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I focus on our hands, unable to meet his judgment. “I don’t even know where to st-start,” I confess sadly, on the cusp of hyperventilating.
“How about from the beginning?” The practical Sam has re-emerged.
“How about I get you cleaned up first?” Surely, that’s the right thing to say. Jumping into the deep end so early on seems a little cruel. But Sam is insistent.
“Just tell me.”
Once I’ve cleaned his hands, I turn off the water and dry them with a towel. I’m doing all I can to stall, but how do you sum up the worse experience of your life in just a few words?
“Lucy? Please…” His desperation spurs me on because I know if I were him, I would want to know.
Gathering the courage, I slowly lift my eyes. There is no judgment reflected in Sam’s, only curiosity and…love. I feel sick. “Samuel…the day of our wedding, you got into a car ac-accident.” He pales, but I continue. “It was bad. The doctors weren’t sure if you were going to make it.” I swallow back the memory, and it slithers down my throat like acid. “But you did. You can’t imagine my happiness because I was…so scared of losing you. But Sam, when you woke from the coma, you had amnesia.” I wet my lips. “You had no recollection of…me.”
“What?” He gasps, shaking his head fiercely. “That’s not true.”
“It is true. How I wish it wasn’t, but it is. You remembered some things, some people, but overall, I seemed to have slipped through one of the holes in your memory. And in turn…you hated me. You hated us.”
“Lucy…no.” Tears overcome him, and he doesn’t wipe them away. “How is that even possible? I don’t…I don’t even…no.”
“I asked myself that every day, but the harder I tried to make you remember, the more you pulled away. You were a completely different person. One I didn’t recognize.” A tear rolls down my cheek, but I quickly brush it away. “Saxon…”
He sits upright, horror and anger slashing at his face. “What did he do?”
He’s quick to point fingers, and that irks me beyond belief. “He did everything. He carried me when I was too weak to walk…which was every day since this nightmare started.”
“How long?” he asks, jaw clenched, ignoring the fundamental point of this story.
“How long were you an asshole?” I counter, angered that he’s disregarding everything I’ve just said and decided to focus on the cure and not the cause.
“How long has my brother beenfuckingmy fiancée?” he sneers, slamming his fist onto the counter.
Flinching, I firmly stand my ground, refusing to buckle. “How dare you, Sam. You have no idea, none! You broke my heart time and time again.”
“So in return you decided to break mine?” he heatedly rebukes, standing and kicking back the stool, which topples to the ground with a thud.
“It wasn’t like that.” I attempt to make him see reason because what happened between Saxon and me is the result of Samuel and me growing apart, and the secrets which bound us together. “So much has happened. We both changed.”
“Changed?” he screams, arms out wide. “I had fucking amnesia! I didn’t know who you were, but you knew who I was, Lucy.”
That’s where he’s wrong.
Pulling it together, I level him with nothing but sincerity. “I thought I knew who you were, but I was wrong. You didn’t remember me. You remembered your best friends from high school, even your ex-girlfriend, but when you looked at me…it was through the eyes of a stranger. What does that say about our relationship?”
The fire in Sam begins to simmer. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember you. It’s not like I had a choice. But you, you did, and you chose…” His unfinished sentence confirms what I know is true…I cheated on Sam. And with his identical twin brother nonetheless. But Sam isn’t a saint in this scenario—we’re all sinners.
“I won’t make excuses for my actions. I chose the path I took, as did you.” Here goes nothing. “I know, Samuel… I know everything.” You can hear a pin drop.
I was going to wait to divulge this piece of information, but I won’t stand here and let him call me an adulterous whore because this story has many layers.
Sam doesn’t need me to draw a diagram. His secret is finally out. “Hetoldyou?” I nod, too tongue-tied to speak. He interlaces his hands across his nape, peering up at the ceiling as if seeking answers from above. “What a fucking mess.”
As much as I want to discuss this, I know now is not the time. I need to get Sam cleaned up and then call Sophia. Her name forms a lump in my throat. “Let me look at your head, and then I’ll call Sophia.”
“Who is Sophia?” he asks with a sigh.
“She’s your doctor. She can explain everything.”
“I’ve heard enough,” he snaps, running a hand through his tousled hair.
