Chapter 21
Tuesday
“I love you, too,” Loch says as if the words have been on the tip of his tongue all night.
Looping my arms around his neck, I lift to kiss him, then fall back on the pillow again. “Well, look at us being all in love. Who would’ve guessed?”
“Not me,” he deadpans.
I laugh, but then I second-guess his tone and the delivery of that response. It rolled off almost as easily as the “I love you” did, so I ask, “What do you mean by ‘not me’?” He shifts, but I hold tighter so he can’t escape. “Why not you?”
He pauses, his eyes searching mine, then he looks away. Confused by the change in his mood, I cup his face, silently begging him to look at me. When he doesn’t, I start to feel sick in my stomach. “Talk to me, Loch.”
I’m finally given his gaze when he says, “Now is not the time.”
The moment my arms slack, he breaks free, not just moving off me but getting off the bed completely.
I watch him walk to the window, that pit in my stomach feeling hollower.
The blinds remain open when he stops to stare at the city like I often do.
I do it to admire the grandness of it all, or I’m trying to make sense of the world. I wonder which one he’s doing.
When he rubs one of his shoulders and bends his neck to relieve his obvious tension, I sit up and rest my back against the headboard.
“You know,” I say, the distance between us feeling its greatest since he came into my life. “Nothing good ever starts by putting off a conversation.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Crossing my legs in front of me, I hunch over my fidgeting hands. “You’re sorry for what, Loch? I’m confused about what’s happening. We’ve had an amazing night. We just shared some of the deepest feelings you can have for another person. So now I’m wondering what’s changed?”
When he turns, I can see the bad news coming like a train down the tracks. “It’s no big deal.”
“Then tell me.” When he doesn’t make an effort, I spring out of bed and start for the door.
I barely get two steps into the hall when he says, “You weren’t very polite.”
Stopping in my tracks, I walk back but stay in the doorway and cock my head to the side. “What do you mean by that?”
“You wanted to know why I said I wouldn’t have guessed we’d be together.
I’m telling you.” He rests against the windowsill and tempers his expression by shifting it into neutral, making it impossible to decipher what he’s thinking.
Where’s the man who’s been so open, whose walls are down when it’s the two of us?
Where’s the man I just proclaimed my love to?
He says, “You weren’t having a good day. ”
Every bone in my body goes on defense. Throwing my arms over my chest, I cross them.
We’re plagued by the silence growing between us.
I start tapping my foot, trying to process my irrational anger and what he’s really saying.
And because it’s better than the silence that’s exacerbating my worries of fighting with him.
This is new for us. It could ruin everything, but I still need to know the truth.
“Are you talking about when we met at the coffee shop?”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t having a good day, or I was being rude? Because you’ve said both.”
He shrugs. “Probably both.”
“Both?” I’m struggling to wrap my head around the accusation. Or is it fact? “You thought I was rude?”
“I think you were someone who wanted things in a very specific way—”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I agree. Clearly, you’ve met me.” He pushes off the sill and comes to me. I hate that I move out of his reach, but I’m not sure what to think. Or worse, what he thinks about me. “I didn’t tell you to upset you. It just came out—”
“That’s just it. You didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell me information about who I used to be—Oh God, am I like that now?”
“No, you’re an entirely different person.
I mean, you’re you, still, but now I get to see the kind and witty side of you, and your generosity.
” His arm goes out toward the window. “You gave that woman your coat without even thinking about yourself. You’re a paradox between then and now, an anomaly, which I find fascinating. ”
Despite the nice things he’s saying, my heart has already sunk. “I was awful, and you think it’s fascinating?”
“You’re not listening to me, Tuesday.” I finally lower my guard and let him get close. Selfishly, I want him to hold me and make me feel better about being a bad person in the past.
His arms wrap around me, and he kisses my head. “I’m not fascinated by you because of who you were. I’m captivated by who you are.” Leaning back to find my eyes, he says, “I love you. All of you. Your past and you in the present. But I really look forward to loving you through our future.”
“Really?” I crack a smile that is, at best, minuscule.
“Really.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. I love you and love all that too.” He chuckles. “I can’t believe I was rude.”
“Like I said, I think you were having a bad day. I was having one, too.”
I’ve asked him before, multiple times, why he helped a stranger. His answer has ranged from his mom raising him to help those in need to how could he not? All great responses that you would want to hear when asking this question.
Maybe it’s me who’s broken since I can’t seem to take someone at their word and keep asking, wondering if I’m going to get the same answers. What was my life like before that makes me so suspicious of everyone? “If I was so awful, why’d you save me?”
