Page 31 of Accidentally Mine
“You’re welcome to.I can’t get this one to watch.”She hip-bumped me and pretended to whisper into his ear, though she said the words loud enough that the whole neighborhood could probably hear.“Prude.”
“Auntie!”I could have smacked her, ill health or not.
Brent watched me, a smile of amusement on his face.Then he shook my aunt’s hand.“It was a pleasure meeting you,” he said, briefly glancing at her before turning his attention to me.“Well.Goodbye, Roselynn.Will you be at our café tomorrow?”
Ourcafé.
I knew I shouldn’t.I needed to concentrate on my aunt, on getting my dad’s affairs settled, his business taken care of, and his house sold.I needed to get that done and leave town.
Curt.Formal.Those words played over and over in my head until they lost all meaning.Because, as I gazed into his eyes, all I could think about was what might be.And the words left my mouth before I could even think about reeling them in.“Nine?Starlight.”
He nodded.“Nine.”
I was in such deep shit, I didn’t even know if it was possible now to recover.
When he left, I watched out the door as he climbed into the car, not looking back.
Marie pinched my side.“You know, we have my doctor’s appointment tomorrow at eleven.”
“Crap!”We took the T up to her neurologist every week, in Bunker Hill.She was right.How could I have forgotten?“Oh, my god.I don’t even have a way to call him to cancel.”
She patted my hand.“That’s all right.I can probably make it myself.”
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders.“No way!I can’t let you go alone.I’ll just miss the café.It’s not a big deal.I can’t get too involved, anyway.I have to leave the city soon.”
She gave me a doubtful look.“Right.But he’s a hunk, isn’t he?”
I rolled my eyes and found myself looking out the window, long after the beautiful car had pulled away, as if I expected him to come back.“People don’t use the word ‘hunk’ anymore, Auntie.”
“Even so,” she said, winking at me.“I know you think he is one.You’re all red.”
I felt my cheeks.They were hot.
And no.I didn’t think he was a hunk.Anthony, maybe, was a hunk.But this man?He was something much, much more.I hadn’t defined it yet, but god, how I wanted to.
Dammit.
7
Brent
Iwoke, soaked in perspiration, with a pounding headache.
I’d gone to bed thinking of Roselynn, and thought I’d dream about her—another one of those hot sex dreams that had become a staple of my last few nights of sleep.Instead, no café.No Roselynn, giving me come-hither looks as she guided my hand under her skirt.I had only the usual nightmare involving the truck.And turquoise eyes that had seemed even clearer this time.
I reached into the night table drawer and grabbed a bottle of prescription-strength acetaminophen tablets.I had them all over the house, in every room.When I shook it, though, I realized it was empty.
I needed to get up and take my morning pill cocktail, anyway: Neurontin for seizures, Aricept for memory issues, as well as a few others I couldn’t pronounce, in addition to several nutritional supplements, all which were supposed to help with different aspects of the aftereffects of the accident.As I lay on my back, willing myself to get my ass out of bed and face the slicing head pain I knew would greet me once I moved, I thought of those eyes.
Turquoise.Piercing.As much a part of me now as my own heart.
My attention landed on the framed photograph on the dresser across the room.I’d been just fourteen and had just won the Massachusetts Junior Olympic Archery Championships for the second year in a row, the first kid ever to do that.In the picture, I was looking pretty badass, posing with my Bear Archery Grizzly Bow, a gift for my thirteenth birthday and a piece my dad had saved all year to be able to afford.Probably the best gift I’d ever gotten.
I closed my eyes, trying to remember the look on my father’s face when I won that second medal.It was probably the greatest day in my life, and I thought it’d be engrained in my memory forever.
But as I squeezed my eyes closed in concentration, I realized I couldn’t remember it.I couldn’t remember how nervous I’d felt going up to shoot.I couldn’t remember the crowd in the stands, whether there were cheers or absolute silence.I couldn’t remember landing that winning bullseye.And I couldn’t remember my father’s face.The only evidence I had left that it’d ever happened, now, was the picture.
How could my memory be disappearing, but those turquoise eyes were becoming clearer?
