Page 3 of When Hearts Remember

Memories dance behind my eyelids as I go to sleep,

Visions of you, soaring high in my dreams.

Ribbons of fire twirling in the wind,

Your lavender scent lingers, a longing I cannot rescind.

Hearts, once on fire, now smolder in smoke,

Our love, bittersweet, broken as fate’s cruel stroke.

The world spins on, blissfully unaware,

My life, forever changed, hollow as the air.

My Nova, my star, bright in the sky,

Farewell, my hummingbird, my darling butterfly.

I told myself almost eight years ago, once I completed the last item on her bucket list, to tie a cloth at the Jokhang temple, the most sacred temple in Tibet, I’d stop waiting. I’d move on because she’d want me to.

I’d say goodbye.

My eyes burn, my ragged breath lodging in my throat, and I close my eyes.

How do I say goodbye? HowcanI say goodbye?

I try to imagine her voice, the sweet lilt at the end of her sentences, the raspy undertone of her laughter, the way she drawls her “R’s” like she’s from Texas instead of being a born and bred New Yorker.

But the memories are fuzzy now. The sounds dulled by the years that have gone by as I waited…and waited.

And waited.

Perhaps I lost her long before today.

How could I have forgotten the exact timbre of her voice? The lump in my throat grows and I feel wetness on my cheek.Get your shit together, Ethan. You’re the impenetrable Anderson.

You don’t feel. Nothing can hurt you anymore.

Staring blankly into the ray of light peeking through the dim clouds, I make a wish.If there’s a higher power, please give us a miracle. I’d give up anything…at any cost. Please—

What the fuck am I doing?

My cell phone buzzes on the table.

Quickly, I swipe the moisture away from my eyes and answer the call without looking at the caller ID.

“Anderson.”

“I worry about you,” a gravelly voice rasps on the line, followed by the familiar clicking of an antique lighter the man never uses.

“Elias.” I clear my throat. “You’re nuts. Don’t you have better things to worry about or people to terrorize than being delusional?”

“Hm.” The clicking stops.

With Elias Kent, the king of the New York underworld, feared by the elite and the gangs alike, delusional is the least likely option. A long time ago, my eldest brothers, Maxwell and Ryland, saved his life, and since then, he’s stuck to our family like duct-tape, solid, reliable, and a close friend.

“I don’t think so,” he murmurs. “Maxwell told me you took off for Tibet, of all places. He’s worried because he’s your oldest brother. Liam also sniffed around, saying you were acting strange. I’m concerned because you’re my friend—unfortunately for me.”

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