Page 50 of When Hearts Remember

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

I’m so fucking screwed.

Chapter 16

Present: Nine Years After the Accident—Twenty-Nine Years Old

“Happy birthday, Alexis!” Taylorcrushes me in her embrace as her siblings and my brothers clap after singing “Happy Birthday” in an off-key, chaotic way.

Everyone huddles inside my suite at the rehab center. The room is spacious for a hospital—large enough to fit a full-sized bed with silk sheets, two dressers, and a flatscreen TV with the fancy apps and insane picture quality, which still shocks me every time I turn on the TV. Technology has definitely improved in the last nine years.

Balloons decorate the room, along with bouquets of roses, peonies, daisies—I’m sure I could moonlight as a florist at this point.

I should be excited. Laughing and joking with everyone. I’m grateful for my family and friends. I’m thankful I have a second chance at life when others in my position typically don’t.

I’ve even successfully gotten into the rehab pool the last three times. I still can’t swim, but I can float on my stomach. It’s a big milestone and I should celebrate it.

But a boulder sits atop my chest, and my lungs can’t rake in a full breath. My smile remains plastered on my face, but my mind is chaotic—a compass failing to calibrate, its needle unable to find north.

I’ve been in the hospital for over a year. I’m almost thirty. I’m so behind in life.

I should beclimbing the corporate ladder at Bank of Columbia or some other large corporation, financially independent, dating a wonderful man who’s thinking about proposing to me at the end of a romantic candlelit dinner after I’ve demolished a molten chocolate lava cake for dessert. We should be planning what house to buy, when we’re going to have two point five kids, and maybe get a dog or two.

I’m behind.Behind. Behind. Behind.My smile twitches and I blink, trying to refocus on the merry group before me.

“Twenty-nine, baby sis. One more year and you’ll be ancient!”

Ancient.I’ll be ancient.

Liam’s smirk is promptly wiped away when Taylor elbows his ribs.

“Shut your trap before I shut it for you, Liam,” Taylor growls. “Don’t listen to him, Alexis. Thirties are the new twenties, so technically, you’re still a teenager. And smokin’ hot too.”

“Charles, can you leash down your pit bull of a girlfriend?” Liam grumbles.

Rex, the flirt of the Anderson brood, whistles, his eyes widening. “I need a chair, and someone bring me popcorn. A Vaughn showdown. Can’t miss this.”

“The only thing that’ll show down is when I kick your ass, Rex.” Liam hurls an accusing glare at him. “Single bros are supposed to stick together!”

Charles grins and curls his arm around Taylor’s waist. “Definitely not taming my minx. If she were to chew your head off, it’d be because you deserved it, Liam.”

“Whipped. Abso-fuckin-lutely whipped. Charles Vaughn, I never thought I’d see the day.” Steven Kingsley, the current chief operating officer of Fleur Entertainment and Taylor’s brother-in-law, whacks his friend on the back. “God, how the mighty have fallen.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve always wanted to settle down,” Charles mutters.

“Yeah, but you swore to all of us you hated a certain ballerina’s guts. What did you say? ‘Feralcat?’”

Taylor whips her head toward my oldest brother. “You didn’t!”

Charles flushes. “It’s completely out of context.” He shoots Steven a death glare. “Minx, that was before—”

“I’d quit before you dig yourself into an early grave.” Maxwell, the eldest Anderson sibling, says from his spot in the armchair by the windows. His wife, Belle, perches on his lap, cuddling their infant son, Levi. The broodiest Anderson, aside from a certain Anderson who unnerves me, is wearing a smile of contentment as he kisses Belle’s forehead.

The room erupts into more chaos when Grace links arms with her sister, Taylor, against Charles, who’s trying to defuse the situation, while the rest of the Anderson gang is laughing and fanning the flames in the background.

Their voices merge into a thunderous roar in my ears and the room spins. I grip the bed rail, my arms shaking.

Calm down. This is a panic attack. Your therapist mentioned this might happen. It’s normal. You’re normal. You’re improving at your own pace. Think about the present and not the future.

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