Page 96 of It's a Date (Again)

“If you walk out that door, Peyton, then we are never, ever getting back together.” Tyler points a finger at me, then crosses his arms over his chest and purses his lips. I can’t tell if he’s delusional or if his ego is so big that it sucks up all the air around him, leaving his brain deprived of oxygen.

“Good,” I say, throwing open the door and stepping outside into the cool Chicago night air. It closes with a thud behind me, and I’m right back where I was before the accident.

CHAPTER20

I consider texting Maya, Robbie, and Debbie and telling them what happened. I know they’d drop everything to be here for me. Well, maybe not Robbie right now. No, he still would. But I don’t contact any of them. I think I just want to be alone. I pull my jacket tightly around me as I aimlessly walk the lit-up streets of Chicago. Cars and buses whiz by. Horns blare intermittently, signaling impatience and frustration. If I had a horn, I’d be blowing the hell out of it right now. I pass several couples holding hands, leaning into one another, exchanging whispers and smiles. I can’t help but feel jealous. How did I go from having three boyfriends to none in the span of a week? Technically, two. But three if you ask Tyler. How was I so sure who I loved before the accident and now I have no idea?

I wait for theWALKsignal to change at an intersection and look up, taking in the shimmering skyscrapers that appear to puncture the dark sky. There’s a full moon tonight, set high and proud, begging to be appreciated. The light changes, and I cross the street. A large man stands at the corner, dressed in sweatpants and an old, oversized jacket. He holds a sign torn from a cardboard box that says,DOWN ON MY LUCK. ANYTHING HELPS.His skin is weathered, but his eyes are kind.

Without even a thought, I pull the rest of the cash I have from my purse and extend it to him. He smiles and tilts his head, glancing at my hand.

“It’s all I have,” I say.

“I know, Peyton. You always give all you have.” His grin widens as he accepts the cash.

I’m taken aback. I scan his face, searching for a memory, but there isn’t one. I’m about to ask him how he knows my name, but he speaks before I do.

“Did you ever tell that boy you love him?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

His shoulders rise and fall as he shakes his head. “Oh, you don’t remember me. I don’t blame ya. I’m not all that memorable of a person. Have a good night.” The man nods and turns on his foot.

“No, wait. It’s not you. I don’t remember anything,” I explain. “I was in a car accident two weeks ago and all my memories are gone.”

He turns back with a peculiar look. “Are you yanking my chain?”

“No,” I say. “I got hit by a car before I told him I loved him.”

“Damn, and I thought I had it bad.” The man rubs his jaw. “I’m Hank, by the way.” He extends his large, calloused hand toward me.

“Nice to meet you ... again,” I say, shaking it.

“Likewise.” He glances around and then back at me. “What are you doing out here alone?”

“I just broke it off with a guy and told him I didn’t love him.” I laugh.

“Well, I can tell you don’t love him,” he says.

“Really? How?”

“Last time I seen you, you were crying because a guy told you he loved you, and you told him you didn’t love him back. But you clearly did. This time, there’s not even a glimmer of a tear in your eyes.” Hank smiles. “That’s how I know.”

“I was crying?”

“Oh yes, like a newborn baby.” He laughs. “I told you; you had clearly let your mind speak for your heart. You were so scared that it would end that you never let it begin. But like I said before, it’s betterto live with a broken heart than to never let anyone into it in the first place.”

My brain starts to tingle like it’s been poked or prodded, and a dizzy spell comes over me. I feel as though I could fall right to the ground. Hank notices and places a hand on my shoulder, keeping me upright.

“You all right?” he asks.

The dizziness passes quickly, and my mind becomes so sound and strong that I’m almost confident I could fly if I really wanted to. Goose bumps cover my skin, and it’s not because I’m cold—it’s because I’m alive. I can finally see it ... the night of the accident. The memory that was stolen, the one I’ve been chasing this whole time, plays out right in front of me, like a private viewing. I don’t know how I ever forgot it. I blink several times, staring back at Hank and those kind eyes of his.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?” he asks.

“I remember,” I say. “I remember who I love.”

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