Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
NOW
THUNDER ROLLS THROUGH THE sky, reminding me to pick up the pace because I have limited time before the heavens unleash their fury. I thought walking home from the gym would be a good way to cool down after a quick game of basketball with some of the guys, but the air is thick and sticky—and only getting worse. I’m sweatier than I was on the court, but there’s no use trying to get a ride now. I’m only two blocks from home. Rounding the corner, my pace slows when I see a figure on the sidewalk not too far away. Not a figure…a person. A woman.
She paces back and forth but never takes the final step forward that will lead her down the path to my apartment building. What is she doing? Another roar of thunder echoes above and I can feel the light mist of the impending rainstorm.
Please wait two more minutes so I can—
Holy shit.
My feet ground themselves in the cement. My heart swells, finally recognizing the woman in my path. What is she doing here? She’s not supposed to be here.
Fuck, she looks good. The dark denim hugs her body in all the right places, showing off the curve of her legs up to her ass, hidden just beneath her black overcoat. Her hair falls down her back in waves, almost reaching her hips.
She stops pacing long enough to pull out her phone and type something, her thumb hovering over the screen as another roll of thunder shudders above us. She sighs, stuffing the phone in her pocket without hitting send. “Fuck.”
“Vulgar language for such a pretty mouth.”
The woman turns on her heel, eyes wide, but the hesitation in her posture is long gone when she sprints to me. The basketball falls from my grasp, and I pull her into my arms, wasting no time pressing my mouth to hers. A soft moan resonates deep in my throat. It’s been too damn long since I’ve had her in my arms or felt her lips against mine.
“I missed that.”
She hums in agreement, and—
I jolt from my bed as another thunderous boom echoes, followed by a burning white streak of lightning. There aren’t even five seconds before the next boom of thunder. I reach for the clock on my nightstand, where bright red numbers glare out at 3:02 a.m. A hand scrubs down my face, and I push myself out of bed. I have to be up in two hours anyway, and I know I won’t be going back to sleep anytime soon. Not that I get much sleep as it is, but I would have liked to get a little more tonight. This is the furthest I’ve gotten in that same dream—the one I’ve had for months…Fucking storm had to go and ruin it.
Turning the faucet on when I walk into the bathroom, I wait for the water to warm before I let it run over my fingers. The temperature peaks and I fill my hands to rinse my face. The water washes away the last bit of sleep left in my eyes, but it can’t erase the last eleven months.
How in the hell has it been eleven months?
Almost an entire fucking year since I arrived in Bezer, Colorado. Since I woke up in a hospital room without a name or any recollection of who I am…Was…Am?
Or where I came from. And I’m not closer to finding out the truth today than I was three hundred and fifty-three days ago.
Letting the water swirl down the drain, I grip the edge of the sink and meet my reflection. I don’t recognize the person staring back at me. It’s like meeting the gaze of a stranger on the street, except I don’t get to walk away from this stranger. I’m forever trapped in the same space as him.
The Blackwoods have been extremely supportive over the last year, more than I ever expected them to be. Joseph Blackwood is one of the men who found me wandering the forest in early April last year. He had been kind enough to give me a place to stay when I had nowhere to go and no money. While the idea of moving into the home of a stranger seemed like it should be a little concerning, it was better than spending an indeterminate amount of time in the hospital.
Besides, imagine being in his shoes. It couldn’t have been any easier letting me walk through the door than it was for me to walk through it. Lately, I’ve wondered how long he’ll continue to extend the same generosity. How long is too long? I’m not paying to live here, but I work on the ranch and around the house to earn my keep, doing the things Joseph can’t anymore or his daughter—Charlie—doesn’t want to. This past month, I’ve considered getting a job in town to supplement a little bit, maybe offering to give Joseph a little each month, but I’m not sure there’s enough time in a day. I’m up by five o’clock every morning and work well past sundown, sometimes late into the night when I have trouble sleeping.
The room Joseph set me up in on the day Chief Sloan dropped me off wasn’t much, but for now…it’s home. It’s small but charming, with original wood floors from when the house was built in the late 1800s, and I’ve always been curious about the stories they could tell. The stories the house could tell. The lives these walls have watched, the secrets they keep as they stand by keeping my own.
The wood-burning fireplace across from the foot of the bed was a blessing this past winter, better than even the modern-day heater Joseph had me install in the barn before it got too cold. I’ve spent many sleepless nights in the muted pink armchair near the fireplace, going through the hospital file labeled “John Doe” or with the sketchbook and pencil I picked up from the store in town.
The file is thin. There are only a few pages of notes from Doctor Sanders at Bezer General, with minimal information, and a copy of the police report Chief Sloan slipped me (even if he wasn’t supposed to). Each time I go through the scribbled words I hope something new will catch my eye. I hope something will stick out and remind me of anything from my past life…But it never does.
Flipping open the file on the desk, I glance over the notes I had taken on the facts:
Found wandering the woods on the morning of April 10, 2028, by Bill Wyatt, his son, and Joseph Blackwood on their way to a hunting post. Out there for at least a day, possibly two, based on the level of dehydration. Almost hypothermic. No identification. Blow to the head, seemingly blunt force trauma. Deep laceration on left side of face. Sprained ankle. Bruised ribs. Amnesia. Getting memory back has been a slow process. Small memories here and there, nothing concrete. No one has come looking.
Next to the file is a blue spiral-bound notebook with every memory or dream I’ve had since I arrived in Bezer. They don’t often vary, but I like to keep track of them in case something new happens to make an appearance. Turning the pages until I reach the next blank space, I write out the dream I’ve just woken up from, adding the color of her eyes (something I’ve never noticed before) and how she didn’t hesitate to run straight into my arms. I’ve dreamed of this woman countless times. She is in almost every dream or memory I’ve had. I have a feeling she’s the answer to everything…I just have to find her first.
