Page 67 of Before I Lost You

I hate myself for saying that. The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I push the feeling away. I can’t think about it, or I’ll break down all over again. Emerson looks skeptical, but shrugs as he looks around in search of someone. I’m not sure who that would be, so I raise a questioning eyebrow at him, which he sees when his eyes return to my face.

“Who are you looking for?” I ask curiously.

“The silver-haired lady,” he replies, as if I’m supposed to know who that is. At the clear confusion on my face, he rolls his eyes. “She was at the front? The one who’s going to take payment for the portrait.”

“Oh,” I breathe, relieved. I remember her… Glenda. “Let’s go find her.”

I take one last glimpse at the portrait, Kenneth’s indigo eyes taunting me in a way that sends shivers down my spine. But then Emerson grabs my forearm and tugs me after him, breaking whatever spell I was under. He steers me through the crowd, dodging bodies expertly, until we’re standing in front of the same woman I originally bought this portrait from last time.

“Hello, Mr. Moore,” Glenda says after Emerson introduces me, and she has not one bit of recognition in her eyes when she looks at me. It’s disappointing, and it makes me wonder if she realizes I remember her. Can she tell I’ve met her before? Am I acting like I know her? “I understand you’d like to buy Mr. Dunn’s portrait?”

“Yes, Glenda,” I reply, smiling politely. “Lead the way.”

“You won’t regret your purchase,” she says with a grin. “He’s very popular around here.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” I sigh. “He just can’t help that he’s beautiful.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to leave your phone number with me like everyone else does,” Glenda jokes, but I know deep down it’s not a joke. It’s especially not funny since I know it’s how it usually goes, but I already decided I won’t do that again. I want to meet him by chance. “You’d be horrified at the number of people who do.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I won’t be doing that.”

Emerson smirks when I chance a glance at him. “Are you sure, Con? It might get you laid.”

I snort. “I’ve never needed help in that department.”

Glenda and Emerson both chuckle, and she changes the subject to explain how it all works. She asks for a method of payment and takes down all my information to have the portrait delivered, and though there’s a part of me that wants to tell her I changed my mind and I do, in fact, want to give Kenneth my phone number, I refrain. Just barely. I’m hanging by a thread, and so is my sanity.

Once we’re done, I all but drag Em out of the gallery, needing to catch my breath. I couldn’t feel him in there, which means Kenneth isn’t anywhere near this place. It’s a weird thought, knowing when someone is near, being able to sense them, but it doesn’t make it any less true. I pull out my phone and get us a car to go to the bar where I saw Kenneth back then, hoping he’ll appear. Even though I know it’s a slim chance, I have to try. My hope is dwindling by the minute, and it’s starting to feel like I’ll never see him again, even though I’ve only just begun looking for him. I need to have patience; I know that, but I’m desperate. I need him back in my life.

Emerson frowns when we pull up to the bar, but gets out of the car and waits for me. I join him a moment later on the sidewalk in front of the bar’s front door, and before he can question me, I go inside. He follows me all the way to a table, the same table we sat at once upon a time, and I leave him there to get us some drinks. From a distance, I see him sit down, and then I scan the faces of everyone in the establishment, looking for Kenneth. To no one’s surprise, certainly not mine, he’s not here. Because of fucking course he’s not. With a sigh, I order the drinks from the bartender and go back to the table with full hands. Once I set the drinks down, I realize Em is looking at me expectantly, which means I’m not going to escape the explanation he’s going to force out of me. Surprisingly, I don’t even want to try. I need to tell someone what the hell is happening, even if he deems me insane.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Emerson asks calmly, raising an eyebrow when I suck in a sharp breath. “You’ve been acting weird as hell since you left the hospital. Which, at first, I was like, okay, that’s valid. You know?” I nod absently at the rhetorical question. “But now I’m starting to get really fucking worried.”

“Listen—” My voice shakes, and he scoots his chair closer, trying to protect my privacy. “There is something wrong. I just don’t know how to tell you.”

Emerson frowns. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“I-I do.” I swallow hard and look at him. His eyes are steady on my face, searching for something. “I just don’t think you’ll believe me.”

His frown deepens even more. “Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

“Because it sounds crazy by anyone’s standards.”

“Try me,” Emerson says, “I might surprise you.”

I take a deep breath and drop my eyes to my hands, which are on the table, as I twist my fingers every which way to keep them busy and try to calm myself down. “I honestly don’t know how to begin…”

“Just spit it out, Conrad,” Emerson says. “Don’t think too hard. Just say something. Start somewhere. I promise you’ll feel better.”

“I’m in love with the guy from the portrait—” I blurt out, and Emerson frowns again, clearly confused. “I-I know that sounds crazy, but I know him.”

“You do?”

I nod. “I—he doesn’t remember me.” Emerson’s eyebrows climb at my words, and I grimace, but make myself continue. “I’m getting to the crazy part now, okay? Please try not to judge me. I promise I don’t belong in a mental hospital…”

He nods once, keeping his gaze on my face.

“Kenneth and I got engaged the night of my accident.” I gulp when his eyes widen. “I had to go out of town for a work trip and crashed the car. I felt myself die—there was a boom, and then I’m sure I died, Em. I know it in my heart. But then I woke up in the hospital six months in the past, and everyone thought I was crazy when I brought up Kenny and said—” I stop, shaking my head. “No one remembers him. Not even you. I really thought I was going crazy, but then,”—I pull out the keychain and put it on the table—“I found this. It’s his apartment key. The day I got out of the hospital, you drove me to his place, and I put it in the lock, and it worked, Em. The door fucking opened, and I went inside and I—”