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Because they’re identical.
Because they were dressed the same.
And because if I want to be truthful with myself, his personality isn’t the same as Oliver’s or Alden’s was before this happened.
Of course, it’s not. He’s had a brain injury and mental trauma. No one would be the same.
The argument blooming in my head is maddening.
He works on bikes. Only Alden did that.
He does the accounting and inventory. Only Oliver did that.
He can be funny like Alden.
He’s quiet like Oliver.
He’s sweet and caring.
Both of them were. That solves nothing.
There’s nothing to solve. Deep down I know that. It’s only desperate hope, clinging to a scrap it’s been thrown after too much devastation. Maybe I’m not mentally well enough to deal with this, but there’s no one else. It has to be me.
I’m surprised to find the footprints don’t veer off in the direction of the treehouse but continue toward the creek. This part of the woods has more pine trees that have managed to block a lot of the snow which makes the walking easier.
He’s not hard to find. His blue coat stands out against the whitened forest. He sits under a huge pine, where the hard packed dirt is only dusted with snow, leaning against the trunk. The creek flows past a few feet away, narrowed down to a trickle by the frozen edges.
Now that I’m here, I don’t know what to say. Where to start. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
A small smile slips onto his face. “No, don’t apologize. You’ve been through too much.”
I sit beside him, ignoring the chill of the frozen ground through my jeans. “We both have. Oliver—”
“Wait,” he pleads, and turns his body to sit facing me. “I want to tell you what I remember, okay? Some of it, anyway. Because it’s years worth of memories, I think. Years of moments that I can’t begin to list, but I want to tell you what I think matters right now.”
“I’m listening,” I murmur.
“I’m not trying to hurt you. I would never. And I’m sorry if hearing these things upsets you or scares you, but please, let me get them out.”
The dark circles around his eyes display his lack of sleep. He likely didn’t go to bed at all and has only been waiting to talk to me. “I won’t get angry or freak out. I’m listening.”
“The day it happened, it’s patchy in my head. It’s hard to remember the hours leading up to the robbery. I remember you in your dress. I remember how I felt. Like I could never be happier than I was right then.”
The pit in my stomach begins to grow again. He still thinks he’s Alden. Pressing my lips together to stop myself from interrupting, I try to keep my expression neutral while he continues.
“I was driving. Oliver told me to pull into The Stop Along because he wanted to get some antacids. He had heartburn and he wanted a package of antacids and water. It would only take a minute.”
His stare reaches over my shoulder, into the distance. “They came in right behind us. The Warrens. I can see their faces. I should’ve known something was wrong. They looked nervous. They were the ones holding the guns and demanding our stuff, but they looked nervous. I thought it was a joke, maybe some prank that Oliver arranged for my wedding day. You know he could be weird like that, with his sense of humor. This big guy steps out of the aisle and holds up a gun.” He winces, blinks a few times, and continues in a shaky voice. “Oliver got hit first. I didn’t realize I was shot too. I just knew I was on the floor, and I couldn’t get to him. He was dying.”
Tears overflow, running down my cheeks. Fear wells up inside me. He has to be confused but he believes every word he’s saying.
“I kept trying to yell for him, but the words got caught.” He trails his fingers over the scar on his neck. “Things went hazy and black a few different times. After that, it’s a jumble of voices and darkness.”
He pauses and wipes a tear from his face with the cuff of his coat. My breath comes out in quick puffs of steam while I fight to keep calm. To be reasonable. The tiny thread of hope is being pulled but I can’t let myself hold onto it.
“The paramedic asked you your name,” I point out. “You told him it was Oliver.”
Tortured eyes look into mine. “I don’t remember anyone asking my name, but I was calling for my brother. I was saying Oliver to anyone who would listen.”
