Page 92 of The End of Me

Ms. Cooperson sent me an email saying it had the right tone and that, after she’s done editing it, she’d send it back so I can work on her suggestions.

I don’t want to start outlining book two until I get her feedback. I’m readingAmerican Gods and watching the series. They’re nothing like what I want to write. I have to start the outline for that book because I would love to write with Ms. Cooperson. I could build the perfect woman with her attitude and the face and body of dream girl.

The day we’re set to leave for Greece, I contact Derek.

Unknown number: D, are you there?

Derek: Who is this?

Unknown number: Is this Derek?

Derek: Yes, but who is this?

Unknown number: Good, you still have this number.

Derek: Who is this?

Unknown number:They used to call me Travis. We met in Panama.

My phone rings immediately. “Hey.”

“Are you okay, Travis?”

“Yes, I am, but that’s not my name.”

“Thank fuck!”

“You sound worried and relieved.”

“I heard Zamudio was under attack a year ago, and he went underground. One of his sons died. Since you stopped using my credit card, I just thought…”

“It wasn’t me. Junior died, but I heard it was after the attack.”

“What did you do, kid?”

“Believe me, I wish it had been me who killed him, but it wasn’t. Also, I’m not a kid. According to the doctor, I’m between the ages of twenty-five and twenty-eight.”

“You still can’t remember anything.”

Only the girl in my dreams,I don’t say out loud. That’s all that comes to mind every time I close my eyes. Purple eyes, different shades of hair color, and a laugh. It’s like a melody. Music to my soul.

“You okay? You went silent there for a second.”

“Yeah, I’m good. But still nothing. I can’t remember shit,” I confirm, letting him know my diagnosis and the doctors I’ve visited since I came to England. Of course, I don’t disclose where I’m living.

“Where are you?”

“Safe.”

“You don’t want me to know, do you?”

I clear my throat. “Are you still doing contracts?”

“Not after I left Panama. I’m laying low in case the cartel is looking for me.” He snorts. “I’m actually using my degree to help others.”

I snort. He makes it sound as if he didn’t help me while he was in Panama. If it wasn’t for him, I would still be a vegetable laying on a bed—or even dead, for that matter.

“You’re safe,” I assure him. “They think you died in the fire. Ricardo thought one of his guys got rid of you, and of course, he took the praise and ran with it.”

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