Page 62 of Loud Unspoken Memories

A part of me wonders if Charlie will ever know about me. Or ifanyonewill. About the week she spent in the wilderness with someone who went from complete stranger to lover to…

I close my eyes and shut off my brain, unable to finish the thought.

She picks up on my unease, leans over me, and grabs our book from the nightstand. “Want me to read a bit?”

“That would be great.”

I lay my head in her lap hoping she’ll massage it like before. She does. Her small fingers work through my hair, running rhythmically over my scalp, my temples, my neck. Instantly I relax as I listen to the soothing cadence of her voice and enjoy her gentle touch.

I’m fading fast, my eyelids heavy. Before I go to sleep, there’s one thing I feel the need to say. “Marti?”

She stops reading and rests her eyes on me. “Mmm?”

“Phoebe. Her name was Phoebe.”

She smiles sadly, nods, then picks up the book and begins again.

Chapter Twenty-six

Martina

I wake before Dallas. Again, he looks to be sleeping peacefully. It makes me happy to think I have something to do with it. But at the same time, I’m gutted that he’s been battling demons for years.

Was last night a turning point? He told me her name. He told me even though I didn’t ask.

I have the sudden urge to know everything about him. I eye my phone on the nightstand. I’d bet my right arm there is information on the internet. About him. His family. His childhood. Maybe even about how Phoebe and DJ died.

The temptation to google all things Dallas Montana fades when his eyes open, he sees me watching him, and he grins. No—the only way I want to learn about Dallas is from the man himself.

He runs a hand down my arm, sending shivers throughout my body.

I turn on my side, prop up on my elbow and say, “Tell me some weird random fact about yourself.”

“Okaaaaaaay. Let’s see…” His lips shuffle from side to side. “I played the saxophone in middle school.”

“Just middle school?”

“Gave it up right before ninth grade when I thought it was uncool.” He touches my hand. “Now you.”

“That’s easy. I used to eat my hair.”

He blinks. “What?”

“It’s called trichophagia. They think it was due to stress from my dad’s death. Nobody knew about it until I felt constantly nauseous and Asher took me to the doctor. Theyfound a sixteen-millimeter hairball in my stomach. Had to put a scope down my throat to get it out. If it had been much bigger, it would have required surgery. Your turn.”

“I ate grass.”

I turn up my nose. “From the ground?”

“I guess. I don’t really remember, but my parents told me about it.”

“I didn’t wear underwear until I was thirteen.”

His brows creep toward his hairline. “Uh… why exactly?”

“I’m not completely sure. Asher theorized it was because my dad was late to potty train me. My mom had trained Asher. I guess my dad just didn’t know how to do it. I think I was five before I was completely out of diapers. And then… I guess I just didn’t wantanythingdown there.” I laugh. “My poor dad. He was a wreck every time I wore a dress. He didn’t want to tell me no, but he was terrified I’d flash my bits.”

“So, why thirteen?” he asks.

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