Page 84 of Remember Me

“We need to talk.” My entire body tenses at the possibility of hearing things I don’t want to hear. The truth is a powerful weapon that can make you whole or tear you apart.

With a solemn expression, she nods.

A sea of secrets lies ahead. Steeling myself, I hope for the best.

CHAPTER 52

Skye

His cerulean eyes bore into me, burning a hole in my soul. An opening to tell him the truth, to let the words flow. Yet, as much as I want to get my story off my chest, I can’t get words to form on my lips. My throat is parched; my mouth is dry. My anxiety inhibits me. Where do I begin? How does one condense over four traumatic years into an engaging short story? For God’s sake, I’m a journalist. I tell—okay, told—stories for a living, but I can’t manage to communicate my own.

His gaze never strays from me. He circles my lips with a fingertip.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, before taking my cold hands in his. They warm me. He gives them a squeeze of encouragement. I swallow hard again, and finally courage vanquishes the constricting lump in my throat.

Taking a shaky breath, I cast my eyes down, then look up. “You know I had a terrible car accident.”

“Yes. The police told me you went over Mulholland. But they lied to me and said you died.”

“Finn, it’s true. The paramedics resuscitated me. It must have been a mistake—a miscommunication.” Hushed and stunned, he lets me continue. “Every bone in my body was shattered and every organ damaged almost beyond repair. Parts of my flesh were charred, others ripped open. I was in a coma for over a week, and then I went into cardiac arrest.”

“Jesus,” my husband murmurs as the haunting sound of the flatline hums in my head. I shudder.

“My love, I know what it’s like to experience death. I did. I saw the white light they all talk about. But somehow, I willed myself to live. In the light, I saw you and my baby girl, and I knew it couldn’t be my time. I had too much to live for.”

A faint smile flickers on Finn’s face. It’s all I need to persevere.

“I spent almost a year in a hospital convalescing, drifting in and out of consciousness, often hallucinating so I’m told. Undergoing one operation after another to fix my plethora of life-threatening injuries. From skin grafts and bone grafts to metal plates and pins. I was heavily sedated and don’t have a clear recollection of those endless months.”

Finn’s unblinking eyes search mine. “But why didn’t anyone tell me you were alive?”

“Initially, I didn’t understand why. In my moments of lucidity, I cried out for you. Pleaded to see you and Maddie. But my desperate pleas were only met by more sedatives to calm me down. Dull all my senses. And make me numb.”

“That doesn’t explain shit,” interrupts Finn, a surge of anger in his voice before it softens. “I would have been there for you. Never left your side.”

“I know, baby, I know.” I press my forehead against his. We stay like this for several loving moments until I pull away and go on.

“Every minute I was awake and conscious, I wanted to bolt out of the hospital. Escape. Find a way home to be with you and Maddie. But it was impossible. I was bed-bound, completely debilitated and crippled by my egregious injuries. Every limb in a cast. My jaw and nose broken, my cheekbones shattered, my skull fractured, my teeth cracked. Fed intravenously. A breathing tube up my nose. My mangled face swathed in bandages.”

Finn stares at me with intensity, the artist in him trying to picture my unfathomable state. If only I could blur the horrific memories. Paint over them. Erase them forever.

“But slowly, day by day, I got better. Grew stronger. And recovered enough to talk to the police, who wanted to know the events of that fateful night.”

“Detective Billings?” asks Finn.

I nod. “How did you know?”

“After you ‘died,’ he came by to talk to me.” He lets go of me to make air quotes, and then cups his hands on my shoulders. “What did you tell him?”

My eyes lower, my voice falters. “Nothing.”

“Look at me, Skye.” Finn’s voice is soft but commanding.

Slowly, I lift my head and meet his questioning eyes. His thick brows are drawn together in almost a straight line.

“What do you mean... nothing?” He punctuates my last word.

Tears again form behind my eyes. Though I hesitate, his unyielding gaze extrapolates the truth out of me. Forces me to respond.

---