Turning to glare at him, I snap, “I don’t knowme, remember?” Zombie looks so taken aback by my reminder that I can’t stop the snort that escapes. “Sorry, that was uncalled for.”
“No, it wasn’t. It’s easy to forget that you still haven’t recovered all of your memories because you seem so… normal.”
“I’m doing my best.”
We fall into a comfortable silence while we wait for Lyric. Being around Zombie gives me a sense of normalcy in an otherwise chaotic existence since the accident. I try to pretend everything is fine when I’m with Lyric, and for the most part, Ithink I’ve done a good job of hiding my turmoil, but today was hard.
It’s one thing to be at the clubhouse, surrounded by strangers who are becoming more and more familiar with each passing day. It’s something else entirely to be here and surrounded by strangers who I’m unable to identify as friend or foe.
Many of those in attendance today made me nervous and uncomfortable. Most of them called me by name, hugged me, and offered their condolences while others recounted past events as if they happened yesterday. And all the while, I smiled and nodded in an effort not to have my amnesia become a topic of conversation when it’s Rowdy we’re all here to celebrate.
“Get your hands off my girl.”
Lyric’s order snaps me out of my thoughts, and I force a smile at him as Zombie releases me and takes a few steps back.
“Ready to ride?” Zombie asks.
“Always,” Lyric says without looking away from me. “You ready, pretty girl?”
The nickname triggers a memory, and I sway as it takes hold.
“Hey, pretty girl.”
I toss my suitcase into the backseat of the Jeep before climbing in and smiling at Rowdy. My wedding dress makes getting in difficult, but I manage.
Every second of my last time with Pop filters through my mind. Our conversation, our teasing about what I could do to piss Lyric off, his arm coming across my chest, the semi’s brake lights, the gunshot.
Wait… gunshot?
“Mellie?”
Strong arms wrap around me, and I shake my head to clear it. “I remember,” I whisper, resting my forehead against Lyric’s chest.
“Remember what?” he asks.
“The accident,” I reply, stepping back to lock eyes with him. “Lyric, did the police ever figure out where the gunshot came from?”
His body goes rigid. “What gunshot?” he demands.
“There was a gunshot right about the same time we hit the semi.”
“You’re sure about that?” Zombie asks. “Maybe it was just the sounds of the crash.”
I glare at him. “I know what a damn gun sounds like.”
“Right. Of course, you do.”
The implications of someone shooting at Rowdy and me begin to register. “It wasn’t an accident, was it?” I ask Lyric.
His expression hardens, and he narrows his eyes. “No.”
I study him for a moment, and then my eyes widen. “You knew that, though,” I say. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
“Yes.”
Taking a deep breath, I ball my hands into fists at my sides. I want to punch him, rage at him for keeping that tidbit from me, but I refuse to disgrace Rowdy with my actions.
“We’ll discuss this later,” I say, letting all my anger bleed into my words.
