Forgetting August (Lost & Found) (14 page)

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?

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 fierce.

“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 memorizing 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.

F
ifteen 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.

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 asked. 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.