Page 83 of Unearthed Dreams
The panic slowly eased its grip on my chest, leaving me slumped against the break room sofa next to Elena. My breathing steadied, though exhaustion settled deep in my bones.
“What happened?” The words scraped raw in my throat. “He seemed like he was doing so well.”
Elena’s fingers drummed against her thigh, a nervous tick I’d noticed during our past encounters at the bar. “This summer has been... difficult. Chase hasn’t been handling things well.”
“No shit.” Bitterness crept into my voice. “A fucking motorcycle? What was he thinking?”
“I wish I knew. We haven’t spoken in weeks.”
My head snapped up. “What?”
Elena’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze fixed on some distant point.
“I thought—” The pieces refused to align in my mind. “Weren’t you two together?”
“I have a patient.” Elena hitched a thumb over her shoulder, and I recognized the deflection for what it was. “You good?”
“Yeah. I’m good. Thank you.”
“Of course.” Elena stood and smoothed two hands over her scrub top coving her stomach. She took a few steps toward the door before throwing her next words over her shoulder. “Kai? She’ll remember.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded. Because what else could I do but hope?
When I pushed to stand, I wobbled a bit on unsteady legs, but quickly got my shit together. There was a bar waiting for me, customers to serve, liquor to inventory. A life to get back to.
The life I’d had before Charlie Everton walked into it and made me believe in second chances.
I couldn’t do this.I couldn’t be in this bar, be in the apartment without her.
Everything reminded me of Charlie. The stairs where I’d caught her that morning after our almost-kiss, her body fitting perfectly against mine. The barstool where she’d first sat, nervously ordering a beer she didn’t even want. The storage room where she’d followed me after the festival, demanding I stop fighting what was between us.
And upstairs... Fuck. Upstairs was worse.
Her manuscript pages were still scattered across my bed where we’d left them Sunday morning, red pen marks bleeding across white paper like wounds. Her coffee mug—the one with the dragon wrapped around it that I’d bought her as a joke—sat on my nightstand, lipstick stains on the rim.
Five weeks I’d kept everything exactly as she’d left it. Like some kind of shrine. Like if I didn’t move anything, she’d wake up and come back and...
And what? Remember me?
The doctors had said the memories might return gradually. Or all at once. Or never. But watching her look at me with thoseblank eyes, hearing her polite “Kai, right?”—like I was just some guy she’d met once at a wedding...
I grabbed a bottle of Jack from behind the bar. Not to drink. Just to hold. Just to feel the familiar weight of temptation in my hand.
Three years sober. Three years of choosing to face every fucking nightmare stone-cold because I’d promised my unborn child I’d do better. Be better.
But Kelsey was gone. And now Charlie was...
The bottle slammed against the wall before I even realized I’d thrown it. Glass shattered, whiskey running down the wall like tears.
“Shit.” I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. “Shit, shit,shit.”
My phone buzzed a few times in my pocket. Probably Elena, checking if I was okay. Or Elliot, wanting to talk about Chase. Or...
I pulled it out, my heart stopping when I saw the name.
MATTHEW
Just finished the second round of edits on Charlie’s manuscript.
