Page 11 of Memories of Us

I sank my teeth into my lower lip to keep a smile at bay. “Well, we didn't spend a lot of time in here. You don't remember?”

“No.”

“You're not shitting me?”

“Shitting you? Why in the hell would I do that?” he said with a grimace. “Fuck, what did I do? Tell me. Now.”

“I've been your game before, so why not now too, B?” I monitored his reaction, but only more remorse softened his twitching jaw and fiery gaze.

“Tell me.” He fell to the worn couch opposite of me and leaned his head back, sealing his eyes shut. “You have to understand something. There are years of my life, whole years, that I don't remember. Maybe a few hazy memories here and there, like the ones with you that popped up, but nothing solid. When I saw you in the house, snapshots filtered through. Not real memories, if that makes sense.”

“It doesn't. Listen, it was thirteen years go—”

“Please tell me. I fucked something up, but I don't know what. What did I do to you?”

Turning from his intense, imploring gaze, I stared over his shoulder out the window. “It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago. Wish I could forget as easily as you did.” I looked back to him and shrugged. “Consider yourself closed.” My palms slapped the leather armrests with a smack as I pushed to stand.

“What?”

“I needed closure, and even though it wasn't nearly as gratifying as I thought it would be, I got it. I can move on now.”

Such a big fat lie, but he didn't need to know that.

He shoved off the couch and gripped my shoulders with his large, strong hands. That close, I had to tip my head back a bit to meet his gaze.

“What if I don't want to be closed just yet?”

“What?” I gasped and tried to step back, but his grip tightened, preventing me from going anywhere without his consent.

“What if I want to remember? Don't I get a say?”

The hint of desperation, the near-silent plea in his tone had me considering his request.

“Why?” I asked and lowered my gaze to the collar of his crisp, white dress shirt. “Why does it matter? You forgot about me, about this place, for years. Why not go back to forgetting?”

His hands slid across my shoulders, skimming up my neck to cup my cheeks between his callused palms. “I can't explain it now. It's... complicated. All I know is in the house, something happened when I saw you.”

“What?”

“Peace. A settled, comforting peace. I need help, Beks, and I know I don't deserve it, but I'm asking anyway. Don't ask me why, but I think you're my only hope.”

Wow, that was not what I expected from this conversation. Broken lamps, tears, lots of yelled names and accusations, but not that.

Help. He needed my help.

Staring into his bright green eyes, the honesty I found felt genuine. This man had done a lot of things, but lying to me was never one of them, and a piece of me wanted to believe that side of him hadn't changed over the years.

“Five days,” he continued when I didn't respond. “The attorneys will be here in five days to settle Pappy's estate. I'll stay here until then, if you're willing to help.” I opened my mouth, but he pressed both his thumbs against my lips. “I don't expect an answer right now. Come find me when you decide. I'll wait. But I hope you do.”

He gave a long, considering look, searching my eyes before stepping back and turning for the door.

Long after he'd left, I still stood in the same spot, staring at the closed front door, dumbfounded at the unexpected turn of events.

**

I ADJUSTED IN THE HARDdining room table chair to ease the ache it’d caused from just the few minutes of sitting in it. From the seat, I kept a cautious eye on Daddy, who paced the length of the living room mumbling to himself. Too busy considering Brenton's request for help, I didn't go back to the main house after he left. Instead, I stayed here, texted Ryder that I was good and not to worry, and poured three fingers of the whiskey I found hidden in the back of the pantry.

“I don't like it,” Daddy said.

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