I’m not sure if I’ve come out tonight determined to learn more about myself… or about the man seated across from me, but in as little as a few interactions, I’ve come to understand that Darcy Bisek likes expensive wine, places his phone on the table, screen-side down, sits with perfect posture always, and that he stares.
A lot.
Does he not need to blink? Ever?
“I’ve noticed I spout offdid you knowslike my mouth is a cannon and facts are confetti.” I settle back with bad posture, but not before selecting a breadstick from the basket in the center of our table. “Did I always do that?”
He swirls his glass of wine so the liquid glitters under candlelight. “Yes. Always. It was a fun party trick you pulled out often, especially during social situations that involved our colleagues. We both work in male-dominated fields, and being so beautiful meant fools often made assumptions about your intellect.”
Surprised, I nibble on the end of my breadstick, my brow popping high on my forehead. “People assumed I was dumb?”
“Only once each.” He chuckles. “I always enjoyed when you’d let them droll on for a little while, puff their chests, and talk down at you. They considered themselves quite superior and happily dug their own graves, so to speak.” He takes a slow sip of his wine, as though contemplating the fruity flavor. “And then you’d bring the hammer down and make them look stupid.”
Competitive.We knew that about me already.
“In fact, I fell victim to your ruse early on. You were young and stunning, and I was…” He considers, then settles with a gentle snicker. “A mere mortal. I was twenty-five years old, and most of my work week was spent with blue-collar men. Builders. Contractors. Civil works folks. I was one of three brothers, and my father, while a good man, required what my mother described as significant training.”
“Training? That’s an interesting word choice.”
“Family joke.” He grins. “Regardless, I’d crammed my foot firmly inside my mouth almost as soon as we met, and I was left scrambling, trying to fix things before you decided I wasn’t worth your time. Kinda like now.”
Does he feel like he’s scrambling? Am I making him scramble?
“Do I have any siblings?” I cross my legs beneath the table, brushing breadstick crumbs from my thighs. “Nieces or nephews on my side of the family?”
He shakes his head, almost sorrowful in his role as messenger. Then he nods, his eyes softening.
“Yesandno? I’m afraid you’re sending mixed signals.”
He chokes out a nervous laugh, wheezing and covering the sound with a sip of his wine. “Honestly, I haven’tnotfelt like an asshole since I arrived in Plainview, because your life happened the way it happened, and all the bad things were spread out over many years. That made it so we could face each event together. At a much more reasonable, manageable pace. But dropping it all on you in the space of an afternoon or two.” He hooks afinger into the collar of his shirt, pulling it away from his throat. “You had a brother.”
My stomach tumbles, my brows crumbling with it. “Had?”
He sighs. “Seth. He was three years older than you, and from all you’ve told me, he was your best friendandyour mortal enemy. Sibling bickering was a staple within your relationship.”
“Fromwhat I told you?” I’m a broken record, repeating his words back at him like I have nothing more intelligent to say. But with every morsel of information I receive, I swim in a world stranger than the one I woke up in, with my memories wiped and no clue who I was. Stranger than looking into a kind doctor’s eyes and realizing I didn’t know where I was. Or why I was there. I didn’t even know which flavor of juice I preferred: orange or apple. “M-my brother died?” My words come out on a rasping, aching croak. “But you didn’t know him?”
“He was a war hero. Army ranger.” His Adam’s apple bobs, fighting with his collar. “He fell in combat a few weeks after we met. You stood me up on our third date. Or so I thought. We’d planned a nice evening where I was going to cook for you. Prove to you I was worthy,” he jokes. He tries to, anyway. “I’d prepared everything, nervous as hell, because I’d realized how special you were, and I knew, even then, I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life. Does that feel weird?” His voice changes, from storytelling mode to something a little more animated. He sits forward at the table and wrinkles his nose. “I know this is probably overwhelming, because I’m speaking of you like I’ve known you forever—which, I feel like I have. But in your mind, I imagine it feels like we met… well… yesterday.”
I nibble on the inside of my lip and lift my shoulder, shrugging. “It’s a little weird.”
“Do you want me to stop?” He sets his wine down and rests on his elbows. “I can tell you about your family without mentioning our relationship if you’d prefer. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“This is why we’re here, right?” I bounce-bounce-bounce my foot beneath the table, brutally aware of the phone crushed beneath my backside. “I want to know everything. So, my brother?”
“Right.” He shoves back again, jittery and nervous in his movements. “So, you were only eighteen at the time. Seth was twenty-one. You weren’t sure exactly where he was, since they kept that information private. I was expecting you at my home by seven, so when seven-thirty came and went, I tried to call. By eight, I was worried. By nine, I figured you’d decided you were no longer interested, but didn’t quite know how to tell me.”
“I was at home, dealing with my brother’s loss?”
He drops his chin, gently nodding. “You’d checked your phone at some point around ten and saw my calls and texts. That’s when you replied, letting me know what had happened. Your parents were distraught, and you were all alone, so I came over to your house and sat with you. I’m not sure we’ve been apart since then.” He tilts his head to the side. “Well, until this year, that is.”
“That’s…” Is it normal to grieve a brother I don’t remember? A war hero Ishouldknow, in my soul, even if my memories have gone blank? “That’s a lot of loss for a young woman to experience.” I bring my eyes up to his and try for a smile. “Did you know relationships that start during, or shortly after, a traumatic event are far more likely to fail? They typically hinge on unhealthy attachments and a bond that is neither strong nor sustainable.”
He grins, nodding like he’s had this conversation a million times in the past. “I did know that.”
“Do you think our relationship was love, the way love is meant to be? Or a trauma bond and a young woman desperately searching for a buoy to cling to during life’s storms?”
“Uh, w-well?—”
