Page 136 of When Hearts Remember

I can’t breathe.

And yet, it’s like I’m breathing for the first time after I came out of my coma.

“Ethan—”

“Just let me hold you. P-Please. Just for a minute.” His voice is thick.

I halfheartedly pull away, my mind and body split between wanting to stay in his embrace forever or to run screaming in the other direction because of how it makes me feel.

Safe. Loved. On fire.

“Please, Nova. Please. O-One minute.” The words rush out of him in a choked exhale and the pain from moments ago spears into my chest again. His towering frame trembles against mine.

Closing my eyes, I melt into his hug.

Hug is too little of a word to describe this.

“Ethan,” I whisper, needing to know the answer to a question that has haunted me since I woke up in the hospital, disoriented, and find myself in the tight embrace of a man who looked like he had lost, then found his world. “We knew each other before, didn’t we? Those four years I’ve forgotten. You were there, weren’t you?”

That’s the only explanation that makes sense—why my soul seems to recognize him.

He stills.

The wind ruffles my hair and scrapes across my face.

“Are you staying in the medical trial?”

Yes. No. Yes. I don’t know.

Taking my silence as an answer, he pulls away, the tormented expression on his face ripping the breath from my lungs.

He lifts his finger, like he has many times before, and I wait for the inevitable moment when he freezes mid-gesture.

But this time, he doesn’t.

His fingertip skims the bridge of my nose, light as a feather, and warmth unfurls through me in quiet, shivering waves.

He whispers, “Let’s leave it up to fate then.”

Chapter 43

Present: Nine Years After the Accident—Thirty-Three Years Old

I sneak a glanceat the time on my computer.

Five o’clock p.m.

If I hurry this up, I can see the tail end of her presentation.

“Ethan. Hey, Ethan, you listening?”

I snap my attention to Liam, who is in my office with Trey to discuss the updates on the embezzlement situation.

“This is what I’ve got so far. The motherfucker hid his tracks well. Small sums less than ten thousand dollars, rotating payouts to legitimate looking vendors. If your auditors didn’t randomly sample, you would’ve never noticed it.” Liam turns his laptop around and shows us his findings. I’ve hired him to trace the funds off the books.

I don’t want a press field day until I have the fucker behind bars.

“Shit. Over ten years, huh?” Trey murmurs, standing behind me.

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