Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“I remember all of it,” I argue. “The flowers, the way my mother—that doesn’t matter.”
My chest caves at my next thought.
“You divorced me while I was sick?”
Her head shakes back and forth, rejecting that question.
I run the day back through my head, blaming anything I can on why there are holes in my memory, why I can’t recall every detail. She complained about the roses being the wrong shade, but honestly, she isn’t the type to complain or even have flowers at her wedding.
“What happened?”
She swallows, her eyes locked above my right shoulder rather than on mine.
“We haven’t gotten married yet,” I determine, relief beginning to wash over me as I reach for her left hand.
The diamond there is small, but it glistens in the sun streaming in from the window.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea to discuss this right now.”
I clench my jaw, my mouth filled with a sickly lemon flavor I don’t recognize.
“You’ve never lied to me, Angeline. Don’t start now.”
She takes a deep breath, her chin quivering before she speaks.
“We hooked up in Bahrain,” she begins.
“We confessed our love for each other,” I add, remembering that day because it was the best one I’d lived, my adoption at fifteen coming in a close second.
Her head shakes.
“It happened,” I argue.
“Bahrain happened after too much tequila. We parted ways the next morning, said we’d stay friends.” Her eyes find mine for the first time since she sat on the edge of the bed. “Bahrain happened five years ago.”
“That’s impossible,” I whisper, my breathing becoming ragged. “Is this some sort of joke? It’s not fucking funny.”
Her jaw tightens as she sniffles. I’ve never seen her cry. Not one tear have I witnessed roll down her cheek until today.
“I’m engaged to another man.”
Her voice echoes around the room, louder than a clap of thunder in a summer storm.
“Our son…”
Her head shakes again, and I feel the loss of everything pile on top of me, threatening to crush me flat.
“We don’t have a child. I don’t have a child,” she adds as if it will lessen the blow.
The first hint of the tremble starts in my hands, but it doesn’t take long for it to travel up my arms and through my chest. It’s reminiscent of the way my body reacted that time I got locked out of my house as a boy.
Angeline stands, taking a step back from the bed, and this time, I can’t even attempt to stop her. I squeeze my eyes shut, needing things to transition back to the way they’ve been recently. I know the pain comes first but then there’s a flash of happiness. I’ll witness her making love to another man, but then I’ll blink and we’ll be in the kitchen preparing a meal together, our son smiling at us or making cringe faces when he sees us kiss.
The blinking doesn’t help this time.
The first woman steps around Angeline, inching closer to the bed. I try to keep my eyes on the woman I love, but she leaves the room, a sob escaping her lips.
Chapter 7
Sunshine
I press against his shoulders as he tries to lift his torso off the bed.
“You’re safe,” I whisper, knowing this helped some earlier.
I have no idea what Rivet told him, but he’s freaking out.
“Mr. Porter, please calm down.”
His eyes are frantic, darting all over the room.
“Bishop,” I snap, and his eyes lock on mine.
“Please don’t lie to me,” he begs, his hands locked on my wrists at his shoulders.
I don’t get the impression he’s trying to pull them free. It’s more like he’s clinging to me.
“I’ll tell you everything I know, but I’ll warn you, it isn’t much.”
He nods, and I feel some of the tension drain from his body.
“You’re a member of the Cerberus MC. Do you remember that part?”
My heart breaks a little when he shakes his head. “I’ve heard of them though.”
“I don’t know how long you’ve been with them. I do know you were hurt almost a month ago. You stayed in the hospital for two weeks, and you’ve been here for nearly two weeks.”
“Where’s here?”
“You’re at the Farmington Health and Rehabilitation Center.”
“Sounds like a nursing home.”
I smile down at him, my hands resting on his chest and no longer holding him down.
“A lot of people call it that, but we’re a skilled nursing facility. We just happen to have mostly elderly folks living here.”
“Was I in a car accident?”
I shake my head. “You were injected with drugs by a serial killer. You went into cardiac arrest.”
“I could’ve died,” he mutters, his eyes growing heavy.
“But you didn’t.”
“She said it’s been five years.”
“You’ve only been out of commission for a month,” I remind him. “From what I heard, you went through prolonged oxygen deprivation. If losing some of your memory is all that happened after that, I’d say you’re doing pretty good.”