“Good. Now...” I grab another beer bottle, handing it over. “For Hailey.”
He nods, a deep eleven on his forehead as I wave him off, listening to his—no longer dragged—footsteps and Hailey’s quiet “What did he want?”
“Just gave me a beer for you,” Jensen replies, the tension in his voice betraying a lie.
I don’t turn to check if Hailey’s eyes are burning holes in the back of my head. I feel the heat of her annoyance for a lingering moment until they walk away.
Finishing my beer, I shimmy back into my clothes, still pissed off that I’m forced to wear jeans and a tee instead of my usual white shirt, smart pants, and waistcoat. Nash’s casual style is far from my comfort zone but I’d draw too much unwanted attention in my usual attire.
I grab the last beer for the trek back to campus, and make my way back around the lake, taking a second to peek inside the party building and check Jensen’s behaving himself.
I find Hailey first, by the window, chatting with Chloe Kowalski, daughter to some New York banker and sister to Levi, who’s making out with his girlfriend, Amari, five steps away. I checked their bios after Hailey got friendly with them.
Jensen’s halfway across the room by the DJ station, his shoulders tense as he spots me in the doorway.
He’s the type of guy who wants to be the shit only to shit his pants at the first hint of trouble. I bet he’ll sleep with one eye open for the foreseeable future.
Good choice.
15
Hailey
Ibarely slept, tossing, and turning until the early hours while replaying my newly returned memories on repeat. I must’ve grabbed my cell phone at least half a dozen times throughout the night, my finger hovering overDad, ready to dial, but the ungodly time stopped me from sending the call.
Now, it doesn’t.
It’s eight o’clock.
I’m showered, pampered, my scars moisturized and concealed, my clothes pressed. I’m ready for breakfast, the fresh scratches marking my neck hidden under a silk scarf. I found not one, butfiveinmy suitcase. I’m unnaturally pleased at Dad’s foresight that I’d want to hide the scabs I’ve torn off.
It doesn’t cover everything, but a dab of concealer leaves the marks barely visible.
Inhaling a deep breath, I make the call.
“Morning, sunshine,” Dad chirps, full of smiles. I imagine his face softening, lips curling, and the almost permanentparallel lines down his forehead ironing themselves out. “How are you doing? How was the party last night?”
“It was fine. Not entirely my scene,” I admit, as I nervously twist and pull a loose thread of my thin, knitted jumper. “I’m getting my memories back, Dad.” My voice betrays how relieved I am that Dr. Phillips was right and this neutral environment is working. “Not all of them, but I remembered something last night... it just doesn’t make sense.”
“We shouldn’t talk about this over the phone.”
“But... why? I don’t understand.”
A loaded silence settles between us. I glance at the screen to make sure he’s still there.
He takes a while to respond, like he’s weighing every possible reply before settling on one. “You know how easy it is to tap a phone, sunshine.”
My eyes narrow as I glare at the opposite wall. Dad’s always been paranoid about privacy. “I know, butwhydoes it matter if someone overhears? And why would anyone want to tap my phone? It’s new, Dad. You bought it last week.”
He grinds his teeth so hard it comes through the speaker. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter if anyone hears. I’m tired, I guess, a little more than usual.” He audibly swallows something—probably a sip of black coffee. “Go on, tell me what you remember.”
The memory returns, a short, looped clip inside my head. It’s hard to tell if Dad knows about whatever’s been happening between Alex and me, but as they work together, I don’t think opening withI remember Alex choking meis the way to go, so I edit the sentence.
“I remember Alex. Well, in a way. I don’t know who he is exactly, but I saw him twice last night. Who is he?”
Dad sighs deeply. It’s just a sigh, but I know what it means: he won’t tell me shit. “Dr. Phillips thinks it’s best I don’t say toomuch. You need to get those memories back in your own time. We can’t risk overwhelming you.”
“I’m not asking for a detailed rendition of the last two years, Dad. I only want to know who Alex is.”
