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I also hadn’t been able to fight the smile that had crossed my face because that simple interaction had said so much.
She understood what I’d done. She was staying.
For now.
But after turning over the entire house and only managing to find one of my sketchbooks, I’d looked at her and asked,“Could they have been in my truck?”
“No, they were here.”She’d gestured irritably around.“Everywhere. You kept them everywhere because you didn’t want to have to go looking for one.”
I’d nodded as worry and unfounded guilt had gripped my stomach tighter.“Think it’s time I go to the shop and see Brian.”
“Okay, I’ll take you.”
“No.”When hurt had flashed through her eyes, I’d hurried to add,“Need to talk to Brandon too. I’ll call him.”
But throughout texting Brandon and waiting for him to show, I’d barely been able to look at Scarlet. When I’d left, I’d simply studied her, trying so damn hard to remember things that weren’t there. Trying to know what I could’ve done.
Because it had to be something.
“They aren’t there,” I said to Brandon when we were nearing the shop I’d been tattooing at for—well, shit, I didn’t even know now.
College.
I think.
Brandon glanced between the street and me a few times, caught off guard by the abrupt change in our conversation. “What?”
I drew in a sharp breath and released it just as quickly. “My sketchbooks,” I explained. “Scarlet and I found one, but she said I had a ton that were always lying around everywhere.”
“You do,” Brandon confirmed, making that worry grow thicker.
“They aren’t there,” I repeated. “The only one we found was hidden in a closet and was only there because it was full.”
Brandon lifted his hand for a second before letting it slap onto the steering wheel. “Okay?”
“I sketched whatever was in my head,” I told him. “Whatever was happening in my life, whatever was consuming my mind, it went onto paper.”
“The last two years,” he said in understanding.
“Everything that happened will be in there,” I confirmed. “Scarlet told me something earlier—something about our life that I guess no one really knew—that made me think for the first time that everyone could be right.”
“First time?” he asked dully and shot me an irritated look, even as a smirk tugged at his mouth.
“The memories feel so damn real,” I defended. “But if that part of my memories was really my life with her, then the rest of it has truth somewhere. And I woke up thinking I’d hurt Harper—I was afraid I’d lost her—because a girl had been in my bed.”
Brandon dipped his head after a moment. “You think you cheated on Scarlet?”
“I don’t know.”
“You wouldn’t,” he said adamantly as he pulled into one of the shop’s parking spaces. “I know you wouldn’t.”
“But what would explain those memories?” I challenged. “Why would all my books be gone? It’s like I was hiding them from her.”
“Fuck,” he muttered as he ran a hand over his face, then fiercely shook his head. “You worship her. Worshipped,” he corrected quickly. “There’s no way.”
“Guess we’ll find out,” I said as I looked at the place that had been like a second home to me. “Because the girl that had been in my bed worked here with me.”
“What?” Brandon asked, nearly choking over the word. “You fucked Marissa?”
