“You’re hurting, too.” I recall his tortured eyes as he told me the truth of what happened that fateful night. I couldn’t imagine almost losing Ethan. I would’ve felt the same way that Ashton did if roles were reversed. “Noah.” I taste his name on my tongue. I associate him with mangos. At least, that’s what I’ve written about in my book.What’s real and what’s fiction?“You said he’s missing?”
Ashton grimaces and nods. “I think he lost hope that you would remember him, and well, it drove him mad. Your parents wouldn’t allow him to contact you.”
Frustration flares in my chest at the mention of my parents. They lied to me. Mom, Dad, Ethan, and even Sam. They all told me I was in a Jet Ski accident when the reality was that I was almost taken. Murdered. And a man I had supposedly fallen in love with almost died protecting me. Then I went and hit reset on my brain.
How could they? How could they do this to me and Noah? I don’t remember him like I should, I think, but I feel a sense of righteous anger on his behalf. In my head, he’s been with me for a year. It’s like Idoknow him in some sense of the word. How much has he suffered because of my memory loss? If we were genuinely in love, then what pain must he have been in?
I’m recalling every scene I drafted in a new light. Seeing red and not giving a crud if this makes my family mad, I stand straighter and look Ashton in the eyes. “What do I need to do?”
Ashton raises his brows in question.
I clarify. “Let’s find your brother. Let’s find Noah.”
Chapter Seven
My One Condition ~ early July
Isit side-by-side with Ashton on my tiny but bulbous burnt-orange couch inside my camper as we thumb through my heavily marked-up manuscript. He followed me back home after we ate. Orheate, I should rephrase. I stole a few french fries and a hushpuppy but couldn’t stomach much else. The rest of the lunch, we worked on a game plan to try and find his brother, who has seemingly fallen off the face of the earth.
According to Ashton, Noah is not on social media. He’s never liked it, and their sister manages their marketing (who turns out to be the Branda lady he mentioned being on the phone with at our first meeting). When Branda Prewitt stumbled upon my reel about my book, she showed Ashton, and, well, the rest is history, as they say. But by that point, Noah had already left. He had left a note explaining he needed to get away for a while and recollect himself. He had left his phone, laptop, and keys by his bedside. The only thing he had taken with him was a bag of clothes, his notebook, and his favorite pen. He virtually left himself untraceable, though judging by the coming anniversaryof the day I lost my mind and forgot him, we have an idea where he might be.
“As I said, there’s a solid chance he’s back in Bora Bora, Esme. Are you sure you’re willing to go back there with me to try and find him?” Ashton’s intense stare makes me squirm, and the thought of flying across the world with a man I barely know is not necessarily comforting, but I owe this to Ashton. I owe it to his family. I owe it to Noah. I owe it to the woman I was while in Bora Bora previously. I owe it to the novel. I owe it to the current version of myself.
“Outside of assisting you, maybe it will make these memories I’ve written about in the book feel more real. Or completely come back all together.” I toss a smile his way, but he still looks wary. I nudge his shoulder with mine. “Relax, Ashton. I said I would do it, and I mean it. Plus, you said you were paying, right?”
Finally, he cracks a smile. “Yes, I’m covering the cost. Noah would disown me if I didn’t treat his woman with any less respect.”
He’s got that right,fictional Noah huffs. Should I tell Ashton that I hear his brother in my head all. the. time?
His woman.I keep the smile on my face to try and hide my discomfort over the phrase. As much as I ship Esme and Noah in my romance novel, I’m not sure about the real-life people. Heck, I wrote Esme as a more outgoing, carefree version of who I really am. Who is to say this Noah guy is exactly the way I wrote him in the book?Ashton,my voice retorts. As we’ve gone through the story together, he’s noted how precisely I’ve captured the essence of his twin within the pages.
But no one is that perfect. Book boyfriends don’t magically step out of novels even though I pretend that’s the case in my own novel when Esme meets Noah.
I’m confused. A ball of muddled memories blended with fiction.
Ashton clears his throat. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to imply the two of you are still together.” He stands and grabs his glass of water from the tiny island inside my kitchenette. “When we find Noah,” he takes a sip, “please do not feel like you have to continue a relationship with him. The two of you only knew each other a week, and while he fell head over heels for you, it does not mean that you both are the person you were a year ago. So much has happened, and—”
I stand and cut him off, placing a hand on his forearm. “I know, Ashton. Please stop tiptoeing around me and fretting. I know what I’m getting myself into, and I am fully on board.” No one gets permission to treat me like I’m broken and fragile anymore. I might be swimming in befuddlement, but I know one thing: the real Noah is the key to clarification. “We will find your brother, and whatever happens after that will happen. But first, let’s put our energy into the search.”
Ashton cuts his eyes to where my hand rests, and I drop my arm. I was mooning over this man when I first saw him, and I definitely developed a crush. But that is long gone. Not when I know there is a real-life Noah Ashton in the picture. Or, Noah Ashley Prewitt, as Ashton informed me.
I step back and stare at Ashton's profile as he sips his water, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. He resembles Noah so much it sends a pang through my soul that I was, at one point in my life, destined to belong to him. But as I study Ashton—those dark curls, hazel eyes, full lips—a dawning begins. Something that once was fuzzy starts to clear.
Esme Samantha Prewitt. There's a familiarity to it, as if I've said it before. Or perhaps someone has said it to me. “In the book,” I say slowly, steadying my breathing as the image in my memory crystallizes. “In the book, Noah proposes to Esme before they leave."
Ashton rolls his lips, rocking back and forth on his heels, averting his gaze.
“Ashton,” I growl in a low warning. I’ve been on an emotional rollercoaster today, and I’m ready to tip the cart.
He throws up his hands in defense. “He had texted me and told me he was bringing you home and that he wanted to marry you. I’ll show you the text messages between us, but I don’t want to feed too much into the narrative. I think that’s something you and Noah should discuss together. He never told me if he actually asked you or if you agreed.”
My knees shake as my head grows light. I sit down, placing my head between my legs while trying to unravel the idea I might have been engaged to Noah Ashley Prewitt.
How do I even begin to process this? I don’t know what’s real and what’s made up at this point. I glance down at my bare ring finger. I don’t remember having a ring when I woke up from the coma, but those weeks that followed are still a little hazy.
My camper door flies open. “Esme!” a shrill voice calls. The camper rocks as my mom, with her brown but graying hair and frantic expression, steps through the door. My dad, with his thinning gray hair and a tired posture, follows. My parents’ eyes bounce from me to Ashton.
Ashton, surprising me once again, steps toward them and greets them by name using a clipped tone. “Melina. Gregory.” He holds out his hand as I sit stunned on the couch. “Ashton Prewitt. Noah’s twin.”
