“I’m sorry if that hurts you.”
“Itdoeshurt,” I say as I wipe my face and look into his eyes. “Bad. Do you have any idea how it feels to look into the eyes of the man you love and not even see him in there? It’s you, but it’s not. You may be the one with amnesia, but you’re definitely not the only one who has lost something.”
I wave a hand around. “You have no idea what this place is, and it kills me. I watched you as you walked up the path, hoping that when you saw the tree there would be some glimmer of a memory. That coming here, bringing you here, would be what caused you to remember. Because…” I swallow back more tears. “B-because this isourtree, Trevor. We started meeting here when I was thirteen and my mom didn’t want me dating. We had our first kiss under this tree. It was a Saturday afternoon in October, and it had just rained.” I point. “There was a rainbow right over there.
“And when we were sixteen”—I close my eyes, reliving the memory as I say the words—“we made love for the first time right here, losing our virginity together. It was September twenty-first. A Thursday. The sun was setting and there was a chill in the air. You wrapped us in a blanket.” Tears roll in a steady stream down my face, and I don’t bother wiping them. “How can you not know all this?” My head slumps into my hands and I sob.
He gives me a minute to compose myself. But he just sits there quietly. No hand on my back. No soothing words. He doesn’t even attempt to help calm me down like he used to.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I wish I could remember you. Feel what you’re feeling. My body and head don’t know what to feel. For all it knows, you could be my sister.”
My heart loses all rhythm as I feel completely deflated.His sister?What do I say to that? Whatisthere to say to that? Maybe there is nothing I can say. But there sure as hell is something I cando.
Rising on my knees, straddling him before he can protest, I say, “Would a sister do this?”
Then I kiss him.
His lips are soft and warm and familiar, and I’m sure this is what needed to be done all along. The one thing necessary to bring him back to me.
But when he doesn’t kiss me back and his lips remain closed, a barrier against mine, my belly becomes a sinking stone.
Just as I’m about to give up, pull away and lick my deep wounds, he starts kissing me back. And, oh, god, all those familiar twinges and tingles rush throughout my body. One of his hands reaches behind my neck and holds me to him. The other presses against my lower back beneath my thick winter coat, the cast a barrier and reminder of things I’m eager to ignore. To put behind us.
I want to shriek in triumph as our tongues intermingle. He knows this. He knowsme. He’s coming back to me. My Trevor. My love.
We make out like we did when we were teenagers under this very tree. Only this kiss is different. More demanding. Harsher in a way, like it’s something he needs as much as wants. We kiss until we’re breathless, but even then, we don’t stop. He breathes into me. I breathe into him. We’re one again, and it’s the best feeling in the world.
Our lips part and our foreheads touch. “Trev, baby. Thank God.”
He straightens, inching himself back. “Ava.”
I can see it in his eyes before the words come out.
He shrinks away from my gaze, ridges etching his brow. “That was nice, and you’re very beautiful, but…”
I slide off his lap and drop down next to him, tears blinding me as I angle away from him.
“Listen.” He belts out a frustrated sigh. “This doesn’t mean I won’t get my memory back.”
Distraught, I whisper, “It’s been three weeks, Trevor.”
“And it could take three more. Or even months. There are no concrete guidelines for healing from TBIs.”
“What if it never returns? What then? Will you even try?”
I know he knows what I’m asking. Will he try to live his life withme. Here in this town. Under this tree. Or will he decide that’s not the life he wants. ThatI’mnot who he wants.
Tell him!
“Trevor.” My lungs swell with a deep inhale of crisp air. “I have to tell you something.”
His frustrated sigh is explosive. “I think I’ve learned enough for one day. Please understand how overwhelming this is. I know what the doctors said, but can we just take baby steps here? One day at a time. One moment at a time.”
Well, shit.I can’t tell him now. Telling him he’s going to be a dad is definitely not a baby step. It’s a monumentally huge leap that I now fear might send him running for the hills of The Adirondacks.
“If I can’t tell you something, can I at least ask you something?”
He looks hesitant, then nods.
