Page 87 of When Hearts Remember

A sharp headache splinters my skull, and I focus on my breathing until the agony passes.

“Hey, Alexis! You listening?” Felicity waves her hand.

I force out a grin as the pain fades and refocus my attention on the present.

Felicity stops and points to an open cubicle a few feet away. “There’s your workstation. If you have questions, ask Sandra. She’s one of the senior marketing managers here. Mr. Anderson likes open floor plans, so only directors and above have offices.” She motions to the cubicle next to mine, where a smidgen of blonde hair peeks out from the top.

“Got it.”

“My door’s always open. Well, fake ‘door,’ but you know what I mean.” She pivots and speed walks in the direction we came from.

“I wish I had her energy. Maybe if I didn’t have three kids sucking the soul out of me, I’d be like her,” a wry, sarcastic voice murmurs. “I’m Sandra but call me Sandy. You must be the new intern.”

I freeze—the timbre of her voice—the slight rasp, the dry wit. I can imagine the beaming smile on her face and the twinkle in her eye.

It can’t be.

Slowly, I turn around and watch her eyes widen, her mouth dropping open as recognition flickers in her gaze. “Lexy? What the fuck?”

“Summer?” I blink a few times, not sure if I’m hallucinating.

Nope, she’s still there.

Taylor offered to hire a PI to find my friend for me, but I told her no. I figured I could do it myself once I got my bearings on life.

Summer—no, Sandra—grins before rushing forward and crushing me in her arms. “What the fuck? You dropped off the face of the earth and you’re here now?”

“Oh my God.” I grin, unable to believe my luck. Summer, my Broadbent bestie, here in front of me.

The past me would say this is good mojo. Serendipity.

The adult me is incredulous.

“So, how have you been? Where did you go? Why are you an intern?”

I pull away and take her in—what used to be wild, curly hair is now tamed in a short ponytail. Dark circles rim her eyes and there are a few wrinkles appearing when she smiles, showing a life well lived.

“I was in the hospital.”

“What?”

“You didn’t know?” Clumsily, I walk to my desk, hating myself when I stumble on my bad leg. “I got into a car accident and was in a coma for eight years. Lucky to have woken up, to be honest.”

“Shit.” She follows me. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. You stopped responding to messages one day, and I thought we just grew apart since we were in different states. I was so mad at you too.”

Really, Summer? That’s what you thought of me?

The strange anger brewing in my gut ever since I woke up flares and I quickly quash it down.You probably would’ve thought the same thing if you were her.

“Yeah. Didn’t ghost you.” Booting up my computer, I watch the screen flicker on as she props herself against my desk. “I woke up a year ago, and it has been nonstop rehab, and checkups, but I’m strong enough to resume life now.”

“Wow,” she murmurs. “That’s terrible. Now I feel bad for not trying harder to look you up. So, you’re interning? Does that mean you’re still in college—do you have to redo everything?”

“Not all the classes, but a good chunk of them. Trying to catch up.” A lump forms in my throat when I notice the pity in her eyes.

What is she thinking? And why does our conversation feel so…off now?

You know why. Eight years have passed by while you were asleep. Nothing is the same. You’re a stranger to her now.

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