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Even more damaging was the fact if I didn’t shut them down, I was likely to go insane from the pain of them. They’d been my one real protection over the years, preventing me from making the same kinds of ridiculous decisions, so for that I was grateful. But in doing so, they’d caused the wretched nightmares when I’d been able to sleep a full night.
All in all, I’d just as soon find a doctor who could hypnotize me, allowing me to forget permanently. If only that was possible.
If only.
Why was it easy to bring them to the forefront of my mind just because someone I barely knew had asked? Maybe there was no rhyme or reason except for it was time to either let go or admit that I remained terrified.
That Sabatino already knew.
He’d watched me as I’d lovingly gathered the box of items from my past I’d risked bringing with me against Sasha’s orders. The music box had survived the worst part of my life, the only thing that hadn’t been smashed or stolen from me. Maybe that’s because I’d learned to hide it from day one, my instincts telling me to do so.
My handsome stranger remained quiet when I’d unfolded a love note my mother had written me when I was a little girl worrying about a spelling test. She’d always been the one to provide me with courage. For years she’d believed her daughter had washed up on a beach somewhere. How destroyed she must have been in hearing the news.
The mystery man had said nothing as I’d taken the ring from him, the one he’d shoved into his pocket. I’d watched him do it in the middle of my tantrum, the simple action only adding to the surreal quality of what we were engaging in. How many times had I removed the ring from my finger, trying to toss it into my ex’s face? He’d jammed it back on three times, the last breaking my finger.
I realized I was rubbing it even now, although the ache in my joints only flared up with heavy rain. When I lifted my head, I noticed Sabatino was paying attention to what I was doing, his usually plump lips thin from anger and concern.
What we’d shared couldn’t even be deemed fantasy. It was something else, a moment in time that was much more dangerous, a perilous adventure that only had one possible ending.
Our deaths.
I’d felt it since leaving the police station, almost as if unseen eyes had locked onto me, waiting for the right time to make an appearance. It was my overactive imagination of course, but the thought had kept my stomach in knots for hours.
I glanced at the bold-faced clock on the kitchen wall, the ticking sounds unnerving. I usually had either the television or music playing, but I’d wanted the quiet. Now it seemed the silence did nothing more than keep prickles dancing across my skin.
I would need to get Dillon soon, but that only led to another series of questions without answers. How long could I keep up this charade with a man I didn’t know?
We were standing in my kitchen, hours having passed. He was still shirtless and barefooted, his hair tousled from our heated round of lovemaking. In my mind, he looked as if he belonged here, so relaxed. He’d been the one to pour me a glass of wine, grabbing himself a beer after filling Max’s water bowl and even feeding my pup his kibble since Mommy dog had left that morning without doing so. Something I’d never done before.
That proved how off my rocker I’d been and still was.
I’d managed to keep from telling Sabatino anything about what he’d found, including my real name written on the back of the old photograph, but I sensed that was coming to an end. I gathered he remembered more than he wanted to tell me, maybe fearful that I’d send him away as I’d tried to do before.
The quiet was as unnerving as the weight we were both carrying. “I picked up a burner phone for you when I was out,” I told him. “I don’t know why since you probably can’t remember anyone’s number.”
“It’ll come with time, Georgia.”
“I hope so, for you.”
“As I said before, I’m not entirely certain I want to remember.” He took a sip of his beer, staring out the kitchen window toward the lake as I’d done so many times over the last few years. Thinking. Worrying.
Needing.
We were two broken individuals, one needing to remember his past and the other praying to forget. How strange that together we felt almost whole.
“I stopped by the sheriff’s office today,” I said in passing, no longer able to look at him. I didn’t need to glance over at him to sense he was angry because of what I’d done.
“Why, Georgia? To turn me in? Is that what you want?” The edge in his voice surprised me.
I could feel the heat of his glare but there was no anger in his voice, just a subtle acceptance that no matter what he believed, he wasn’t in control of my life any more than he was of his.
“No. A friend of mine told me there was a boat found abandoned on the water, foul play found. I wanted to see if I could discover anything that could prove helpful in you getting your memories back.”
He shifted around to face me, the sense of heat only increasing. The way he was studying me was as if he was trying to determine whether or not I could be trusted. “What did you learn?”
“The lake patrol found something and turned it over the local sheriff’s office. Whoever was on that boat wasn’t here for recreational purposes. I also don’t think they were locals or tourists.”
“Meaning what?”
