Chapter 1
“She doesn’t remember you.”
The heart monitor sounds like a ticking time bomb.
“What?” I ask the nurse, who refuses to look me directly in the eyes.
“Roxy has what’s called retrograde amnesia. She doesn’t remember who she is. Or who you are. She has no memory of the accident or anything that came before it. I’m sorry.”
I can’t breathe. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “No. I don’t believe you. She’s been in and out of a coma for three weeks. She’s just confused. She knows who I fucking am.” I charge toward her hospital bed. “Roxy?”
The nurse grabs my shoulder. “Sir, you need to calm down. You’re lucky we even let you in here. The police have some questions for you about the accident.”
I shrug her off a little too hard, her eyes as wide as saucers.
But I can’t stop the fury from building in my bones.
I stalk toward her, relishing the way she shrinks back, ignoring the ache in my head as I tower over her.
“I’ve already told them everything. A truck came around the bend.
It swerved into our lane. I lost control, and we spun out.
Roxy was thrown and I was crushed under the bike. And then I woke up here.”
They told me her injuries were so bad that they had to airlift us to Lavender Heights Medical Center, even though we were still in Crimson Valley. The hospital in that shithole is about as competent as the motel that we should’ve never checked out of.
Her hands tremble as she raises them between us as a barrier. “Look, I-I’m just telling you that they aren’t done with you yet. But she needs rest. She’s lucky she didn’t die. Maybe in time her memory will come back. But we won’t know for sure until the swelling in her brain goes down.”
My stomach turns. I swallow hard to keep from getting sick and puking in this woman’s face. “Fine. I’m taking her home. She can rest there.”
The nurse looks down, biting her lip. “Um. We can’t let you do that. You have no legal claim to her… Her mother is on her way from Crimson Valley. She’ll be taking her back home to recover.”
Her mother? Roxy hasn’t seen that woman in years. And who could blame her after she let her piece of shit husband violate her only daughter over and over again during her entire childhood?
This can’t be happening.
I clench my fists, sweat gathering in my palms. I take another step forward, forcing the nurse against the wall. “Roxy lives with me,” I grit out. “I’m not letting her out of my sight. Do you understand?”
The nurse nods. “Of course, Mr. Wilder. Um. Let me just go get this straightened out.”
I step back and allow her to pass. And she bolts. Minutes later the door swings back open and two police officers step through.
Fuck.
“Sir, we’re going to need you to step out of the room, please. You’re not authorized to be in here.” They stand tall with their shoulders back, their hands hovering over their holstered guns.
I glance at Roxy and feel my insides curdling. Her once flawless skin is marred by purple bruises and gashes. Her soft, full lips are pursed, tight, a sign of distress. Her mind may not remember, but her body knows. Why won’t she wake up and remember?
“Mr. Wilder, please. We’re big fans of yours. Don’t make us remove you by force.”
I let out a deep sigh. “I’m going. Just let me say goodbye. Please.”
They look at each other and nod. The taller one replies, “Make it quick.”
I go to her bedside and lean down to kiss her cheek. And I can’t resist telling her one last thing. I whisper in her ear, “This isn’t over. No matter where you go, I’ll find you.”
I charge out the back entrance to avoid the press. Some asshole in here already leaked the story. Punk Wilder, former pro skater and current bad boy, gets admitted to Lavender Heights Medical Center after wrecking his bike and nearly killing his girlfriend.
I’m sure they’re already speculating about what state I was in. Was he drunk again? High? Fucking pricks. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t touched an illegal substance in years. No, they just want a salacious story to liven up their boring lives.
My bike was beyond totaled in the crash, so I walk.
I limp. It takes me all night. But I prefer the silence to an overly chatty taxi driver.
Why did it have to be her? Other than the pain in my leg returning from my old injury, and a few cuts and bruises, I’m fine.
And yet my pretty girl looks like she was hit by a fucking semi. Fuck. She was hit by a fucking semi.
