Page 28 of Never the Same

“Sorry for the misunderstanding.”

For thinking we slept together?

“Also for punching you on the street yesterday. And I owe you for helping get me to safety. Thank you.”

She could punch me all she wanted, as long as that meant she was safe. “Water under the bridge.” My chest constricted as I struggled to act calm and collected about all this. “No need to thank me, just doing my job.”

I let that lie hang in the air, then went off in search of my team and that metaphorical damn duct tape I’d be needing to survive being around this woman much longer and not explode.

Chapter Nine

Hollis

The next morning, I half expected the fog in my head to lift when I woke up. For my memories to return and my identity to come back if I could sleep through the night. But there was nothing there. Just yesterday’s fragments and last night’s one and only dream, floating at the surface as the doctors performed a vitals check on me per big brother’s orders.

After getting the okay, I escaped into the shower—alone, because I refused to let anyone help me. And last night’s dream snuck back up on me, clinging to me like steam, curling into the corners of my thoughts even as the water rushed over my skin.

I kept my eyes closed, palm on the tile, and bowed my head, allowing the dream to unfold as if it were happening in real time.

Sunlight filtered through partially opened blinds. Comfy sheets. Coffee abandoned on the nightstand.

Jason Reed had been naked next to me. We’d been in a different bed than the one I’d slept in last night, and we’d just had sex. Too bad the sex part hadn’t happened in my dream.

But after we’d dressed, he made breakfast as our three children sat at the kitchen table, joking around. They looked to be about three and eight. The eldest was our son, and we had twin daughters.

The dream wasn’t just vivid—it seemed real. So real, in fact, it was like I’d lived it. Could even taste the bacon on my tongue. But Reed had said we weren’t together, and no way did I have kids. So maybe this was my brain’s weird way of trying to build something familiar out of the chaos.

I finally shut off the water and got out of the shower. I towel-dried in front of the massive vanity that a family could easily brush their teeth at. You know, that family I was still clinging to as the only “memory” I had—one that was just a figment of my imagination.

Steam covered the glass, which meant I’d been in the shower too long. I wiped my pruny fingers across the glass, finding that same green-eyed memory-less stranger watching me.

She looked like me, but she still didn’t feel like me. I caught sight of a bruise on my chest, which explained why it’d been sensitive to the touch yesterday. No clue how I got it, of course.

“You’re in there somewhere, aren’t you?” Great, now I was talking to myself. Well, to the self I was supposed to be. Celeste. Hollis. I’d take either of them right now. I didn’t care. I just couldn’t handle being so empty on the inside.

Unable to continue a confrontation with these black hole eyes of mine, I stared down at the marble as if fixating there would do any good. All that did was take me back to that dream, and a pulse of heat rolled through me.

The dream hadn’t even been erotic. More sweet and safe than sexy. But there I was now, wanting to add in details that hadn’t been there while I’d slept. To actually experience what it was like to have him make love to me.

Would his mouth drop between my thighs? How would the weight of his body over mine feel? Would it be raw and unfiltered, or soft and slow?

And am I that lonely and scared that I’m standing here creating a false reality to feel grounded and connected to someone who doesn’t even like me? Probably.

Palms on the counter, I tried to tether myself to this world and not to the fantasy one.

I was growing exhausted with this physical and emotional war happening inside me, and it was only day two of this.

“You alive in there?” my mother called out while knocking, and that was one way to greet me, I supposed.

I’d only spent a handful of minutes with her yesterday, same with my father. This all had to be too hard for them to handle, even if we were apparently a family of badasses.

“I’m alive,” I confirmed. “Be right out.”

I dropped the towel and put on the full-body robe while mentally preparing myself to talk to the woman who raised me.

When I joined her, my mother—and it just dawned on me I didn’t even know her first name—was in the middle of drawing open the drapes for one of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the bedroom.

“I can’t imagine you’ll want to be cooped up here too long. You’ve always hated this bloody place, and I can’t say I blame you. Bad memories.”