Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Trevor
Christian comes into the garage, navigating expertly on his forearm crutches. I’ve gotten to know him and his dad, Carter, a lot better over the past few weeks. I’m glad Carter and I are still friends. He’s one of the only people I feel I can confide in.
“I heard what you did today, Dr. Criss. It sounds pretty badass.”
Doctor Criss. Few people in this town use the title, but Carter’s kid is nothing if not extremely polite. It’s strange to hear it. And still mind blowing that I have an actual medical degree.
I check my phone impatiently, as I’ve done at least a dozen times, awaiting a text from Patrick.
Carter rounds the corner. “I know I didn’t just hear my kid say badass.”
“I’m fourteen, Dad.” Christian rolls his eyes. “And badass is hardly a curse word.”
“How do you know about it?” I ask.
“His girlfriend works at the coffee house,” Carter says.
I look at Christian in amusement as my mind pages through the girls who work there. “Bug is your girlfriend?”
He playfully swats his dad. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he says, although not very convincingly. “She’s my neighbor.” Also not very convincing.
I laugh. “But she wasn’t even working today.”
“Yeah, but Leah called her and told her everything, and then she told me. Did you really cut into a guy’s throat?”
I look down at my hands that are now holding a torque wrench. It’s hard not to smile. “It’s called a tracheotomy. He was choking and couldn’t get any air.”
Carter shakes his head. “You saved a life today. Dude, how is that even possible?”
I still find it hard to believe myself. “I didn’t know what I was capable of until it happened. It’s like I instinctively knew what to do.”
Christian perches against the rear quarter panel of my Charger. “I don’t understand it, Dr. Criss. You didn’t remember us, or your family, but you know how to be a doctor?”
“It’s really hard to explain, Christian. Sometimes I don’t even understand it myself. Life experiences and factual knowledge are stored in different areas of the brain. So one can go away without losing the other, if that makes sense.”
“Are they still in there somewhere?” he asks with a cock of his head. “Your life experiences?”
“Yeah, I think they are. I just can’t get to them.”
“Maybe they can put one of those caps with all the wires on your head and extract your memories and then you can look at them like a movie.”
I don’t bother telling him it wouldn’t make a difference. That doing that would be no different than what’s actually been happening: people telling and showing me who I was. That until and unless I remember them myself, the emotional connection just isn’t there.
Carter scoffs. “I think you watch too much Sci-Fi, kiddo.”
Christian shrugs. “It could happen.”
Carter points to the shop. “Who’s manning the desk if you’re out here chatting with Trevor?”
“Aunt Mia told me to take a break.”
Carter’s phone chimes. “Break’s over. Mia’s on tow duty, and we just got a call.”
“Bye, Dr. Criss.”
I lift my chin. “See you later, Christian.”
Carter lets out a slow whistle as he walks around the back of my car. “Nice job on the bumper. Looks like saving lives isn’t the only thing you know how to do.” He runs a finger along the shiny chrome. “It must be really odd for you to know how to do all this and still not know yourself.”
Carter and I don’t really talk about my situation.
I think he understands that everyone else in this town is coming on strong.
I’m not even sure he realizes that he’s my safe space.
So it comes as a surprise to me when he makes that comment.
Strangely enough, I’m not put off by it.
We’ve become friends—again—organically, and I feel like nothing I say will be judged.
“In a way, I’m actually pretty lucky. Some people who experience a TBI like I did are a lot worse off.
They lose things like motor control. They don’t even know how to walk, eat, or take a piss.
And they usually require extensive physical therapy to improve coordination and establish new neural pathways. ”
“Do those people lose the memory of who they are?”
“Usually not. There are lots of different kinds of brain injuries. Rarely do they lead to amnesia.” I hold out my arms. “Guess I’m just one of the fortunate ones.”
“So you’d rather have lost your memory than your motor skills?”
I belt out a gush of air, never having really looked at it like that, as an either/or situation. “Yes, of course. Hands down.”
“But you might only be saying that because you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Seriously?” I ask, giving him a biting stare then tossing the wrench onto a pile of tools. “You too?”
He holds out his hands in apology. “I know, I know, we never talk about this shit. I just wish you could have seen the two of you together.”
I smirk. “Had a taste of what it was like earlier today.”
