“She’ll live through you, babe. She’ll be there in your heart, just like your necklace says. I believe she’s with you now and always will be.”
“But I can’t give her back her voice until I can remember my own,” I whisper.
“Do you want to see Lennon’s house? Maybe something will be familiar to you there.”
I turn and face him. “Yes, please. Will you take me? Like right now?”
“Let’s go, Valkyrie.”
11
Dash stops in front of a cute white brick house with dark brown shutters. The front door is black. Something tugs at my heart as I stare at the large porch swing to the left and all the flowers and greenery decorating the space. It feels like home in a way the apartment doesn’t.
London’s space is beautiful; there’s no arguing that. But it’s more modern and almost empty where Lennon’s house, even from the front porch looks warm and inviting.
Dash shuts off the engine. “Are you ready?”
“Do you have a key, or will we have to pick this lock too?” I ask before turning his way.
“Yes, I’ve got a key.”
“Why were you sneaking around if you have a key to her place? Why would you need London’s help to see one another?” I ask.
“We saw each other this way, but we still had to be careful. My team and hers were watching. And everyone from both sides knew we weren’t supposed to be together. Not just because of your dad but dating the competition isn’t always the best look. But even so, we wanted to go out and feel like a normal couple,you know? Being cooped up in secret all the time is hard. We wanted to be together in the real world, not just behind closed doors, hiding from it. Do you understand?” he asks.
I nod. “I do. I didn’t mean to sound judgmental; I was simply curious why London was covering for you that night.”
He smiles softly. “We drove to the next town over to dinner and then we went bowling.”
“If y’all are big names in racing, especially around here, how did no one recognize you even in a different town?”
“They might have, but I wore a hat and glasses, and her hair was down with glasses. In the restaurant we requested a table that was semi-private enough to be out but still hidden from direct view. And when we were bowling, it was dark. They had the black lights on. We were careful,” he explains.
I ponder what he said for a moment before reaching for the door handle. He’s out of his door and at mine before I can count to ten. He helps me out of his car and hands me the cane to steady myself.
When we reach the door, my heart starts to race. This feels so important, like this will reveal the answers I’ve been searching for since I woke up without my memory.
Dash turns the key, and I step in. The scent of apples invades my senses, and it almost takes my breath. It’s familiar. And just that knowledge brings tears to my eyes. Recognizing the scent of this house feels like a small victory; a step toward remembering.
“What’s wrong?” Dash asks from beside me.
I open my watery eyes. “I know this smell.”
I can tell he’s getting his hopes up, but I know I could simply be recalling this through London’s experience and not from living here as Lennon.
We’re in the living room, and just like the apartment, there are pictures on the wall. I take my time studying them before glancing toward the kitchen. This one is not as impressive as theone at the apartment, but it comes close which makes me smile. I want to explore my talents in the kitchen a little more.
But my gaze catches on the staircase to the right. And I know it’s where the bedrooms are.
“I need to go up,” I tell him, knowing he’ll be right behind me if I struggle to climb the stairs.
Once I reach the second floor, there’s a guest room off to the left, a linen closet directly in front of me, and two more bedrooms to the right.
I must choose the correct room on the right, because when I open the door, Dash asks, “Do you remember this?”
I see the bed. It’s made, but there are clothes on it like Lennon was just here trying to decide what to wear. On the nightstand is a picture of Lennon and London side by side, and one more of them as kids. Lennon is wearing a racing jacket and sunglasses while London is wearing an apron like she’s been in the kitchen.
I touch the pictures, willing myself to know which one is me, but I don’t. It’s no wonder we could cover for one another because we look like the exact same person in every way.
