Chapter 5
5
Chance
I find Anya back in her room, curled up by the window with a book. Bringing her a cup of coffee seems even more appropriate, so I go in with a smile and set the hot drink on the side table next to her.
“Good morning,” I say, carefully checking her from head to toe.
“Morning,” Anya replies with a soft sigh.
She slept well. Her skin seems brighter, and the bandage on her temple is getting smaller with each change, which is a good thing.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, pulling up a chair next to her.
“Much better. Thank you for the coffee,” she says and takes a long, heartfelt sip.
I love this look on her. Long, silvery blonde hair pouring over one shoulder, the sky blue in her eyes twinkling with excitement when she sees me. I can’t get enough of this feeling I get when I’m around her, a feeling I didn’t think I’d experience again when the news first broke about what happened in Dalton.
My brothers are right. It’s as if I came back to life when I saw that Anya was still alive after two years of quiet grieving.
“I don’t know why I thought I’d find you back in my room,” I say, gazing out the window. “But I do apologize that we left you on your own this morning.”
“Hey, you kissed me good morning and then went out to shovel a ton of snow,” Anya replies.
“Seriously, though, how do you feel?”
She gives me a long, pensive look. I’d kill to be inside her mind right now. “Given how little I remember about myself, I guess I feel… strange. But good. What happened last night, Chance… it felt right.”
“We didn’t really think it through,” I chuckle softly.
“No, but it was worth every second.” Anya sets the book aside. “I wanted it. I have no idea what full-memory me would’ve thought about the whole thing, but the Anya sitting in front of you now… she is content, to say the least.”
“Good. Because neither Booker nor I want you to feel like we were taking advantage of you in any way.”
“No. Please. Don’t even think about it,” Anya then reaches for my hand. I take it, marveling at the softness of her skin. “It was sorely needed.”
Nodding slowly, I glance over at the book. A copy of Pride and Prejudice . I don’t remember us ever buying any Jane Austen novels for the lodge. It must be another leftover from our cousin’s winter stay from a couple of years back.
“How do you like the book?” I ask Anya.
She’s wrapped up in a plush grey robe, and I’ve got a feeling she’s not wearing anything underneath. It makes my pants feel tighter, but I hold back, content with just the memory of her naked body glued to mine throughout most of last night. The ghost of her will haunt me long after she’s gone—provided I find the strength to let go, if it’s what she wants once she remembers.
“I have a feeling I’ve read it before,” she says, staring at the hardcover. “The words feel familiar, like I know how the story ends.”
“How does it end?”
“I can’t be sure, but I think Mr. Darcy ultimately proposes.”
“Do you think he proposes, or do you hope he proposes?”
Anya laughs lightly. “Good question. I guess I hope. For all his faults, the man loves her intensely. He’s just terrible at expressing his emotions.”
“I think that’s a common trait of the male species.”
“He tries to show it, though. We’re wired differently as women, too, so that leads to conflict once in a while. Misunderstandings. Miscommunication.” She pauses for a split second. “Was there ever anything between us before this?”
I stare at her, somewhat dumbfounded. “You recently turned twenty-one. The last time we saw you, you were fast approaching your eighteenth birthday, and you had—” I stop myself before I give anything away. The last thing I want is to trigger some kind of traumatic response. “No, we were never this close, Anya. You were too young.”
“Did you ever… consider it?”
“As you grew into a young woman, you were harder to ignore,” I chuckle, but that’s as far as I go. “My brothers and I care deeply about you. We always have.”
She thinks about it for a minute. “So, you were respectful of me.”
“Always. Besides, Aleks would’ve blown our heads off if we tried something,” I reply with a light laugh.
“My brother.”
“Yes. Do you remember anything else about him?”
“Oh, just bits and pieces,” Anya sighs again.
I gently pull her onto my lap, reveling in the sound of her flirtatious giggle as she settles. I wrap my arms around her waist. “Tell me about them,” I say, planting a soft kiss on her lips. “Every detail counts because it tells you a little something about who you are.”
“Okay…” Anya takes a moment, resting her head on my shoulder. “There’s one memory, in particular, that struck me.”
“Go on.”
“I’m in an art supply store,” she says. “I can tell from what I can see in the displays. Colored markers, sets of brushes and pencils… Pastel chalk… Oil paint… A whole section of the wall is dedicated to canvases, frames, and wooden easels. And next to the cash register, there are dozens of glass jars filled with all sorts of drawing and design tools. Pen nibs in a little plastic box… And I’m asking the shopkeeper about the pen tips.”
“Where’s Aleks?” I ask.
“He’s outside, on his phone. Arguing with someone,” Anya replies. “He looks upset, but then he gets off the phone and comes into the store. I reach out to him, and I see my hand… it’s so small. I think I’m a kid. And I see a set of ink fine-liners I really want. I’ve been watching a lot of anime cartoons lately, and I think I want to draw manga. It’s a phase.”
I can’t help but smile. “I remember your manga phase. You were really good at it, actually.”
“I was?” She sounds surprised.
“You are immensely talented, Anya. I think I got to see you in each stage of your artistic development. Though, truth be told, I appreciated your Impressionist years the most.”
Anya tries to dig through her shattered memories for the details, but she can’t find any, so she goes back to the shop. “I’m asking Aleks to buy those fine-liners for me. He’s in his late teens, I think. Rocking a grey suit. Trying to look older than he actually is. Our bodyguards are back by the car…”
“You remember the bodyguards.”
