Chapter Seven
My One Condition ~ early July
I sit side-by-side with Ashton on my tiny but bulbous burnt-orange couch inside my camper as we thumb through my heavily marked-up manuscript.
He followed me back home after we ate. Or he ate, I should rephrase.
I stole a few french fries and a hushpuppy but couldn’t stomach much else.
The rest of the lunch, we worked on a game plan to try and find his brother, who has seemingly fallen off the face of the earth.
According to Ashton, Noah is not on social media.
He’s never liked it, and their sister manages their marketing (who turns out to be the Branda lady he mentioned being on the phone with at our first meeting).
When Branda Prewitt stumbled upon my reel about my book, she showed Ashton, and, well, the rest is history, as they say.
But by that point, Noah had already left.
He had left a note explaining he needed to get away for a while and recollect himself.
He had left his phone, laptop, and keys by his bedside.
The only thing he had taken with him was a bag of clothes, his notebook, and his favorite pen.
He virtually left himself untraceable, though judging by the coming anniversary of the day I lost my mind and forgot him, we have an idea where he might be.
“As I said, there’s a solid chance he’s back in Bora Bora, Esme.
Are you sure you’re willing to go back there with me to try and find him?
” Ashton’s intense stare makes me squirm, and the thought of flying across the world with a man I barely know is not necessarily comforting, but I owe this to Ashton.
I owe it to his family. I owe it to Noah.
I owe it to the woman I was while in Bora Bora previously.
I owe it to the novel. I owe it to the current version of myself.
“Outside of assisting you, maybe it will make these memories I’ve written about in the book feel more real.
Or completely come back all together.” I toss a smile his way, but he still looks wary.
I nudge his shoulder with mine. “Relax, Ashton. I said I would do it, and I mean it. Plus, you said you were paying, right?”
Finally, he cracks a smile. “Yes, I’m covering the cost. Noah would disown me if I didn’t treat his woman with any less respect.”
He’s got that right, fictional Noah huffs. Should I tell Ashton that I hear his brother in my head all. the. time?
His woman. I keep the smile on my face to try and hide my discomfort over the phrase.
As much as I ship Esme and Noah in my romance novel, I’m not sure about the real-life people.
Heck, I wrote Esme as a more outgoing, carefree version of who I really am.
Who is to say this Noah guy is exactly the way I wrote him in the book?
Ashton, my voice retorts. As we’ve gone through the story together, he’s noted how precisely I’ve captured the essence of his twin within the pages.
But no one is that perfect. Book boyfriends don’t magically step out of novels even though I pretend that’s the case in my own novel when Esme meets Noah.
I’m confused. A ball of muddled memories blended with fiction.
Ashton clears his throat. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to imply the two of you are still together.
” He stands and grabs his glass of water from the tiny island inside my kitchenette.
“When we find Noah,” he takes a sip, “please do not feel like you have to continue a relationship with him. The two of you only knew each other a week, and while he fell head over heels for you, it does not mean that you both are the person you were a year ago. So much has happened, and—”
I stand and cut him off, placing a hand on his forearm.
“I know, Ashton. Please stop tiptoeing around me and fretting. I know what I’m getting myself into, and I am fully on board.
” No one gets permission to treat me like I’m broken and fragile anymore.
I might be swimming in befuddlement, but I know one thing: the real Noah is the key to clarification.
“We will find your brother, and whatever happens after that will happen. But first, let’s put our energy into the search. ”
Ashton cuts his eyes to where my hand rests, and I drop my arm. I was mooning over this man when I first saw him, and I definitely developed a crush. But that is long gone. Not when I know there is a real-life Noah Ashton in the picture. Or, Noah Ashley Prewitt, as Ashton informed me.
I step back and stare at Ashton's profile as he sips his water, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.
He resembles Noah so much it sends a pang through my soul that I was, at one point in my life, destined to belong to him.
But as I study Ashton—those dark curls, hazel eyes, full lips—a dawning begins.
Something that once was fuzzy starts to clear.
