Chapter 10
Ten
Kelly
Being near him feels normal. The thought of him leaving … soul crushing. Except I can’t remember why.
I’ve never been so aware of my heartbeat in my entire life.
It thuds in my ribs, too fast and too loud, and every time I glance at Ledger — which is approximately every twelve seconds — it speeds up like my body is betraying me on purpose.
He’s standing at the counter of the cabin kitchen, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watches Shaft and Mellow walk the perimeter outside.
The outside light cuts across his jawline, sharp enough to carve through the fog in my brain.
It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I left the hospital, and already I know two things: I don’t remember Ledger even though we clearly have history.
I may not have memories, but my whole being feels like I’ve known him my whole life.
That’s the confusing part.
My brain is blank when it tries to pull our shared history into focus but my instincts? My instincts treat him like gravity. And I’m so tired of feeling lost that part of me wants to fall willingly into the pull.
Ledger glances over his shoulder, eyes finding me immediately. “You okay?”
I’m sitting on the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket Ally brought from my place, nursing a cup of tea I don’t remember making. My ribs still ache, my temples throb, and my memory is a minefield of missing pieces.
But when he asks me that, with that voice, that look, I feel steadier.
“Yeah,” I mutter softly. “Just tired.”
He studies me for a long second, then nods. “Tomorrow, we’ll get you out of the cabin for a bit. Fresh air. Short walk.”
I blink. “Out? Should we? Should I really be going anywhere?”
“You won’t be alone,” he states, as if that solves everything.
Maybe it does.
Ally told me last night that Riot used to avoid emotions like they were contagious. She says he is grumpy, stubborn, and allergic to relationships. She also says he softened around me in ways that made the whole MC whisper.
I don’t remember the details, but I believe the way my body reacts there was something special between us. There is softness under all that growl.
He clears his throat. “If you want. Only if you want.”
There it is. The consideration. The careful tone that doesn’t match the intimidating exterior.
I nod. “Okay.”
His shoulders drop a fraction in what I can only call relief.
Two days go by and things are the same. The cabin feels too quiet. Too tense. Too much like a cage that isn’t locked but still feels hard to leave.
Ally stops by with clean clothes and one of her signature no-nonsense pep talks. “You look pale,” she announces the second she steps inside.
“Well hello to you too,” I joke back with her while sitting comfortably on the oversized couch.
“You’re wearing gray sweatpants. Riot, for the love of God, stop dressing her like your roommate. You have them rolled and tied and I bet if you stand up they will fall off still.”
I laugh, “I have enough curves to hold them up, thank you.”
Ledger grunts. “She needed clothes.”
“She had clothes here,” Ally remarks and I can’t hold back the gasp. She isn’t wrong. I have my own drawer here, a toothbrush, my own drawer in the bathroom too.
“His clothes are comfortable,” I explain while avoiding the elephant in the room.
Yes, Ledger showed me where my stuff was.
I looked it over, held it up and considered using it.
I hoped the memories would come back, they didn’t.
And somehow it didn’t feel right to use those things.
Instead I slipped into one of his t-shirts and sweats.
I did wear my panties that were stashed here, but actual clothes, nope.
Ally gives her attention back to Ledger. “She’s not a stray cat you rescued,” Ally fires back. “Here, Kelly, jeans, shirt, soft sweater. And some mascara because you look dead behind the eyes.”
“Thank you?” I reply unsure if I’m supposed to be happy for the makeup or not.
Ally cups my face and I see the glossiness in her eyes from unshed tears. “You’ve been through hell. Let me take care of you.”
Nodding, I let her, because the truth is, I need something familiar, even if my own memories won’t give it to me. Ledger watches the whole exchange from the corner of the room, eyes glancing to the windows every few seconds.
He’s on alert. He’s working even while pretending to sit still.
“Busy day?” Ally asks him pointedly.
“Just makin’ sure the wrong people don’t get near her,” he mutters.
“Oh?” Ally raises a brow. “So the right people can?”
