I think I already have.
Sleep never lasts long and always brings something dark with it. I wake up gasping, my heart racing, tears streaming down my face. I never remember dreaming—just the feeling left behind. Like I’m trapped. Like I’ll never be free again.
How could I have forgotten my entire life? My name. My childhood. My parents. Have I ever loved someone? Has someone ever loved me back?
The thick scars around my wrists catch the dim light from the bulb over my bed. I sobbed so long and so hard when I first saw them, Dr. Reyes worried I’d tear my stitches. They’re ugly, but it’s more than that. How evil were the people who took me that they had to—what?—tie me up or chain me for days or weeks? And what happens when—or if—I remember the horrors that left them?
Everything’s fuzzy. Like I’ve had half a dozen shots of tequila on an empty stomach. When I move, my head fills with static that builds and builds until I feel like I’m about to fall out of bed—despite the rails on either side of me.
Exhaustion burns my eyes. The shadows are still there, and every time they move, I’m less and less sure they’re just shadows.
Dr. Reyes keeps assuring me I’ll get my memory back eventually. But if I do, will I survive knowing who hurt me? And why?
Sunlight spills across the tile floor. But the cold knot in my stomach laughs in the face of its warmth.
“Buenos dias, my dear.” The doctor slips into the room carrying a plate covered with tin foil. “I thought you might like an ‘American’ breakfast today. Eggs and hash browns.”
As soon as he pulls off the foil, my stomach lurches. The smell is…wrong. Bile burns the back of my throat. “No. God, no.”
I can’t even look at the food without wanting to throw up.
“¡Lourdes, entra aquí! ¡Quita este plato!” Dr. Reyes calls, and the nurse rushes in and snatches the plate from his hand.
Once it’s gone, I can breathe again.
Pulling a pen light from his pocket, Reyes checks my eyes and frowns. “Have you been nauseous all night?”
“No.” I collapse back against the pillows as another staticky zap inside my head turns the world sideways for a beat.
“You had huevos rancheros yesterday. Those did not bother you. I thought something familiar might help trigger your memories. But perhaps your body is remembering what your mind cannot. Pain hides in the strangest places.”
I should like eggs. Or…at least be able to eat them without smothering them in salsa. Right? What happened to me that I can’t even look at them?
Dr. Reyes checks my temperature, then pats my shoulder lightly. “Lourdes made gorditas de harina this morning as well. They are not unlike pancakes. Can I have her bring you some? You must keep up your strength.”
Now that I’m no longer about to vomit, I am hungry. I nod, careful not to trigger another one of those awful brain zaps.
And when he slides a plate of sweet, crispy griddle cakes in front of me, I eat every bite.
AJ
Fifteen of the longest hours of my life come to an end as Jasper parks the SUV in front of a clay-walled, single story building in the middle of nowhere, Mexico. Connor and Parker pull up right behind us.
My wife is in there somewhere. Injured. Confused. With no idea who she is—or who I am.
I grab the duffel bag with Grace’s things—her favorite sweater, the silky pjs she always wore on cold nights, the quilt her mother made for our wedding, and the perfume I’ve been spraying on her pillow every Saturday night just so I could smell her again—and head for the front door.
Jasper, Connor, and Parker follow close behind.
But my steps slow, then stop too soon. What if the doctor was wrong? What if the woman he’s treating isn’t Grace?
Hope is a dangerous thing. For years, I lived on scraps of it. Barely enough to breathe, let alone survive. But now? I’m bursting with it. If that’s not my wife in there, I’ll crash and burn so hard and fast, I’ll never recover.
“Go on, Aaron,” Jasper says, his hand on my shoulder. “We got your back.”
I swallow hard. No one calls me Aaron. Not anymore. Even our mama calls me AJ. For years, the only one who ever used my first name was Grace. Even then, she reserved it for sex, or when I was being a complete dumbass.
I should apologize to my brother—for shutting him out when he told me to move on, for ignoring every olive branch he offered after.
