Chapter 48 I Don’t Remember
Nick POV
I woke up sick.
Not just tired or hungover. Sick in a way that made my skull throb and my stomach twist violently before I even opened my eyes. My mouth tasted wrong, metallic, bitter. My heart raced, cold sweat clinging to my skin.
When I opened my eyes, I didn’t know where I was.
This wasn’t my bedroom. The ceiling was unfamiliar. The light was too bright. My vision swam as I blinked, trying to focus. The bed beneath me wasn’t mine. The sheets smelled wrong.
Panic crept in, slow at first, then all at once.
Where the hell am I?
I turned my head.
That was enough.
My stomach flipped so hard I gagged.
I scrambled out of the bed, naked, disoriented, barely upright. My legs felt weak, unsteady, like they didn’t belong to me. I stumbled toward the first door I could see, praying it was the bathroom.
It was.
I didn’t make it to the toilet.
I barely made it to the sink before I vomited violently, bile burning my throat, my body folding over itself as wave after wave came up. My hands gripped the porcelain as if it were the only thing anchoring me to the room. I gagged, retched, spat, my vision blurring.
I turned the faucet on, desperate to drown the smell, the sound, the reality of it.
It didn’t help.
The second I thought about the bed behind me, about who was still in it, another wave hit. Harder.
I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet and retched again. And again. Nothing left to bring up, just dry heaves tearing through my body, my stomach cramping painfully as my throat burned.
What the hell happened?
How did I get here?
Why couldn’t I remember anything?
And why, why was Apple in that bed?
The thought made me gag again.
I looked down at myself, dazed, disconnected. My thighs were smeared with dried semen.
My vision went white.
I thought I was done vomiting. I was wrong.
I dry heaved again, nothing coming up, just my body revolting against itself. Panic slammed into me, heavy and crushing. My chest tightened, breath coming shallow and fast. I felt cold all over, shock settled in heavy and suffocating.
I stayed there for a long moment, forehead pressed against the cool porcelain, breathing like I’d just run for my life.
Eventually, I forced myself upright, using the sink cabinet to pull myself up. I looked in the mirror.
The man staring back at me looked wrecked.
Bloodshot eyes. Pale skin. Sweat plastering my hair to my forehead. Jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
I looked like absolute shit.
Movement came from the other room.
My stomach twisted again.
I staggered out of the bathroom.
Apple was sitting up in bed, the sheet pulled up over her chest. Thank God for that. I don’t think I could have handled seeing her naked without throwing up all over the floor.
She stared at me, shock flashing across her face.
“What the fuck happened?” I demanded, my voice hoarse, cracked.
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” My head throbbed with every word. “Why am I here? Why can’t I remember anything? Did you drug me? Did you—”
The word stuck, bitter on my tongue.
“I had one drink,” I forced out. “One. And I don’t remember anything after that.”
Fragments tried to surface. A hotel ballroom. Work people. A conversation. Laughter. Then nothing.
Her face crumpled instantly.
“What?” she cried. “No. No, Nick, I don’t remember either.” Tears welled up quickly, spilling over. “I think someone drugged me. I would never have… I would never have slept with you otherwise. I’m not that kind of girl.”
My head pounded too hard to think straight.
Was she saying I had raped her?
Everything felt slow, muffled, unreal.
“Maybe we should go to the police,” she said softly. Then hesitated, her voice dropping. “But if we do… everyone will know. The media. Your family. My family.”
My mind raced, spiraling.
Ashley.
God, Ashley.
What would she think? Would she believe me if I said I’d been drugged? Would she even listen?
The thought that I might have destroyed everything made my stomach twist all over again. I refused to accept that this was how it ended.
“No,” I said, making a decision. “Nobody can know about this.”
Apple watched me closely. For a split second, I thought I saw anger flicker behind her tears, but my fogged mind must have been playing tricks on me.
“We’re in this together,” She wiped her cheeks and said quietly. “We’re both victims.”
I dressed mechanically, movements stiff and disconnected. Apple did the same, slipping back into last night’s dress.
She kept trying to talk. I didn’t engage.
My mind was elsewhere. Spiraling. Replaying the same questions over and over with no answers.
I left first.
Outside, sunlight stabbed at my eyes. I was still in last night’s clothes. Rumpled. Obvious. I saw someone lift a phone, lens pointed in my direction.
I scowled and raised a hand, blocking my face.
I did not want this. Any of it.
Behind me, Apple stepped out too. Last nights dress. Wrinkled. One hand lifted to cover her face.
An hour later, it was already online.
A post on a local tea account.
Caption: New couple?
The next day, I went to the hotel where Ashley was staying.
I knew she could leave at any moment. Riverton wasn’t home to her anymore. She had only come back for the wedding, and she’d already stayed longer than she needed to. If I didn’t talk to her now, I might never get another chance.
I waited in the lobby.
I didn’t dare go upstairs.
The receptionist kept glancing at me like she was debating whether I was a problem. Security hovered just out of sight. I probably looked unstable enough to justify it. I felt like I was barely holding myself together anyway.
By then, everyone knew.
That damn Instagram post had exploded overnight. I’d been tagged hundreds of times. Messages I hadn’t opened. Calls I hadn’t answered. Speculation everywhere.
I was sure I looked like shit. I felt like shit.
Then the elevator doors opened.
Ashley stepped out, pulling a small suitcase behind her.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
I pushed off the wall, stumbling slightly before catching myself.
“Ashley,” I said.
She stopped, but she didn’t turn toward me. Her gaze stayed fixed somewhere past the front doors, like she was already gone.
I rushed on, afraid that if I didn’t say it all at once, she’d walk away.
“I don’t know what happened that night,” I said quickly. “I don’t remember any of it. I swear. I had one drink. Just one.”
I shook my head, words tumbling out unevenly. “I’m so sorry. I would never choose her. I would never hurt you.”
Still nothing.
“I know how this looks. I know how bad it is. But please, Ash, you have to believe me. Something isn’t right.”
I became painfully aware of the people around us in the lobby, of eyes flicking in our direction, of whispers already forming.
“Are you really going to ignore me?” I asked, my voice cracking despite my effort to keep it steady. “Just… say something. Please.”
She finally turned her head slightly. Not enough to face me. Just enough to acknowledge that I existed.
Her expression was closed. Calm in a way that scared me more than anger ever could. The fragile warmth she had begun to show me recently froze over, replaced by the same wall of distance she’d worn since my first year in college.
“I believe that you don’t remember,” she said calmly.
Relief hit me so fast it almost made me dizzy.
But she didn’t stop there.
“That doesn’t change what happened,” she continued. “I can’t be part of this drama.”
“I didn’t choose this,” I said quietly.
“Neither did I.”
The silence that followed was brutal.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for anymore, but I’m sorry.”
She watched me for a long moment, then nodded once.
“Go home, Nick,” she said at last. “I hope you get answers. I hope you heal.”
Then she picked up her suitcase again.
She walked out of the lobby without looking back.
I stood there, watching the doors close behind her, the weight of it settling fully in my chest.
If I were a good man, I would let her go. I would allow her to find happiness somewhere far from me.
But I wasn’t a good man.
And I was not letting Ashley go.
Not now. Not ever.