My hands tremble as I turn the key to my front door. An aching hole of despair sucks me in the second I step into our empty penthouse. But it’s the sight of her tank top hanging over the barstool that sets me off. I sob into it, breathing in her peaches and cream scent.
My knees buckle and I collapse onto the floor. “FUCK!” I scream. It echoes through my vaulted ceilings like a nightmare you can’t wake up from. “Fuck.”
I should’ve put a ring on her finger. If we were husband and wife, they’d have no right to keep me from her. What the fuck was I thinking? That I could just be her boyfriend forever?
At first, Roxy Luna was a fantasy. A conquest. And I was just her celebrity crush. But now I love this woman more than I love myself. And she loves me. I’ll be fucking damned if I let her go. Not after everything we’ve done together. All the promises we’ve made…
But everything is broken, and I don’t know how to fix it. One thing’s for sure, she’s never getting away from me. Even if I have to lock her up and force her to remember, she’s still mine. She will always be mine.
Fuck. I need to pull myself together. I take a hot shower and force myself to eat some chicken and microgreens. I won’t be much use to her if I’m weak.
By the end of the night, I’ve secured another bike and a new house not far from where her mother lives. And then I send Roxy another text message from my burner phone.
I will not let you break your promise to me, pretty girl. I’ll kill you before I ever let you go.
I glare at the broken skateboard that’s mounted on my wall, seething because I’ll never be able to ride it again.
Not like I used to. Skating was the one thing that used to calm me down.
When my father left my mom for his spin instructor, I’d ride all night, avoiding the house like the plague.
I wouldn’t come back until after she’d cried herself to sleep.
And when my high school girlfriend cheated on me with my best friend, it was in the skate park where I found my solace. I owned that fucking ramp. And it got me noticed. It made me who I am today—rich, famous, and respected.
Until it all fell apart. After I crashed out, I felt like my life was over.
But then I found Roxy. She gave me a new purpose.
Now I feel like I’ve lost everything all over again.
I can’t breathe without her. And if I can’t have her, no one can.
Especially not her sorry excuse for a mother or that shit fucking town she grew up in.
I lie back against my leather couch and pinch my eyes shut. The thirst claws at me. The need to chase my sorrows away inside a bottle of vodka. I take deep breaths while counting back from ten. I ball my fists and then unclench them as I exhale through the craving.
If I make it through this nightmare sober, it will be a fucking miracle.
I haven’t felt this alone since my skating injury.
And by some dumb luck, I survived another accident with my leg still intact.
The devil’s up to his old tricks, allowing me to walk away unscathed while my Roxy is lying in a hospital bed, bruised and broken.
I grit my teeth, my mouth dry. Fight it, Punk. You fucking asshole. Falling off the wagon isn’t going to help your pretty girl.
A ping from my phone startles me. I blink a few times, confused. Fuck, I forgot where I was. I click on the notification. It’s a party chat request from Skat and Rage. I take a few more deep breaths before powering up my console and headset.
I haven’t played since before we left for Crimson Valley. This is the distraction I need right now. Blow some shit up, kill things. At least it will keep me from ending someone’s actual life. Because if I won’t allow myself to get shitfaced, the next best high I can hope for is murder.
I log into the game, After:8113, and accept the chat invite.
The only blessing is that Roxy isn’t here to see me like this.
And playing with her friends makes me feel somewhat closer to her.
But BratBaby, Juniper, is noticeably absent.
She better be at Roxy’s bedside, singing my fucking praises and convincing her to come back home to me.
I go through the motions, but small talk is fucking painful for me tonight. And having to field questions about the accident and Roxy’s condition makes me want to throw my TV through the fucking window.
But I’m good at wearing many masks. This is just another one I have to assume for now. Until I can get my pretty girl back where she belongs. I need her more than the pills and the booze. More than the craving to spill blood. She’s the only addiction I won’t ever shake.
And I won’t stop until I get her back.