Page 21 of Promise Me

Just like that.

Poof.

I never had PTSD or anything, but Sadie’s face—fuck, I keep seeing it.

That moment. The fleeting fucking moment where you don’t only feel lost, but you feel like you have no idea who you are as a person.

I sit up, swing my legs over the side of my bed, and drop my face into my hands.

Our situations are different, and I know this. Having piecesof your life taken from you—hell, I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s going through.

Linc texted the morning after I’d left the hospital to let me know the doctor’s diagnosis.

I’ve spent hours researching it. How long does it last? What are the chances it’s permanent? What restrictions does she have in the beginning? How can I help her?

I shake my head and head for the bathroom. I turn the shower on, waiting for the water to turn hot.

But one thing she didn’t forget was our relationship. I’m the last person she’d want help from. Yet all I can think about is that she lost something, and right now, there is no guarantee she’ll ever get it back.

It hurts. She’s got to be hurting.

Our past aside, I can’t help but feel heartbroken for her.

As soon as I’m ready for the day, I jog down the stairs and head into the bar.

I worked the closing shift last night and didn't get to sleep until about three this morning. So, by the time I walk into the main room, it’s nearing time to open for lunch.

“Morning, Boss.” Betty smiles from behind the bar top. She’s polishing some wine glasses and wiping down our laminated menus.

“Morning.” I pull up a seat.

She places the clipboard I used to take inventory last night in front of me, and I glance over it.

Summertime is good for the bar. Certain drinks and foods sell quicker than others. I mentally note which ones I might need to order extras of at the end of the week and hand the board back to her.

“We had quite a few customers asking for desserts yesterday,” she says quietly and turns to put the wine glasses on their rack.

“Yeah.” I scrub my hand over my face.

The one thing I’ve never spoken with Sadie about and thus never fought with her over is the fact that I sell some of her treats in the bar. It’s almost as if our worker personas know to keep it short and talk less. It works.

For obvious reasons, there have been no pies, cookies, or cupcakes at the bar in the last few days.

Linc has kept me posted on her stay in the hospital, and I know she gets to go home today, but that by no means confirms that she’s going back to work.

My best friend has also kept me up to date on the things his sister doesn't remember. I have a love-hate feel with it. I want to know, so I can’t make it worse, but I don’t want to know because every time he tells me something new, my heart hurts for her even more.

For Sadie Collins. A woman who has hated me for as long as I can remember.

How in the hell does her accident have this effect on me?

Is it because I found her?

Because I noticed what she was baking when it happened?

Because she’s my best friend’s little sister?

Someone knocks on the front door.

---