“I remember feeling safe, knowing they were there. But I can’t remember what they were protecting me from,” she mutters. “Aleks was nervous, though. And he didn’t want to buy the fine-liners. He said… Dad didn’t want me wasting time with art because I was supposed to do something else with my life, that Leo wasn’t into art, to begin with.” Anya gives me a curious look. “Who’s Leo?”
Shit. That’s a tough question.
How do I navigate this without upsetting her? How do I keep her safe if I can’t risk telling her the whole truth? As much as I am tempted to keep Anya in the dark about her past, it only takes a question such as this to make me doubt my own direction where she’s concerned. It’s unnerving.
“How does Leo’s name make you feel?” I ask Anya.
She lowers her gaze once more, and I feel her whole body shivering against mine. “I don’t like it. I think it frightens me.”
“Then trust your instinct. The rest will come to you, I promise. Tell me about those fine-liners. Finish your story.”
“After Aleks tries to discourage me about the markers, he sees me moping around the shop. I don’t think we were supposed to go in there to begin with. He keeps glancing outside, like he’s waiting for someone.”
“Does anyone arrive?”
She shakes her head slowly. “Yes, but I can’t see their face. They talk for short bit outside the shop, while I’m drooling over those markers. Then Aleks comes back in again, and he smiles and says… ‘You know what? Screw this and screw Leo. What else do you want aside from the fine-liners?’”
“Sounds like Aleks, alright,” I smile as I remember our best and greatest friend.
He was a good man who was dealt a terrible hand and born into a family that lived by ancient and gut-wrenching traditions. He was forced to continue their legacy to keep Anya safe, and he forfeited his life in the process.
“I start pointing to things in the shop.” Anya laughs lightly. “I want this and that and… At one point, we’ve got so many bags that one of the bodyguards comes in to help carry everything back to the car. And… that’s it… everything goes dark after that.”
I let my fingers slowly comb through the silvery-blonde richness of Anya’s hair, my mind quietly drifting down a memory lane of my own. The weight of her warm body keeps me grounded in a peculiar haze, stuck somewhere between the past and the present, while the scent of her fills my lungs with moments of last night.
But every time I try to focus on our lovemaking as a way to stay closer to the present, to prepare for whatever darkness the future still has in store for us, I keep getting flashbacks of Aleks.
“I think we already told you that Aleks followed us into the Navy,” I tell Anya.
“Ah, yes, part of his rebellious phase,” she giggles. “I wish I could remember that.”
“You will. I just remembered something myself. Our first week at the Naval Academy. We were so green and wide-eyed. We were convinced we were going to, I don’t know, save the world, do something awesome, have our names etched in the annals of history. Aleks wasn’t sure he belonged there with us, though. I think he realized that one morning during an equipment drill. Booker and I were on top of the situation.
“Nico was overseeing and making sure we had our gear in proper working order before the lieutenant came in for an inspection and the actual drill,” I add. “And Aleks just sat there on the edge of a bench, staring at his equipment. I remember going up to him, asking him what’s wrong. He looked at his watch and said, ‘It’s Anya’s birthday.’”
“Aww.”
“‘It’s Anya’s birthday, and I don’t know if she liked the gift that I sent her,’ he said.”
“What was the gift?”
I peer deep into her eyes, wondering if I can get her to dig deep for that memory herself. “You were turning eight or nine. He sent you a big box, apparently. Wrapped in blue and tied with a—”
“White satin ribbon,” she mumbles, her face lighting up as her fingers move in the air, imitating the movement she must’ve made upon unboxing her gift. “A big-ass easel with a built-in seat and a color palette. It had special holes in a separate tray for the water jar and any ink bottles I might need to keep handy. Oh, it was something else. I… I can’t believe I just remembered that.”
“All on your own,” I reply with a smile.
Her brow furrows. “I need you to tell me more, Chance.”
“I don’t want to force it. I’m more than happy to tell you about our time in the Naval Academy. The years of service. The Navy SEALs were a surprisingly fun time,” I shoot back with a dry chuckle. “Got ourselves into a few hot zones. War zones. Came out with our share of scrapes. Aleks powered through for as long as he could before he decided to pull the plug and return to his family. To you.”
Anya gives me a long, worried look. “He gave up his military service for me? Why?”
“He wanted to protect you.”
“From what or who?”
“That’s one of those delicate subjects we agreed to avoid without a memory to connect them to,” I reply. “I’m sorry, Anya. It really is for your own good.”
She exhales sharply, and I can almost feel her enthusiasm deflating like a balloon left out in the sun too long. “I really wish everyone would stop saying that.”
“To be honest, you might be better off not remembering much at all.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I don’t want you to suffer.”
“I’m suffering right now, not knowing who I am, not knowing what happened. Not even being able to reach out to my brother and let him know I’m okay,” Anya sighs and gets up. For a moment, I feel cold and miserable in the absence of her body. “I need to remember.”
I find myself relenting quickly. It was a bad suggestion. Hearing the words come out of my mouth makes me realize that they sounded better in my head, but just in my head, on account of my selfish motives.
“And I’ll help you. Booker and Nico will help you. We’re here for you, Anya,” I say. “Forget I even suggested it.”
She takes a deep breath, settling back in her window seat with a soft whimper. “It’s okay. I get it, I guess. You’re being protective. Maybe a little too much. I don’t think I’m so weak that I can’t handle the truth.”
“Nor did I imply any weakness. You are one of the strongest women I’ve ever met, Anya. We simply don’t know the extent of that head wound. We don’t want to risk making it worse.”
Anya nods slowly, reluctant but ultimately accepting of the situation. She’s got plenty of common sense, which comes to her naturally. It tells me plenty about the young woman she grew up to become. It also reminds me that her resilience might not be enough to help her navigate the inevitable moment when she remembers everything.