A crash from downstairs shoots a jolt of adrenaline through my veins. What the hell was that?
Careful to avoid the spots on the old stairs I know will creak, I make my way down to the lower level of the house and immediately notice the light on in the kitchen. Craning my neck around the last few stairs, I expect to see Joseph’s door open, but it’s still sealed shut. He probably put his damn earplugs in…and when he does, he doesn’t hear a damn thing. He’d sleep through the apocalypse if he went to bed with those things in.
When I take the final steps to the kitchen, my awareness falls. Joseph’s daughter, Charlie, rummages through the cabinets, muttering to herself.
“Looking for something?”
The sound of my voice practically sends her shooting through the roof. She spins on her heel with wide eyes and loses her balance, falling onto the counter before crumbling to the ground. She giggles the whole way down.
“Are you drunk?” I ask, bending down to her level.
“No.” She giggles and her head shakes back and forth against the white cabinet. “Y-you’reeeeeee drunk.”
“Oh yeah, you’re drunk.” I sigh. “What are you doing down here?”
“I need a snack!”
I take in her appearance—black pleather jeans, a one-shouldered black top, black heeled booties, and large silver hoop earrings. It looks like she just walked in the door. I caught a glimpse of her jumping in her truck while making my rounds in the barn after dinner. That had to have been around seven. Did she just get back? The stove clock reads 3:34 a.m.
“Did you just get home?”
“Yeah, so?” Charlie quips. “You’re not my dad.”
“No, but you’re gonna wake him up if you’re not quiet.”
Charlie huffs, folding her arms. “You’re bossy. I don’t like you.”
I roll my eyes, putting one arm under her legs and the other around her back to lift her off the ground.
“Put me down, Xavier! I’m not a child.”
When I was still at the hospital, we all agreed on the name Xavier. I can’t remember how we decided on it, but at the time, anything was better than being the nameless freak. “Then stop acting like it,” I say.
Charlie tries to push me away as I walk toward the stairs, but her attempts have no effect on me. “I can w-walk, Xavier. Let me walk!”
“Okay, just be quiet!” I hiss, looking her straight in the eye. I glance down the hall at Joseph’s door. Just because he can sleep through anything, doesn’t mean he will . The last thing I need is him coming out at three in the morning to find me carrying his drunk daughter up the stairs. “If I put you down, will you be quiet?” She starts to open her mouth, but I stop her. “Ah! Say something else and I’m carrying your drunk ass upstairs. Got it?”
Charlie huffs, mumbling something that sounds like “you’re mean,” but does as she’s told.
I slowly set her back on her feet, but her ankles wobble in the booted heels. She clutches at me, trying to steady herself, and it sends us both tumbling a few paces. When I look up to check on her, we’re mere centimeters apart, so close I can smell the vodka and citrus on her breath as I look directly into her green eyes. She sucks in her bottom lip, gaze dropping down to mine and back.
“Zay,” she whispers, starting to close the gap between us.
Oh no. I cannot let this happen, especially not in this state. Clearing my throat, I take a step back. “Let’s go, Charlie.”
Her arms fall to her sides as she stands there like a scolded child. Her eyes narrow, staring at the ground, piecing together what just happened. When she straightens her back, she seems a little less wobbly on her feet, as if the whole thing sobered her up a bit.
That theory goes out the window when she takes her first step, her ankle giving way beneath her. She almost crashes into the banister, but I catch her before she does.
“I can do it!” Charlie swats at my hand.
“Not unless you want to tumble down the stairs in those damn shoes,” I say, rolling my eyes and picking her up again.
I leave the door of her bedroom open when I walk in and set her on the edge of her bed. This is supposed to be a quick trip in and out, there is no need to hang around, but Charlie has other plans. She flops back onto the bed and lifts one of her boots. “Help me.”
“Charlie.”
“Please,” she whines.
I sigh but step back into the room, kneeling in front of her to remove the shoes. Unzipping the boots, I tug them off her feet and place them neatly at the foot of the bed for her to put away when she wakes up. “Okay, Char, time for bed. Let’s go.”
“Are you gonna read me a bedtime story?” She giggles, lifting up on her forearms to stare down the bed at me.
“No.” I pull myself up from the floor.
“You’re no fun, Xavier ,” she huffs. “Or whatever your name is.”
I glance over my shoulder to see she has flopped back on the bed with her arms crossed over her chest. Her auburn hair has started to fall out of the updo she had it in, splayed out beneath her head as she glares up at the ceiling.
God, she’s so dramatic.
I roll my eyes, looking through the dresser for something a little less…tight for her to sleep in, trying to ignore the slight sting in my chest. I shouldn’t let her words affect me so much, I know that, but they sting. I thought we had gotten past the attitude but guess not.
“Middle and bottom drawer,” she calls from her place, her words more sober than they have been all night. She continues to stare at the ceiling when I place a pair of sweats and an oversized T-shirt on the bed next to her.
“Goodnight, Charlie,” I say and leave without waiting for a response.
Things with Charlie are complicated. They have been from the moment I stepped foot on Blackwood Ranch. The welcoming committee wasn’t exactly…welcoming at first. I can’t blame her. She didn’t know me any better than I knew myself. Every day I wake up, I wake up a new person. But as I’ve settled into life on the ranch, Charlie and I have found common ground, albeit still shaky at times, and settled into something, too…Even if I’m not exactly sure what that means.
I open my bedroom door to get ready for work, I can’t help but think about how we’ve ended up here…