“You think that was a solid argument,” Tommy rumbles. “Lumping Rose and Lana into the same basket, but all you did was prove this isnotpurely professional. You know it’s not. We know it’s not.”
“I called you, remember?” I tip my head back, the muffled thump of my skull hitting the headrest vibrating throughout the cab of my truck. “I’m aware lines are being crossed. I know there’s a gray area where there should be none. But don’t act like you’ve caught me in a lie or like I’ve been sneaking around. I’m owning who I am, and trying, so fucking hard, to do the right thing by Rose.”
“The right thing is to let her go,” Eliza groans. “Check on her in a professional capacity to assuage your guilt and curiosity. She’ll cry tomorrow, because she’s scared and she has a right to express her emotions, but you need to cut the cord now and let this fall how it’s meant to.”
“And we can check on her, too,” Alana adds helpfully, a reassuring smile pushing her dimples into play. “As her friends, we can swing by the home in a day or two. Give her a minute to settle in, then we’ll bring her some more stuff and help her unpack.”
I draw a long, heaving breath, filling my lungs and expanding my chest, then I exhale again. I didn’t realize how fucking cold it is out here till my breath comes out as a white fog. “You’re right. All of you. Thank you.”
“It’s not that we don’t like her,” Eliza murmurs. “It’s not even like she wouldn’t be the cutest, sweetest addition to the family… in another life. But she isn’t from here. Whoever she is, whatever career she had, and the family she surrounded herself with, they’re somewhere else. Her life is somewhere else. Wrapping her in a burlap sack and hoping her memory loss is permanent, all because she’s witty and funny and looks good in a pair of jeans, isn’t the right thing to do. It’s not what’s best for her, Ollie.”
“I’m glad you called,” Tommy rumbles. “I’m glad we could be here for you when shit got heavy.”
“I’m gonna let her go.” Nodding, I close my eyes and lick my lips. “Let her find her new normal.”
“Even if she’s cute,” Eliza snickers, the sound watery and weak. “You’re doing the right thing.”
ROUND FOURTEEN
ROSE
“There you are, Rose.” The man from my dreams walks toward me again, smiling so bright, he makes my stomach tingle with pleasure. He approaches without a single hitch in his step, and still, miraculously, the fear doesn’t come. He wears jeans with dirt stains on the knees and a pair of work boots, the steel toe kind, with the rubber outer worn away to reveal a glistening cap on the front. He’s still wearing his wire-frame glasses, but the closer he comes, the clearer a dirty smudge becomes right in the middle of the left lens. He takes my hands and draws me in, then he presses a kiss to my cheek.
Left. Then right.
So soft, so sweet.
“You remembered.”
“Rose?” I swallow, and because Iknowthis is a dream, I take note of his features. His inch-long hair and long, dark lashes. The stubble on his jaw, the birthmark on the back of his hand, and the strong scent of dirt he brings every time he appears in my sleep. “Is my name Rose?”
“This is your subconscious,” he chuckles. “I only know what you already know.”
“But can you confirm anyway?” I study his broad chest and the chain hung around his neck. Then his arms, thick and strong and tattooed. He works with his body. He works hard. “You’d tell me if I was wrong, wouldn’t you?”
“Your name is Rose.” With pride burning in his eyes, he drops his chin in confirmation. “And I’m Liam.”
I draw a shuddering, aching breath. “Really?”
“But you already knew that, too. Didn’t you, Rose?”
“I-I don?—”
“You found another protector.” He massages the side of my wrists with his thumbs, grinning as tears itch and swell and trickle onto my cheek. “I’m so glad you did. Youneedpeople like him around, especially as everything becomes clearer again.”
“O-Ollie? Is that who you me?—”
“You have to wake up now.” He presses a kiss to my jaw, soft and sweet and lingering just long enough for the scent of soil and his aftershave to tickle my lungs, then pulling back, he winks and blinks out of existence.
Gone.
I open my eyes and stare at the stark white walls of my hospital room. The bathroom door is closed, and if turned over, I’d find the outside world covered in white. So much snow. So annoyingly consistent.
Have I always hated the winter?
Swallowing, I remain impossibly still, secretly watchful as Janine tiptoes through the shadows and carefully sets a breakfast tray on my rolling table. As quietly as she can, she presses her fingers to my rattling silverware and restacks the toppled juice and a double serve of fruit cups, then, turning toward the door, her shoulders high, she tiptoes away.
“I can see you.”
