Page 86 of Until You Found Me

“I don’t either. We’ll figure it out.”

He hesitates like she knew he would. She won’t force it if he’s uncomfortable, but then he joins her in the small space between the kitchen and dining bench, barely enough room to sway in place, but it’s all they need.

It feels like a second Christmas present when he accepts the invitation.

“Don’t think about it,” she whispers, moving in close to wrap her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. “Just move with me.”

They aren’t very good at this, but they don’t have to be. A few stepped on toes and bumped knees is a small price to pay. They fall into a rhythm of half shuffles and sways, his grip on her relaxing and chin resting atop her head. It’s sort of like sex, she thinks with a smile, clumsy at first, but they’re quick learners.

Every ounce of stress she’d been harboring has long since faded. She has never felt better than she does right now.‘I love you, I love you, I love you’, she says in her head, wary of saying it too often aloud. She’s been saying strange things to him lately that sound acceptable in the moment, but presumptuous later. Like assuming they’ve fallen into the type of relationship that means they’ll grow old together.

She loves him and he loves her. Those are clear truths. It’severything else she isn’t so sure of. Somehow, wanting to give him her kidney feels less out of line than insisting they’ll be together twenty or thirty years from now. He hasn’t seemed bothered, and that’s the only reason she’s allowed herself to believe that it isn’t presumptuous at all, only the natural order of things for this man to be the last one she ever lets into her heart, her body, or her soul.

“Best Christmas ever,” she sighs.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Not that I remember any of them. Except for that one time when he was gone for work and me and Rose had the house to ourselves. I made a huge breakfast that morning and we opened gifts and watched the parade on TV. She was so happy, Logan. I got her that doll she loves so much, she couldn’t put it down, but then he came home early and…anyway. This one is better.”

He’s stopped swaying with her to the beat of the music and she frowns. “What? Oh, that was sad. Everything in my head is sad and we’re having such a good day.”

“You said her name.”

“Whose name?”

“Her’s. Your daughter. You said her name.”

Tessa pauses, her brows knitting together and confusion overflowing. Her words spilled out with no hesitation, revealing the one name she’s been reaching for this whole time.

Rose.

For all the wishing and hoping she’s done about remembering, now that it’s within her grasp, she is afraid. The truth hurts and she’s already been flayed open and left to bleed enough for one lifetime. She backs away, shaking her head. “No, I didn’t say anything.”

“Tessa—”

“I didn’t.”

Denial is an old friend and a comfort. Falling back into that embrace is simple, and she lingers there, refusing to acknowledge the truth. There’s a reason her brain put a padlock on these memories and she’s wary of turning the key to spring it open. She couldn’t have said it here anyway, not with only a bottle of wine and a dance breaking it all free after so many hours of therapy scraping at her subconscious with few results.

It makes no sense. It’s not reasonable. This isn’t how it happens.

Logan’s hands slip into hers with an encouraging squeeze, showing her exactly why it’s happening now, here with him, instead of on that clinical sofa with Victor peering at her over his glasses. “You did say it, sweetheart. You already did. You can keep going.”

“I didn’t. I didn’t say anything. Why are you doing this?” Her voice cracks as if he’s done her some awful misdeed.

All she wants is to escape. When she turns to flee for the bedroom, he catches her by the arm and she jerks away, her words scathing and sharp. “Don’t touch me, I’m not ready!”

She leaves him in the kitchen and heads straight to the bedroom and this time he doesn’t stop her. She paces the small space in front of the bed, fighting her own mind with a handful of hair in both hands. The warm trickle of blood down her scalp tells her to stop tugging, but she can’t.

“This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening.”She whispers, sliding down to the floor at the foot of the bed.

Flashes of the past assault her from every angle, poking andstabbing their way through the protective layer she’s erected and sinking her down into the deepest abyss. It doesn’t matter anymore that her singular goal since Logan found her on the road, has been to remember. She isn’t ready. She can’t do this. If she sits right here with her eyes squeezed shut and her face tucked into her arms, then she can fend it off, she thinks, willing to accept an eternity in the dark if it means keeping everything else at bay.

There are footsteps getting closer, but she doesn’t look up. A steady presence slides down beside her, the careful brushing of his fingertips across her knuckles asking permission to touch after being told not to. Her silence encourages the slow curl of his hand around hers, delicately lifting it from her head and into his lap.

“I’m ruining Christmas,” she sobs. It’s ridiculous, not what matters at all, but it’s the only thing she can get out.

“You’re not ruining anything. Talk to me.”

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