Page 35 of Please Remember

"Or maybe the marriage would have changed things. Maybe Jax wouldn't have been so quick to leave," I counter.

Pulling away, Natalie glares at me. "Get a grip, Laura. Do you really believe he wouldn’t have left you naked in your honeymoon bed if he got a call saying Allie was alive and back? Really?"

The thought makes my stomach churn. "I mean—"

"Come on! We both know he would have walked out, had annulment papers drawn up and signed before you'd had a chance to change and have a drink on the beach. Or maybe he'd file for divorce. I'm not really sure the logistics of what would constitute an annulment over a divorce," she says.

I open my mouth to respond, but headlights from a car fill the living room. "Shit, they're home already," I hiss as we fly to the floor and army crawl to the back door. "Keep your flashlight off so they don't realize we're here."

Just as we reach the kitchen doorway, I reach out and grab one of the pictures of Allie and Jax before standing and running after Natalie to the back door. I don't know why I grabbed it, but I did on a whim. I have no purpose for it, but at least it's one less memory staring them and everyone else in the face. In a way, I suppose it's my own form of justice. Taking back a little bit of the control that's completely lost to me now.

Chapter Fifteen

Allie

Amonth. That's how long it's been since I escaped that basement, and it's the first time Jax and I have been out in public. Really in public. Drive-thru places were all I could handle before now, so being out and exposed makes me nervous. But he assured me the appeal of me being back after seven years has worn off. I know he lied the moment we step foot in the bar, but I have to admit the lie did its job. It got me here.

We sit in a booth in the back, something he called ahead and requested, and I let him order for me. I've been racking my brain to try and figure out how to get my memories back. To know who I am and what I like. Tonight, I decide to let Jax take the reins and bombard me with things I would find familiar. The location, the food, the music, the company. Maybe if I overload my senses, it'll do something. Anything.

I can’t help it. Every person in here looks at me like I’m a freak show attraction. And I look into their eyes hoping to see if they jump out at me. Although, I didn’t see my captor’s eyes, I can’t help but feel as though I’ll recognize them the moment I see them. Really see them. Butno one looks familiar. No one looks like the person who would have a reason to keep me locked away for years, and I force myself to stop and focus on Jax.

"So... my favorite bar in town is theonlybar in town?" I ask as the waitress sets the light beer he ordered for me down.

Smirking, Jax nods. "That was always your joke. Like how parents with only one child would say something ridiculous likemy favorite kid. The irony wasn’t lost on you."

"And I like light beer?"

His tongue runs along his lips. "You do. You always entertained me with your drink choices because you'd pick it based on your mood, or what you wanted your mood to be for the evening."

"What?" That makes no sense.

He drinks his own beer, some Mexican sounding brand, and he seems to like it based on the face he makes. "If you were looking to just have a fun time, you'd order beer. But light because you can't drink fully leaded, as you put it. If you felt sophisticated, you'd order wine. But only white wine because you have a tendency to spill, and red was very difficult to get out. You also would always wear white when drinking red wine. Or eating pasta with a red sauce."

"Naturally," I say with a smile.

I like the way he looks when he talks about me. And how he gazes when he thinks I'm not paying attention. I know that people still think he had something to do with what happened to me, but I know it's not true. It can't be true. If it is, this makes no sense whatsoever.

"If you were angry or irritated, the vodka came out. So would the angry monster you'd turn into, who we named Amy, and we had to make sure you didn't start a fight. And then if you wanted to get a little frisky, you'd order tequila."

He’s recently started referring to me in the past tense when he talks about memories I’ve yet to recover. It's kind of a nice differentiation between Old Allie and New Allie. Like he’s recalling details about an old friend I've just met rather than about myself. It feels kind of fitting considering the circumstances.

"And I like a beer cheeseburger with sweet potato fries and a side of ranch? That sounds... disgusting."

Jax laughs and shakes his head. "The burger comes with fried pickles, and you always said you'd sell your firstborn child for a good pickle."

"That answers my question about whether or not I like pickles."

"Love them."

Something nags at me about what he said. "Firstborn kid. Did we ever talk about having kids? Were we waiting to get married to have kids?"

His face falls, and I worry I've said something wrong. "We talked about kids a lot."

"If it's too much—"

"You have a condition that makes it difficult to get pregnant. We were prepared to spend the money on a surrogate to have a baby."

I can't get pregnant? "Oh," I say.

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