Ledger’s jaw flexes, but he doesn’t answer. Ally smirks like she won something. She visits for a bit, but without me at work, she can’t stay long.
After she leaves, the silence returns, thicker now. Ledger finally stands from the chair, stretching slightly. “You said you wanted out of here for a bit?”
I blink. “I did?”
“Last night.” He shrugs. “You said the walls were closing in.”
That sounds like me.
He grabs his keys and nods toward the door. “Come on.”
The drive into town is quiet, but not awkward.
Ledger glances over once in a while, like he’s making sure I’m not in pain. Like he expects me to faint or disappear if he looks away too long.
I don’t hate it.
Actually, I like it.
Which feels dangerous for my heart.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat, “what did we usually do together? Before all this?”
Ledger doesn’t tense, no he freezes.
Completely.
“Depends what you mean,” he answers carefully.
I pick at the loose thread on my jeans. “Did we hang out? Go places?”
“Sometimes,” he replies vaguely, eyes fixed on the road.
“Like on actual dates?”
Silence.
Then without emotion, he states. “Not really.”
My stomach sinks.
“Oh.”
“That wasn’t on you,” he adds immediately. “It was me.”
That’s not the answer I expected. Not that I actually had any idea of what he would reply.
“How so?”
His jaw works. “Because we had an arrangement and I liked to keep boundaries.” There is a pause, an awkward one. “I wish I hadn’t.”
Something in my chest aches unexpectedly. “Did you want to and just didn’t change it? Or we didn’t have time?”
Another long pause.
“Yes,” he states but doesn’t elaborate.
The softness in his voice hits me like sunlight through a winter chill. Warm. Quiet. Honest.
I stare at him, trying to see if the answer exists somewhere in my missing memories.
It doesn’t. But the feeling it stirs does. “So what’s today?” I ask lightly trying to figure out what comes next. “An outing? A date?”
He jerks the wheel slightly. “Jesus, Kelly. No, it’s not.” A pause, then he stammers, “I mean, unless you, that’s not—”
I bite back a smile. “You’re flustered.” In all the time we haven’t spent together in the hospital and in his home, he has never once not had a response. He’s rattled and I find myself proud to have caused it.
“No, I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Stop.”
“I can’t,” I reply laughing, amused and breathless. “It’s funny.”
His glare is weak. “You have a head injury. You shouldn’t tease.”
“Is teasing something I did a lot?”
His jaw loosens. “All the damn time.”
I grin. And something warm flickers in his eyes.
He parks downtown, in front of a row of small shops. The bakery sign catches my eye — Frosted and Filled. An odd sensation rushes through me.
“I work there,” I whisper.
Ledger follows my gaze. “You do.”
The door is propped open, music drifting out. Fresh bread. Sugar. Butter. Strong emotions slam into me. Homesickness for a home I can’t remember. Pride in work I don’t recognize. A sense of belonging I can’t name.
“Do you want to go in?” he asks softly.
I step toward the entrance before I fully decide to. Ledger falls into stride next to me, always slightly between me and anything else.
Inside, everything feels wrong and right at the same time.
The register.
The chalkboard menu.
The display cases full of pastries I know I made before. Somehow, somewhere in the lost parts of my memory they exist.
Customers glance my way, some smiling, some greeting me by name. But the faces blur, names vanishing before they come.
I swallow hard and grip the counter for balance.
“Kelly?”
Ally’s voice breaks through the noise. She rushes from the kitchen, apron dusted with flour, eyes wide.
“You okay?”
I nod, though I’m not sure.
Ledger steps closer. “She’s overwhelmed.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper the lie.
Ally frowns. “Want to sit in the back?”
“No, I don’t want to sit.” I reply quickly as the need to be in the space overtakes me. “I want to see where I worked.” I feel like I know every inch of this place. I’m on the cusp of something coming back.
“That’s literally everywhere,” she explains. “You worked here nonstop.”