He rests back on the doorframe, his hands holding me by the waist. “I could have caught the guy who mugged you, but I thought you were more important than a handbag. So when faced with a split-second decision . . .” He pauses, but his eyes never leave mine. “I’ll never regret choosing you.”
My knees weaken under his words, his grasp of me firming, and his gaze gentle as he stares into my eyes. My heart clenches as my breath wraps around how he loves me. “You chose me,” I whisper just to savor the words.
“Yes.” His tone is low, kept so quiet, but something still seems to bother him. “I forced my way into your life on some whim that makes no sense on any level to any rational person.” Oh wow, he’s not holding back. “And fell madly in love with you.”
He’s exactly who he was when I met him, but now, instead of his heart being closed to the world, he’s living again. I fist the front of his shirt, pressing myself to him. “Is it so awful being in love?” I give him a teasing grin.
“There’s nothing better.”
Spinning us into the room, he walks me backward with his lips attached to mine. The back of my legs hit the bed, and I sit, falling with my arms wide to embrace this giant-hearted man.
We share I love you through kisses and moans, licks across our bodies and glistening sweat.
But it’s when he says it with his body buried inside mine—a brush of my hair stuck to my cheek, eyes wild with ecstasy staring at me, and both of us still, so still that we can feel each other’s heartbeat—that’s when I know. He’s my soul mate.
“It must be so exciting to be around the fast cars,” I say with a pen light shining bright in my eyes.
“As a doctor,” Lark starts, “I can’t say I’m fond of fast cars.
I’m nervous every time Harbor gets behind the wheel.
” She lowers the light, but spots still fill my vision.
After blinking a few times, her smile comes into view and then her eyes.
Both are comforting. “Not so much in the city since there’s too much traffic to let the engine loose, but he meets his clients at a racetrack to hand off the keys. ”
Dressed in dark-fitted jeans, muted gold flats, and a black blouse with full, long sleeves, she sits on the dining chair next to me with her hair twisted on top of her head.
The messy knot complements the refined style of her outfit.
She’s beautiful and approachable. She fits right in with the Westcotts I’ve met so far.
“Loch said Harbor’s custom cars cost a million and up, but I didn’t think about how fast they can go.”
“I try not to because it’s his dream and makes him happy.
Happy is something I fully support.” She packs her pen in a pouch next to the Oxometer she used earlier on me.
She says, “The company is only a few years old but already has a six-year waitlist.” From anyone else, that could come off as bragging, but with her, you can see the pride in her eyes and hear the love in her voice when she speaks of Harbor.
“Amazing.”
She turns back to me. “You know what’s amazing?
The body’s ability to heal itself. Your eyes look good.
They’re clear and focused. Your blood pressure was within the recommended range.
No fever.” She sits back. “I’m comfortable telling you to continue to take it easy regarding your healing from the concussion, but I’m not giving an all clear just yet.
The back of your head looked good as well. You mentioned you had a few concerns?”
She unpacks her salad from the bag, then takes a sip of tea. I’ve eaten half of mine already because I was starving, so I try to give her time to enjoy hers as well. “The amnesia. I’ve spent so much time researching, but it seems like it’s a case-by-case basis when and even if the memory returns.”
“There have been some good studies, including fairly recent ones, that have provided insight on what to expect and not expect with amnesia.” Setting her tea down, she seems to get caught in her thoughts as she bites her bottom lip.
Her gaze darts to mine again, and she says, “A traumatic event caused the injury, leading to the loss. One of the focused treatments is to keep the trauma from returning. Another is to find people from your past or items and spend time with them. The point is to find the underlying cause beyond the physical damage you suffered.”
Picking up my fork, I toy with a diced tomato, trying to understand. “You had me until the end.” I smile, kind of cringing because I really don’t want her to think I’m dumb.
She smiles, stabbing a piece of lettuce, but glances at me.
“Basically, the physical injury of hitting your head might not have caused the amnesia.” She waves the fork around in a circle.
“Your brain just used that opportunity to protect you from something else in your life.” She takes a bite of lettuce, the crunching disappearing under my mind being blown.
“You’re saying my brain wants me to forget my past?”
“I’m not entirely sure, Tuesday. No one can truly answer that but you.”
“Will I get my memory back?”
Dipping a carrot into the little container of dressing, she replies, “They’re there. You just need a key to unlock them.”
“Please tell me we can buy one when we’re out shopping today,” I say, giggling and taking a bite of my salad.
With a devious gleam in her eyes, she says, “I say we check Fifth Avenue first.”
“I think we’re going to be fast friends, Lark.”
Her knee bumps mine as she smiles. “We already are.”
I enjoy my day with her. It’s been one of my favorites. I just wish this storm cloud of a question hadn’t been hanging over my head all day. What is my brain protecting me from?