefest of moments. Then she was herself again, and she kicked him hard in the shin.

With a yelp of pain, he released her, and she gathered what little was left of her dignity and poise, and fled out onto the street, leaving a cursing Brad Fuller behind.

Pray on
that
, she thought as she furiously stomped across the street, straight into the path of an oncoming Ford Excursion.

Brad stepped out of the Saint-Michael’s, limping slightly, when he saw Amy step in front of an SUV.

“Watch out!” he yelled, but it was too late. Before his horrified gaze, she was slammed into the car’s front fender and was propelled six feet away. The car, screeching to a halt, stopped just inches from where she lay, and when Brad reached the lifeless form of the woman he’d never stopped carrying a torch for, he was shocked to find her beautiful face covered in blood, wheat-colored strands matted to her brow.

“Call 911!” he hollered to the SUV’s driver who had come trotting up, his face revealing shock and horror at the accident he’d inadvertently caused.

Brad gently cradled Amy in his lap, and began to wipe away some of the blood from her deathly pale face. Her eyes were closed now, but in his mind’s eye he could see them flash fire at him, just like they’d done mere seconds before.

He’d always gotten a kick out of stirring her to a state of grumbling annoyance, for then he got to witness that bright flush mantle her cheeks and those expressive emerald eyes sparkle dangerously. She never looked more beautiful.

Now she lay motionless in his arms, and he knew it was all his fault. If he hadn’t grabbed her and forced himself on her, she would never have stalked across the street without looking. For the second time in his life he’d brought anguish to the Remington family and hurt into the heart of the woman he’d loved since they were wee kids in kindergarten and he’d first offered to carry her backpack before upending it and making off with her apple. She’d kicked his ass, then, as she had many times since.

The whine of an ambulance announced the arrival of the emergency vehicle, and when Brad looked up at a different sound, the sound of a horrified sob, he knew Jackie Remington had arrived. She crouched next to them in the street, her face a mask of panic.

She stared at him helplessly. “What… what happened?”

Before he could respond, the driver of the SUV supplied his version of the story. “She crossed right in front of me, without looking. I—I couldn’t stop!”

The man raked his fingers through his thinning mane, looking as distraught and upset as Brad was feeling.

Jackie knelt down and gave Brad a look of helplessness. “Did you see what happened? Is it true? Did she just walk in front of a car? But why? Why would she do such a thing?”

“I—she was upset. We—” He didn’t finish the sentence, not even knowing where to begin explaining what had happened.

But Jackie nodded, as if she understood all, just by looking a Brad. She stroked her sister’s hair, tears flooding her eyes. “It’s the curse,” she murmured. “The curse of the Remingtons.”

Brad shook his head stubbornly. What the hell was she talking about? If there was a curse hounding the Remingtons, it was him. “There is no curse,” he intoned miserably. “There’s just… me.”

“She must have seen you and panicked. She was afraid of this moment, you know?” Jackie had taken her sister’s hand in hers and was squeezing it, as if the movement would somehow stir Amy back to life. “She was afraid to see you again and to be reminded of… that night.”

Brad’s head jerked up when the nurses came rushing up from the ambulance. He reluctantly released Amy and moved back to let the professionals work on her.

That night. He remembered it well. It hadn’t just destroyed Amy’s life and that of her family but his own as well. Forever he would look at his life as Before and After, with the After never quite measuring up to the Before.

And now this…

Jackie had wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to keep it together. He moved over, wanting to offer her his support but not knowing if it would be welcomed. Once again the resemblance between the two sisters surprised him. Even after all these years, they still looked alike in almost every sense. The only difference he’d ever been able to spot was that Jackie was the more goofy of the twins, Amy being the studious one.

That hadn’t stopped them from playing practical jokes on him in high school, the one pretending to be the other to see if he could tell them apart. He always could, and had always told himself it was the look in her eyes that gave Amy away. Jackie could never look at him quite like Amy did, with so much love in her eyes.

Until the love light had died, never to return. He’d never realized before today how much he’d missed her. How much she’d been a part of his life and without her he simply wasn’t whole.

Silently, he prayed she would be all right.

Expertly transferred onto a stretcher, one of the nurses sought him out, then beckoned him. “You better follow along, Brad. Do you have your car nearby?”

“I have,” he confirmed, hope surging in his bosom.

“Then follow us to the hospital and bring Jackie, will you?”

“Sure thing, Jake.” He eyed the man hopefully. “Is she gonna be all right?”

His old friend’s frown deepened. “Too soon to tell. Let’s first get her to the hospital. Doc will need to take a look at that head wound.”

He jogged to his car, parked just around the corner, Jackie following two steps behind, and five minutes later they were racing along as they tried to keep up with the ambulance as it meandered through traffic, its siren a high whine.

Brad swallowed and looked over at Jackie. “I—I’m sorry, Jackie.”

“Just shut up and drive, will you? Excuses won’t save my sister.”

Only a miracle will, Brad knew, and he squeezed the steering wheel tighter, hurtling through traffic in the wake of the vehicle carrying the injured body of Amy Remington, the only woman he’d ever loved.

Brad reclined on the small couch placed in Amy’s room. Family members and friends had come and gone, and the only one left now was him. None of Amy’s visitors had paid him much attention, apart from curious looks from some, and some dirty ones from others. It was perhaps too much to say he was persona non grata, but he wasn’t very grata either.

Nor could he blame them. His mind kept drifting back to the accident. How Amy had stalked away from him, all huffy and offended like, and walked right in front of the SUV.

If only he hadn’t made a grab for her, she would be fine now.

Another mistake on his part, adding to the many he’d already made in the past. He should be used to being a fuck-up by now but the strange thing was that he didn’t feel like such a loser most of the time.

He’d atoned for his sins by finding a decent job and sticking to it, working hard up North. It was a tough life, but he liked it, the physical work demanding on his body and spirit but rewarding as well.

He stared across the white sheets at Amy’s pale face, connected to machines by tubes, and groaned in agony. He just hoped she would be fine. If anything happened to her… He didn’t think he could live with her death on his conscience, like he couldn’t live knowing she wasn’t out there anymore. Hope had always been his most trusty companion, shedding light on the darkest of days. The hope that one day he would see her again—one day close her in his arms again—hold her tight and hear her whisper his name with love in her eyes, just like she used to before.

And now, through the rashness of his actions, he’d made sure that would never happen again. It had been a moment’s craziness, seeing her like that, so beautiful and available, and he hadn’t been able to curb the desire to touch her once more—stir those perfect lips once more—and feel her in his arms.

He buried his face in his hands, and was surprised when a soft voice called out his name. Looking up in wonder, he couldn’t tell if it was a dream or real, but then she repeated the name—a soft murmur.

“Brad…”

He was on his feet and next to her, pressing her hand in his, and gazing down at her, hope surging in his bosom. “I’m here, honey. I’m right here.”

She didn’t open her eyes, merely frowned briefly as she rolled her head in his direction, then parted her lips and whispered, “I love you… Brad.”

His breath hitched in his throat at those whispered words, softly spoken, and he waited for more, and when none came, he kneeled down next to the bed, and clasped her hand to his forehead, blessing his good fortune.

Could it be? Could it be that after all these years she still held him in her heart, in spite of everything that had happened?

He desperately hoped so.

Amy felt his presence before she regained consciousness, so strong was the urge to lay her eyes upon his face once again. The first thing that came to mind was that she must have been in an accident, or else her head wouldn’t be feeling this bad.