Page 55 of Your Love

I decide a subject change is in order. “Tell me a bit more about Merrimack.” The doctors say talking about these things might help jog my memory.

“It’s a small town, a bit like this one,” he says. “It’s changed since your childhood memories of it, I’m sure. It’s more of a hockey town than a football town.”

“What about our friends?”

Landry tells me a particularly funny story that happened on prom night with our friend Taz and a feisty rooster on Nana and Papa’s Farm. His eyes light up at the memory, and he begins laughing so hard that tears actually form in the corners of his eyes. Even though I don’t remember it, Landry’s deep laughter is contagious, and I can’t help but laugh as well as he paints the picture. He has so much love for this group of people.

Speaking of our mutual friends, a couple of them have called and left messages with my parents, and I’ve received a couple more get-well cards in the mail. I haven’t returned any calls, but it’s nice of them to reach out.

As he leans against the counter and his body shakes with laughter, I take the opportunity to study him. He is objectively one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen. It’s easy to see why I’d be physically attracted to him. And his personality is even better. He’s sweet, kind, and generous, or so it seems from the little that I know. I understand why I would have fallen for him. I just wish I could remember doing so.

“I guess I’ll go,” Landry says. “Do you want me to come back this afternoon, or would you like some time with your parents?”

“You know what might be nice?”

Landry looks at me expectantly.

“You and I could go grab a milkshake or something this afternoon? We have a perfect place here in town.”

His eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning as a genuine smile graces his handsome face. “I’d love that.”

“I hope you like chocolate malts because that’s my favorite.”

“I know,” he says with a knowing wink.

A few hours later, we’re sitting outside in the car at The Twist ’n’ Taste. I love this place. It’s one of those restaurants where they bring your food to your car on roller skates. I love the old diner feel, and the food takes me back to a time that makes me happy.

I take the first sip of my malt, and it’s heavenly. The depth of the chocolate and the frostiness of the ice cream hit my tongue with a flavor explosion. I’ve been eating soft, bland foods for almost a week. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this. It’s so thick that it takes me several pulls on the straw to get my first taste. My cheeks ache, but it’s so worth it. Landry chuckles, watching me as he drinks his root beer float with ease.

We’ve had a nice time this afternoon. We’ve been driving around town and trying to enjoy each other’s company without any expectations. I’ve shown him my elementary school, the movie theater, and the pizza place where I got my first job.

“I need to use the restroom before we go,” Landry says. “Do you need anything?”

I sip on my malt happily before holding it up. “Nope. I’m all good.”

“I’ll be right back.”

I watch him jump out of my dad’s truck and stride toward the doors to use the restroom inside. Women and men alike turn their heads as he walks by. Whether it’s his size or just the way he carries himself, it commands the attention of people around him.

As he disappears inside, I look around at the folks at the diner. Everyone is laughing and enjoying themselves, having something cold to ward off the oppressive Texas heat. This might be the best I’ve felt since I woke up from my accident. I’m not ready for the day to end. I’m trying to think of what else Landry and I can do for the remainder of the evening when he strides out of the building.

He doesn’t make it far before a man approaches him. Something about it makes the hair on the back of my neck rise, and shivers rake my body. Landry stops. They seem to be having a heated conversation. Landry’s stance is tense. His hands ball into fists at his sides as he scowls at the man. The other guy says something and chuckles, and Landry slams him up against the building, his forearm pushed tightly against the man’s throat.

It’s Beau. As soon as I see his face, I know. At first, I’m too shocked to move. My heart rate skyrockets and I begin to shake, the pain of it tearing through my broken bones. Beau is trying to fight back for his breath, but he’s losing the battle.

Suddenly, a cry rips from my chest as I lean toward the open window on the driver’s side of the truck. “Landry! Stop! Stop!”

Landry looks at me for a moment, the rage written across his face, but doesn’t relent. I give him a pleading look, and he removes his arm. Beau crumples to the ground as his hand goes to his throat, and he begins to cough, trying to catch his breath.

Landry gets into the truck and puts his hands on the steering wheel. He looks straight ahead as anger courses through him. I can see his jaw grinding and the small muscles under his right eye ticking.

Without a word, he starts the engine, and we pull onto the highway. Once we’re away from the scene, I speak. “What was that?”

“A misunderstanding,” he says flatly.

“A misunderstanding?” I repeat incredulously. “That looked really intense for a misunderstanding. You look like you wanted to kill him.”

When he doesn’t say anything, I continue. “Do you make it a habit of getting in fights like that?”