“What’s your full name?” I asked.
Her chin tipped slightly. “That’s a strange follow-up.”
“Still need it.”
She studiedme for a beat.
Then said, “Felicity Ward.”
That punched me right in the chest.
Because that wasn’t the name I remembered.
Not the last one.
“Not what you expected?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then you’ve got the wrong person.”
“I don’t.”
I didn’t hesitate.
That got her.
“You ever go by another name?” I asked.
She laughed under her breath, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Wow. We’re really doing this?”
“Yeah.”
“No,” she said. “I’ve always been Felicity Ward.”
Always.
That word stuck.
Because I knew what I remembered.
I remembered Felicity McKenna sitting on the hood of my truck, bare feet on the bumper, telling me she’d wait as long as it took.
I remembered writing her every week for a year after I left.
I remembered waiting for letters that never came back.
I remembered finally accepting the truth.
She’d moved on.
She’d forgotten me.
Except now she was standing in front of me, looking like she’d never known me at all.
“Then you’ve got a twin,” I muttered.
“I don’t.”