Esme Samantha Prewitt. There's a familiarity to it, as if I've said it before. Or perhaps someone has said it to me. “In the book,” I say slowly, steadying my breathing as the image in my memory crystallizes. “In the book, Noah proposes to Esme before they leave."
Ashton rolls his lips, rocking back and forth on his heels, averting his gaze.
“Ashton,” I growl in a low warning. I’ve been on an emotional rollercoaster today, and I’m ready to tip the cart.
He throws up his hands in defense. “He had texted me and told me he was bringing you home and that he wanted to marry you. I’ll show you the text messages between us, but I don’t want to feed too much into the narrative.
I think that’s something you and Noah should discuss together.
He never told me if he actually asked you or if you agreed. ”
My knees shake as my head grows light. I sit down, placing my head between my legs while trying to unravel the idea I might have been engaged to Noah Ashley Prewitt.
How do I even begin to process this? I don’t know what’s real and what’s made up at this point. I glance down at my bare ring finger. I don’t remember having a ring when I woke up from the coma, but those weeks that followed are still a little hazy.
My camper door flies open. “Esme!” a shrill voice calls. The camper rocks as my mom, with her brown but graying hair and frantic expression, steps through the door. My dad, with his thinning gray hair and a tired posture, follows. My parents’ eyes bounce from me to Ashton.
Ashton, surprising me once again, steps toward them and greets them by name using a clipped tone. “Melina. Gregory.” He holds out his hand as I sit stunned on the couch. “Ashton Prewitt. Noah’s twin.”
Mom stands slack-jawed while Dad cautiously shakes his hand and responds with firm politeness. “It’s good to see you again. Heard you’re signing my daughter on as your client.”
Again?
Ashton doesn’t even attempt a smile. “That’s the plan.”
I stay silent because there are too many things happening inside my head.
I’m angry with my parents for their deceit, shocked that they somehow know Ashton, reeling over the existence of Noah, and now, I’m wondering if this whole thing with the book is even legit.
Does Ashton truly think I’m a good writer, or does he just want my help finding Noah?
And if he does think I’m a good writer, then is this a one-time thing?
Am I only writing this story well because it’s an actual memory?
At least part of it? Would I be able to completely make something up and write it well?
One thing at a time, Esme. And first things first…
I stand, fisting my hands on my hips. “You lied to me. Both of you.”
My parents’ eyes snap to me, their faces draining of color.
Dad clears his throat and moves to stand beside Mom.
He whispers something to her, and she nods mindlessly.
Dad speaks first. “Esme, honey. We never wanted you to find out this way.” My stomach drops.
Up until this moment, I think I was hoping it was all some elaborate “gotcha!” type of hoax.
But it’s not. Everything Ashton said— it’s true.
I don’t miss how Dad’s gaze flattens and shifts to Ashton. That somehow angers me more. Ashton is the only one brave enough to be honest with me around here.
I cross my arms and cock my hip out like a petulant child. “You mean you never wanted me to find out. Period. No ‘like this’.”
“Baby,” Mom begins, but I cut off her pitying cry.
“No, Mom. You don’t get to ‘baby’ me. You lied to me.
Both of you.” I cut my narrowed eyes to Dad before bringing them back to Mom.
“And Ethan and Sam. You all said I was in a jet ski accident! All of you colluded behind my back and blatantly chose to lie to me. The very people I’m supposed to trust. The people I couldn’t even lie to about fake-dating Ashton because guilt was eating me up!
I relied on you to tell me the truth about the three years’ worth of memories I’m missing.
How could you?!” I throw my hands up in exasperation.
“Esme, let us explain,” Mom says, stepping toward me with an outstretched hand.
I step back as if she’s a snake poised to strike.
Mom swallows, drops her hand, then continues.
“We were trying to protect you. You were in such a fragile, unstable state. Imagine hearing that truth when you woke up. Imagine hearing you had met a random stranger that you wanted to continue seeing when you got back home. That’s not who you are.
It would have placed an unnecessary burden on you. ”
“No, Mom! I’m not fragile. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now.
I can handle the truth. You hid something so important to me that my psyche is bringing back the memories in a fictional format.
Whatever happened on that island, I’m going to figure it out.
