Page 13 of Love and Memories

Isabella blinked through the haze clouding her thoughts and looked up at him. He was handsome–something she’d noticed immediately. That was probably why it was so difficult to look athim while they talked. His voice was deep and strong, yet gentle and soothing. It made her want to talk just to hear him respond.

“No. I’m glad you’re here. I can’t imagine how scared I would have been if I’d been alone when I woke up for the first time yesterday morning.”

“Well, you were pretty scared, even though I was here,” Travis pointed out.

“But you were so calm, and you took the time to help me understand what was going on. I appreciate that.”

A slow, guarded grin spread on Travis’s lips. He had such a friendly face, it was easy to trust him. He radiated peace when her world was a mass of confusion.

“Does it help if I ask questions? It might spark a memory.”

Isabella shrugged and instantly regretted it. Every muscle in her body was sore. She’d been lucky to not have broken bones, but the pain was enough.

Travis’s brow pinched together. “You said you know your parents. What do you remember about them?”

She’d spent plenty of time mulling over what she knew of her parents, but the reality was still fuzzy. “I’m not really sure. I know I don’t like my dad, but Mom… I don’t know how I feel about her.”

“Do you know why you don’t like your dad?” Travis asked.

A fire akin to rage threatened to strangle her. Fighting with her dad with words and fists. The emotions felt old but still intense.

“We fought a lot. I know he hit me when I was a kid, and things got worse when I was older.”

Travis’s hand fisted on his knee. “That’s plenty of reason not to like him. I don’t like him either,” he said low and steady.

Isabella pressed her lips together. “I’m not going to act like I’m a saint. I’m pretty strong-willed.”

“There’s no excuse, Isabella. Ever.”

Her name in Travis’s voice infused strength into her heart. She hadn’t been innocent, but she would never think to act on violence the way her dad did unless it was self-defense. “I know,” she whispered.

Travis gave her a single nod, satisfied that they were on the same page when it came to domestic violence. “Do you think he gave you that black eye?”

Isabella tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

Travis propped his arms on his thighs and linked his fingers together. “It’s kind of strange to have a black eye from a car wreck, especially when your head wound is on the other side.”

She touched the bandage on her head, dragging IV tubes as she moved. The nurses had said plenty about her head injury, but no one had mentioned a black eye. It had been easy to avoid the mirror in the bathroom. The pain captivated all of her attention, and everything had been a blur since she woke up.

Travis pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed a few buttons before handing it to her. The camera was turned toward her, and she gasped at the image of herself.

Deep purple surrounded her eye, and her cheekbone was swollen beneath it. It wasn’t the worst black eye she’d seen, but it was definitely the mark of a fist.

She ran her fingertips over the puffy flesh. She looked terrible. Of course this handsome man would see her like this. His beard was well kept, and his clothes were clean and sharp, while she lay in a hospital gown with tangled hair, beaten and bruised.

“It’s possible,” she conceded as she handed the phone back to him. Looking at herself would only crumble her self-esteem.

Travis took the phone and slid it back into his pocket. “Maybe that’s why you don’t know how you feel about your mom. Maybe she didn’t protect you from him.”

A gaping hole caved her chest in–a hollowness that she could easily fall into and disappear. “Probably. When I think of my mom, I just feel… sad.”

Travis hesitated before asking, “You think she’s alive?”

She’d tried her best to answer that already. She would remember if her mom died, right? Those memories would hold enough pain to linger, wouldn’t they?

“I’m not sure, but I know I don’t have any memories of a funeral. So I think she’s alive.”

“That’s good. What about where you live? Are you from Blackwater?”

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