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“Maybe what we need is time to get to know each other again.”
“But—”
“I can’t remember my past. How about from this day on, you forget the past too?”
“But—”
I pull away from her and hold out my hand. “I’m Aden… Fuck … Hope…”
“What? What is it?” she asks worried, probably because she can hear the frustration and partial fear in my voice. I might be a man, but I can definitely own up to the fear that I’m feeling right now.
“I don’t know my name.”
“Of course you do. It’s Aden. What’s wrong?”
“No, I mean with everything that’s going on, everything I’ve learned… I don’t even know my last name. Yours even! How could I have not asked or found out. I haven’t even… Fuck… Do I even have a wallet?”
I watch as color leeches out of Hope’s face and she takes a step back. She blinks a couple of times and takes a breath. I forget she doesn’t like to be reminded of this crap any more than I do. It has to hurt her that the man she… Fuck, I don’t even know if she ever loved me.
“Your wallet was, uh…stolen.”
“Stolen?”
“Yeah. You went out to the bar one night. We had had a fight and you wanted to go blow off some steam. You were robbed. Lost all your money, ID, cards, all of it.”
“Here in town? Have you followed up with the sheriff?”
“I…the case is closed. They couldn’t find who it was. There were some drifters in from out of town. You know how it is,” she shrugs, avoiding my eyes and I feel like I’ve stepped on another landmine that has upset her somehow.
“What’s our last name?”
“Well they’re not the same…”
“What? We’re married! You didn’t take my name?”
“Well no… you didn’t want me to. You hated your name.”
“What’s my name, Hope?”
“I… well…”
“Hope,” I growl, because she’s not answering. She’s looking around us at the rooms, the office, the sign…everywhere and anywhere—but at me.
“Aden, really I think we should talk,” she starts, taking a few steps away from me.
“What is my name?” I growl again, my frustration building. “Christ, is there some reason you can’t just give me a straightforward answer on things? It always develops into these stories! Stories that leave me wishing I hadn’t asked in the first place. That’s probably why I haven’t asked about my name before now,” I grumble.
I’m not being fair. I know I’m not. But, I’m so sick of not being… normal. I hate it when moments like this happen and I feel completely lost and out of my depth. It might not be Hope’s fault, but it’s so frustrating that she can’t just give me pertinent information and let the rest go. I know I was a dick. I know I fucked up. I hate these constant reminders of that, and I get the feeling she’s about to launch into another explanation that will make me feel like I should just cut off my balls and let her hang them in a fucking closet.
“Stop growling at me! You’re not being reasonable.”
“Well I’m not feeling reasonable. Maybe I would if you would just tell me my name,” I huff out loudly, holding my head down, and pinching the bridge of my nose.
“It’s Hard-Acre!”
“Hard… what?”
“Hard-Acre. We named the motel after you. Are you satisfied now?”
“Aden… Hard-Acre?” I whisper, wishing I hadn’t even asked.
“Well, yeah,” she says, hugging her arms around herself in a defensive position.
Great. I’ve scared her… scared her and…
“Shit. My name sounds like a porn star,” I growl, looking down at the ground.
I hear Hope’s gasp. I bring my gaze back to her and that’s when she laughs.
And somehow her laugh makes it better.
thirty-five
hope
“What are you doing?”
It was a stupid question really. A fool could see what Aden was doing. I didn’t need to ask to know, but I asked. I even closed my eyes. Maybe if I closed my eyes, squeezed them closed tight enough Aden would disappear. When I opened them back up, it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, because Aden was still standing there.
Standing there with his shirt off and unbuckling his belt.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks easily, like he wasn’t undressing in front of me.
“It looks like you’re getting…naked!” I hiss.
“I’m not,” he answers, but before I can breathe any easier I hear the sound of his zipper releasing.
Now it’s been two weeks. Two weeks in which I’ve become so adept at lying that I’m starting to believe the lies myself. It’s been two weeks of spending time with this new Aden. Two weeks in which nothing has happened to destroy my happy-ever-after web of lies. Two weeks that I’ve spent with Aden. And when I say that, I mean almost every hour of the day we’re together. We’ve laughed, we’ve talked—and it should be said that most of that time I haven’t had to lie—we’ve hugged, we’ve kissed and we’ve made out.