I’m going to learn the truth. And whatever I did or didn’t do, whether what this Noah guy and I had was real or not, it’s my choice to make. Mine!”
I’m heaving, my throat raw from raising my voice. I can’t think straight; I’m furious. A hand rests on my elbow as if holding me upright, but I jerk away from Ashton’s touch and collapse onto the couch. “Go. Please go. All of you.”
Silence ensues for several moments until I hear shuffling feet and feel the rhythmic rock of the camper. Dad whispers something I can’t hear.
“I’m sorry, Esme,” Mom calls out through broken tears. I don’t meet her eyes. I don’t remove my face from my hands until the camper door closes. Anger burns through my veins, lighting me up from within.
“Well, I guess I’ll—”
I growl in frustration. “When do we leave for Bora Bora?”
Ashton blinks once, then twice, as if I’ve caught him off guard.
Then I remember I told everyone to leave.
I sigh and stand. “I’m sorry, Ashton. I didn’t mean for you to leave.
Just them. I need space to figure this all out.
I need to get away.” A derisive laugh escapes me, a tad unhinged and laced with disbelief.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that. I swear I’ve never combusted like that in my life. ”
And secretly, it felt good.
It felt good to not cave. To stand my ground for once.
To speak my true feelings instead of trying to coddle someone who hurt me like I did when Lane broke my heart.
That night he broke it off with me, and then I thanked him for teaching me the truth about romance…
It still haunts me, and I loathe myself for trying to spare his feelings while I shattered into pieces.
Ashton is quiet for a beat, his face contemplative as his dark, bushy brows knit together.
Finally, he says, “Your parents told us before you all left the hospital that we shouldn’t try to reach out.
Melina said she would have you reach out if you remembered, and only if you wanted to.
She said the doctor recommended not adding any more trauma on top of what you’d gone through.
” Now it’s his turn to laugh with a cutting edge.
“Noah, once he was healed, tried to contact them several times. The last time he tried, Gregory told him that he would file a restraining order if Noah didn’t stop trying to get in touch with you.
It was a nail in the coffin to solidify my brother’s deep dive into depression.
He respected your parents’ wishes, but no one seemed to think twice about the trauma and heartache he’d experienced. ”
I’m dumbfounded. Speechless. But I’m a writer, so I find words even if they’re only first-draft worthy.
“I am so sorry. They’ve always been the hovering type, wanting to make sure Ethan and I made what they perceived as the right and sensible choices in life.
But this open deception? That’s new. And it’s not okay, Ashton.
How they’ve handled everything… It’s not okay. ”
“It’s not,” Ashton agrees, moving to sit beside me on the couch once more, our arms brushing one another. He mirrors my sullen state. “But it is what it is. Nothing left to do but continue to clear the air and learn the truth.”
“Which means we need to find Noah,” I state. Ashton is silent, but he nods.
“Are you sure he’s in Bora Bora?” I ask, rubbing my temples.
“Not at all,” Ashton says through a deep breath. “But I think it’s a solid guess. Noah likes to travel—liked to travel. Since Bora Bora, he hasn’t been the same. I feel like I don’t know my other half anymore.”
What Ashton means to say is that his twin hasn’t been the same since me .
“Ashton.” I take his hand and look him dead in the eyes, mustering all the confidence and sincerity I can in a situation like this.
“We will find him. I will do whatever it takes. I want to know the truth as much as you want to find your brother. And I can’t stand the thought that there is someone out there who might have loved me and is now be suffering because of me.
” I am determined to correct this mess my family made.
Indignation motivates me. Acrimony guides my path.
Oh, God. I am mad and resentful over this. I’m going to feel it because You know I don’t have any other option right now, but please, help me to move past it. Eventually.
“Love. It’s not a ‘might.’ It’s not a past tense. Noah loves you, Esme. You need to know that loud and clear before we go tracking him down. Are you okay with that?”
So many unspoken things pass between me and Ashton, but what else can I do? I want to know what really happened in Bora Bora, and the only one with the answers I desperately seek is Noah Ashley Prewitt.
I firmly nod.