Page 29 of Say You Remember Me
“Oh my heck!” She gasped, her eyes going wide as she looked up at me. “I totally just went into mom mode, didn’t I?”
“Maybe.” I chuckled. “But it’s okay.”
A beautiful flush crept up her cheeks as she shook her head. “All right, well, just hold that there for a minute. I’ll get the first aid kit.”
“Smooth move, Ian,” I muttered under my breath when she disappeared down the hall.
What kind of idiot can’t even wash a little wine glass?
An idiot named Ian. That’s who.
Maddie returned a moment later, carrying a small first aid kit. Okay, it was more like a survival pack, really—fully stocked with everything you’d ever need.
“That’s quite the first aid kit.” I raised an eyebrow as she flipped it open.
“Well…” Maddie smiled. “When you’ve got a rambunctious eight-year-old, it’s a necessity.”
“Sounds like he’s a lot like my brothers and me.” I chuckled, remembering myself at that age. “Always finding trouble.”
“Oh, definitely.” She laughed softly. “Now, let’s take a look at that cut.”
I extended my palm, and her eyes softened as they landed on the thin, half-inch slice along the edge of my hand. She rummaged through the bandages in her kit before selecting one. “I think this one would do, don’t you?” she murmured.
“It looks perfect to me,” I replied, though I hadn’t really looked at it—I couldn’t seem to tear my eyes away from her.
Her wavy hair was down, slightly mussed in the back, like she’d been lying in bed beside her son, maybe telling him a bedtime story or singing softly as he drifted off. Her eyeliner wasn’t as crisp as it had been this afternoon when we sat across from each other during lunch, but it still framed her eyes beautifully—those blue, blue eyes that seemed to glow in the soft light of the kitchen.
She took my hand again, dabbing ointment onto the cut. And even though it was something simple, something a nurse might do without a second thought, in this quiet kitchen, it felt different—intimate. Her fingers brushed against my skin, and each time she let go, warmth lingered, making the moment feel heavier, more charged than it should have.
“There,” she said softly, smoothing the bandage into place. “That should help.”
“Thank you.” I glanced down at my hand, needing to look away from her face before I was tempted to brush that stray lock of hair behind her ear.
She looked down again, too, and noticing the small scar near my thumb, she gently grazed her finger against it. “What’s that from? Have you cut yourself doing dishes before?”
“No.” I chuckled, my voice quieter than before, the memory of how I’d received that scar coming to the surface. “That’s from my, uh…” I stopped, needing to clear my throat, which had suddenly become froggy from the emotions this memory brought up. “It’s just from when I was a kid.”
“What happened?” she asked, her gaze softening as she looked up at me.
I hesitated, feeling the warmth of her hand still wrapped around mine.
And even though I’d stopped myself from explaining more a moment earlier, the memory itself wasn’t actually bad. It was agood one. One from a fun day with friends in a place I’d once felt loved.
The only thing that made this memory sad now was just that the memories made at that place had stopped.
Stopped because I hadn’t been wanted there anymore.
Stopped because I’d been replaced.
But looking down and running my fingers along the old scar, I said, “I used to build forts in my bio dad’s backyard with some neighbor kids when I stayed with him.”
“Your bio dad?” She frowned. “Does that mean Joel Hastings isn’t your biological father?”
“He’s my stepdad.” I nodded. “He and my mom got together when I was like five.”
“Oh.”
When she still seemed confused, I added, “I’m sure it’s probably confusing since my last name is Hastings now, but I was Ian Hawthorne until I was eighteen.”
