Page 36 of Help Me Remember
“You want me to write notes about a box of condoms?” I ask with a brow raised.
“Ha. Ha. No, I want you to write down things you see, remember, think about. The more information we have to go over, the better.”
“You’re the expert.”
He grins. “Yes, I am.”
“Okay, but you should know that I seem to be developing trust issues. Everyone is withholding information from me. Before you do something annoying and point out that I also agreed to this course of action, I would like to say that I hate it and it’s overwhelming.”
He steps closer. “I understand that. I am a naturally distrusting person. In my job, I have to assume everything is a lie. But if we want this to work, we have to trust each other. I promise I won’t lie to you, Brielle. I never have.”
My heart races a little at his nearness. “I know, which is why I asked for your help.”
He pulls me into his strong arms, and I close my eyes, listening to his heartbeat. “I’m honored you did. Even if it means I’m trailing you around for a few weeks.”
I look up into those green eyes I know so well. “You think it’ll take that long?”
“It could.”
I feel awful. He has much more important things to do than retrace my life. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
I shrug. “Being a pain in your ass again.”
“Again? You never stopped.” Spencer winks. “Come on, let’s head out to Portland before we lose daylight and go back to the beginning.” He leans down, kissing the top of my head.
I step back, turning to cover the blush on my face that always comes whenever he does anything even remotely affectionate. “Let’s go . . . the truth awaits.”
* * *
“Let’s look at the facts.” Spencer and I are sitting under one of the trees on my college campus. It was the first place I wanted to go because I can remember sitting in this very spot on the day of my graduation, talking to Isaac and Addy about what I wanted.
Even that day, I was sure that I didn’t want to go to Portland with Henry and that Rose Canyon was where I belonged.
I tilt my face toward the sun, letting the warmth of the mid-morning rays soak into my skin. “Can we stop talking about everything for just a minute?” I ask.
My frustration over my lack of memory is making my head throb. Nothing new. Nothing exciting. Just memories from college, which I didn’t lose.
“No. We are working.”
My hair brushes my arms as I turn to him. “You have zero fun.”
“I have fun.”
“No, you don’t—or, at least, you didn’t.”
“Since you don’t really know my current level of fun, you’re not one to talk.”
I open my eyes and stick my tongue out. “See, no fun.”
He sighs. “Would you like me to illuminate you on my many levels of fun?”
“The fact that you just offered to illuminate me about your levels of fun tells me everything. You have none.”
He shifts forward. “I have many levels.”
He has many levels of something right now. I tone that back, because he has zero levels of desire when it comes to me. “Do tell.”