His jaw slackens and his eyebrows shoot up. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
I nod, gloating. “Ripped off the Band-Aid, my friend.”
He slaps my shoulder blade. “You dog. Good for you.”
“I’m actually moving into her place. Or I think I am. I’m not sure.” I sit on a dirty stool and scrub a hand across my jaw. “I kind of left in a huff. Probably fucked it all up.”
“Wait. One thing at a time.” He pulls over a second grimy, grease-covered stool and sits. “First, it’s not her place, it’s your place. You both own it, and you have every right to be there. Second, you did the deed and then stormed out? I’m confused.”
“We kind of had a fight. Well, maybe not a fight, but we definitely had words. She accused me of sleeping with her because I was on an adrenaline high from saving that guy’s life.
Which may or may not have been entirely true.
But I did walk in on her naked, so what the hell was I supposed to do?
And then I may have pushed back a little too hard and told her she needs to figure her shit out and decide if she can be with me the way I am. And then I just up and left.”
He blows out a long, slow breath, seemingly unpacking everything I just told him. Maybe I’m laying too much on him.
“Sorry,” I say, rolling over to wipe a grease stain off the bumper. “I just don’t have anyone else to talk to about this shit.”
“Hey, it’s okay. You can talk to me. I just didn’t think you wanted to.”
“I don’t.” I pound a fist on my knee. “But I do. Fuck, I don’t know.”
He stands and turns to leave. “You know what, I’m here if you need to talk, but I won’t pressure you to do it.”
I nod. Then I stand as well and call to him before he’s out the door. “Carter, what do you think I should do?”
He leans against the heavy metal doorframe. “About what exactly?”
“About moving in.”
“Do you want to move in?”
“Yeah. I guess. I mean, I ordered a sofa bed earlier because I told her I’d sleep in the spare room for now until we figure shit out.
But that was before I pulled another dick move and walked out.
” I gaze over at the car. “I’m pulling a lot of dick moves lately.
” I look back at him. “Was I ever a prick before?”
“No, man. You’re just about the nicest guy I knew. But, hey, you have a lot going on. Nobody expects you to be perfect. Let me ask you a question. Was it good?”
I know exactly what he’s asking. Brief flashes of her creamy skin, her amazing breasts, and the way she looked when she came cycle through my mind. “It was fucking perfect.”
“Then, yes, you should move in. Go back over with your tail between your legs if you have to. Apologize. And then do better.”
“Do better how?”
“Trevor, do you want to give it a go with her? Not because you feel obligated to, but because you genuinely like her?”
“Yeah.”
“Then man up and do things guys do when they’re hot for a woman.” He laughs. “Or did your damaged brain forget how to do that stuff too?”
“Oh, now you’re making jokes about my injury?” I say sarcastically.
He chuckles. “We’re friends. That’s what friends do. Friends are also allowed to tell each other when they’re being obtuse. You do remember what that word means, right?”
I roll my eyes at him, not bothering to respond.
“All I’m saying is that you could have a good thing here if you want it. Maybe just quit walking out when things get hard.”
Everything he’s saying is true. And it makes me feel even guiltier for leaving the way I did.
“Were you always there to give me a swift kick in the ass when I needed it?”
He doesn’t laugh at my joke, he just scoffs, turns, and says over his shoulder, “You never needed one before, Trev. Later.”
Istare at the darkened coffee house across the street as I wolf down my dinner that consists of another heaping helping of that amazing bacon mac-and-cheese.
My eyes shift up to the apartment, where the lights in the living room shine brightly.
I catch a glimpse of Ava when she walks through the room.
I think of everything Carter said as I contemplate my next more. Then I pay the bill and run one more errand before climbing Ava’s stairs. This time, when I reach the top, I knock. Because after how I left things, I’m not entirely sure I’m welcome.
The door opens and Ava stares at the bouquet I’m holding. I extend my arm, handing it to her. “I know I’ve said it a dozen times before, but I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she does accept the flowers. Then she leaves the door open when she takes them into the kitchen.
I follow behind and watch from the doorway as she gets a vase from the cabinet over the refrigerator, fills it with water, then cuts the cellophane from around the flowers and arranges them.
Finally, after what must be minutes, she turns, her backside leaning against the counter, legs in an open stance as if indicating she’s ready to listen. And she waits.
She needs more than just an I’m sorry. Hell, she deserves it.