Page 5 of Until You Found Me

“But will you come back?” She frowns, so worried that it throws him for a loop.

He fidgets thin air between his fingers where they hang at his pant leg, suppressing the urge to rock on the balls of his feet. “Want me to?”

She shrugs, almost embarrassed. “I don’t know anyone else. I don’t remember anyone else. But you don’t have to, I shouldn’t ask.”

“I’ll come back,” he blurts out. “Tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He has a feeling she might offer him a smile at any other time, but her face won’t do that now so it comes out as a grimace instead. “Is that coffee?”

He nods when she points to the paper cup he hadn’t remembered he’d been clutching this whole time. Her look of longing has him ready to open a cafe and brew her lattes every damn day if it means she’d smile instead. “You want it?”

“Just a sip?”

He gives her the cup he barely touched and watches her inhale the scent like it didn’t come from a vending machine.

“I know I like coffee, but I don’t know my last name,” she says, talking to the cup more than to him.

“Audrey? Can I, um…” He tilts his head toward the hall and she follows, leaving the door cracked and forcing Logan to whisper. “Should someone be posted at her door? Like a cop or something? Whoever did this is still out there.”

“Technically, we don’t know if someone did anything. There could be more than one reason for all this.”

He raises a brow, crossing his arms. “You’re serious?”

Someone buried her in the woods, assuming her dead, and while they can’t confirm any of it yet, especially when she can’t remember shit, he feels like this is one of those zebra and horse situations and the conclusion he’s come to is most definitely a horse.

“Fine. Okay, you’re right, but what happens next is up to the cops. I’ve already got a call in. Carl should be here soon. Until then, we’ve got security up front.”

“It’s not like he has any idea who the fuck he’s looking for, though. None of us do. What if someone tries to get in here and finish her off?”

“No one’s allowed to visit her for now.” She assures him. “They won’t get past the front desk. Don’t worry, okay?”

That’s easier said than done. He’s already worried.

Shit like this doesn’t happen around here, he thinks, giving Audrey a nod and turning away. They get the occasional robbery, and plenty of drug mishaps, but attempted murder isn’t on the usual list in a sleepy little seaside town.

He lingers a moment to offer Tessa a small wave when she looks up from the coffee cup. This time, the corners of her mouth succeed in curving into a sad half-smile as she waves back. It’s forced, but it’s there and he’ll take it. Makes it even harder, though, to look away and walk down the hall.

The stench of dried blood hits his nostrils when he gets in the truck. There’s a pool of it on the upholstery already caked into the fibers as a reminder of how this whole day went ass up in the blink of an eye. He grabs the insulin bottle from the glove compartment and rolls it between his fingers. This was all he worried about a few hours ago. The only thing that mattered, and if he’s being rational, it still is. He’s always had trouble staying rational, though, and his thoughts drift to Tessa, vulnerable and alone with only a patchwork of memories. She doesn’t know anyone but him, she said so herself. That’s got him feeling invested when he shouldn’t be.

This woman isn’t his problem. She doesn’t need him hanging around, even if confusion has her thinking otherwise. He can’t come back here. This isn’t his business and there’s nothing he can do for her that Carl and Audrey can’t handle without him.

He’s done his good samaritan deed for the day. Hell, for the whole year. He puts the truck in drive and trades this entire mess for the winding road back home. He thinks of the route he’ll take on the boat tomorrow, the dog food he has to pickup before running out, and does the mental math for how many more deer he’ll have to bag to afford another bottle of this obnoxious drug that keeps him alive.

One thing he absolutely does not think about is her.

Chapter 2

Leaving the bed was a mistake. Whatever they’ve given her has knocked out the throbbing headache that ripped through her skull this morning, but there’s still a dull pain that reminds Tessa someone hit her on purpose to end her life. What is she supposed to do with that? How can she wrap what’s left of her mind around it when her intact thoughts are so abstract and the ones she’s missing leave nothing but gaps?

There are remnants of memories etched into her body and seared into her mind like ghosts. They flicker to life when her gaze falls on the purple fingermarks around her neck starting to bloom. Leftover terror has her gripping the bathroom sink’s edge when she peers awkwardly under the bandage on her head. The events are gone, but they leave halos behind that manifest in emotion instead. Her stomach rolls at the taste of phantom dirt stuck between her teeth and then she’s right back in the ground again, reliving the one solid memory she wishes she didn’t have.

There’s a c-section scar across her lower belly that she stared at in the shower until the water ran cold, trying to remember creating a life. She told Audrey about it with only her bathrobe on, disrobing almost entirely to show the other woman that little horizontal line that says she’s a mother andbegging for answers no one could give.

Her body is littered with marks that hold no meaning anymore. She traces the jagged edges of one particularly curious burn across the skin of her palm, wondering what could have caused something that spans her whole hand. She’s only guessing at her age, the auburn hair throws her, suggesting a youth that her body doesn’t feel. Twenty-six maybe? Thirty-five? Somewhere in between. Did she spend all those years suffering?

Tessa doesn’t feel clean despite a twenty-minute session under the spray after breakfast. The earth that consumed her still coats her skin and clogs her throat even though her reflection shines back soil-free.

There’s a TV in her room playing terrible talk shows, birds outside building a nest by her window, and the endless chatter of nurses in the halls. It’s all been a helpful distraction from reality. But here, alone in this bathroom, with nothing but a face she doesn’t recognize in front of her, and leftover injuries that confirm someone must havehated her, she has no distractions and there is no hope for not succumbing to the void.

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