A laugh escapes me thin but real. Ledger’s hand hovers near my lower back, not touching but grounding.
Ally leads me through the bakery, narrating everything like a tour guide.
“This is your station. You hated when anyone messed with your set up. You kept your measuring spoons in this drawer. You always burned the first batch of muffins because you forgot they were in. This is the fridge you threatened to kick last summer. That’s the oven you cussed out when it made a weird noise.
You and I once got drunk and decided to invent a chocolate-chip-pumpkin-maple-monstrosity that made Chux cry into his shirt. ”
I laugh harder.
Ledger smiles just barely and it warms me.
Then, as I walk past a tray of cooling pastries, something happens.
A spark. A flash.
A sensation.
Me, laughing. Flour on my cheek. He is leaning against the counter, teasing me about burning something. My hand swatting at him playfully. His fingers catching my wrist gently. My body coming alive. His mouth brushing my temple—
I gasp and grab the table for support.
“Kelly?” Ally rushes toward me.
Ledger is on me faster.
He’s at my side instantly, steadying me by the waist. “What happened? Pain?”
“No,” I breathe. “I remembered something.”
Both of them go still.
“What?” Riot asks, voice rough.
“It was small. A moment. You were here. Leaning right there.” I point to a spot near the counter. “And I had flour on my face. And you kissed me.”
Heat creeps up my neck. Ledger’s eyes darken with something intense. Something raw.
“That happened,” he shares softly.
The electricity between us crackles again. He steps closer, too close, then stops himself, jaw clenching.
Ally looks between us, eyes narrowing knowingly. “I’ll give you two a minute.”
She disappears to the front. The bakery feels suddenly quieter, warmer, too full of something I can’t name. Ledger keeps a careful hand near my waist as I steady myself. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Better than okay.”
He searches my face. “You sure? That memory, did it hurt?”
“No. It felt good.” I swallow and tell him the truth. “Like something important. Like we had something special.”
Something shifts in his gaze a softness mixed with pain.
“You asked me earlier if we ever had real dates,” he says. “We didn’t. But we came here together after closing sometimes, before you opened other days. Sat at that table.” He points to the small round table near the window. “Drank coffee. Talked.”
“Talked about what?” I inquire.
He hesitates. “Things you cared about. Your family. The bakery. Your dreams. All kinds of things from the little to the big and everything in between.”
I tilt my head. “And what about you? Did you talk?”
A corner of his mouth lifts faintly. “Not much to say, Sunshine.”
“So I babbled at you?”
“You didn’t babble,” he murmurs. “You talked. And I listened. I liked listening.”
My stomach warms. We’re standing too close now. Close enough that if I inhale a little deeper, I’ll feel the heat from his chest. Close enough that the tension between us wraps around my ribs like silk and barbed wire.
“Ledger,” I whisper.
His eyes drop to my mouth. Just barely. But I see it. Feel it. I want him to kiss me.
He takes a slow breath, steps back half an inch, enough to cool the moment, not enough to break the connection completely.
“We should go,” he admits, voice thick. “Too many eyes here.”
“Eyes?”
“Can’t be sure you weren’t followed.”
A chill runs through me bringing me back to reality. He walks me to the truck, hand steady at my lower back. The moment we’re inside and the doors are shut, I finally ask the question brewing in my chest:
“Ledger, were we more than friends?”
His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel.
“We were,” He exhales. “something.”
“Something what?”
“Something that couldn’t be labeled. Something I wasn’t ready for,” he admits. “Something you deserved more of.”
“And now?” I ask softly.
He looks at me, really looks, his gaze traveling over my face like he’s memorizing every line for the second time in his life.
Now hangs thick between us.
“Now,” he states roughly, “I just want you safe.”
I swallow hard. “And after that?”
He doesn’t answer.
But the look in his eyes does. The silence in the truck is loud with things we’re not ready to say out loud. My heart pounds.
Because even without my memories…I know one truth, being near him feels right.
It’s like coming home to a place I’ve never been and somehow have missed all my life.