I am warm and whole and nestled in a cloud of softness.
The air is still around me and a peace I can’t explain hums in my chest. Sighing, I turn and snuggle into my pillow—and I bump against something.
No. Someone. A man.
He’s warm and smells divine. My fingers fall against the broad planes of his bare chest. I flatten a palm and feel his steady heart pumping blood faster, faster, faster.
I’m dreaming … and it’s the best kind of dream.
Since I’m still asleep and will inevitably wake up to an empty bed, I’m going to enjoy myself while this lasts. I snuggle against him and wrap my arm around his torso. In response, he sighs a sleepy assent as his strong arm comes around me. The shirt at my back bunches in his fist.
I thought I might have woken him, but he’s still asleep, so I let myself rest in this dream. Mmm. The room is too dark to see his exact features, but it’s all right if I never know the identity of Dream Man. After all, it would be kind of disturbing if I knew him in real life. What if his face matches that of the lanky teenager at the grocery store I frequent or my creepy neighbor? I’d have to change stores and apartments.
That’s the trouble with Real Men—they never live up to the hype of Dream Men. But Dream Men can’t disappoint you.
So, before Dream Man can wake up too much, I get even braver (even dreams take bravery, people!) and lift my lips to press a light kiss to the bottom of his jaw.
Dream Man groans with pleasure. “Is this real?”
Crap. I know that voice. And it does indeed haunt my dreams. “Kevin?” I push away from him and sit up.
The movement feels too … real. Like I’m actually awake.
The memory of last night floods back. How Connor left me alone at Kevin’s apartment to be here in case Kevin needed me. How I slept in Kevin’s bed. In his shirt.
But nowhere in my memory did Kevin come and sleep in his bed too.
And yet … here he is.
“Buttercup?” His voice is drowsy and confused. “What are you doing here?” Now he’s sitting up also, and the light cracking through the blinds shows his normally styled hair sticking up at odd angles. It’s freaking adorable is what it is, and my fingers itch to push their way through his locks. Itch to—
Nope, nope, nope.
I leap from the bed and hurry to the wall switch, then flood the room with light.
Kevin lifts a hand and blinks against the sudden brilliance for several moments, grunting. Oh, right. Bright light and his concussion probably don’t mix. But being in the dark is no good for either one of us.
Of course, seeing things in the light of day isn’t so fantabulous either because his bare torso is like a beacon to me. Is it possible that his abs have become even more defined than when we dated?
Get a grip, girl.
Right. I back up and place my hands behind me, anchoring them against the wall.
Like mine, Kevin’s breaths come in spurts. That was close. Too close. I almost gave into the dream.
Deep down, did I know it was him? That it was real? And if so, what does that say about me … that I would run back to a man who dumped me so callously? Like a mouse living off crumbs of affection, never knowing if more will be dropped on the ground.
It’s pathetic, that’s what.
Thankfully, it’s morning now. Connor should be here soon. In fact, yes, I think I smell bacon and coffee wafting under the door like the godsend it is. We can finally tell Kevin the truth, and this dream—make that nightmare—will be over.
I fidget and realize Kevin is staring at me, his mouth slightly agape. “What?”
He clears his throat and points at me. “You’re wearing my shirt.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” I tug the hem down—as if that will cover more of my thighs—and duck my head. “I was just borrowing it.”
“I don’t mind.” Lowering himself to the floor, he walks toward me. His voice is all low and growly, and I am fairly confident it’s not because he just woke up. “In fact, I find it just about the sexiest thing in the world.”
Oh, sweet Moses. “Uh, why did you come in here last night?”
“This is my room. Why did you come in here?” His lips curl as he approaches, slow, like a panther stalking its prey.
Is it bad that I’ve never wanted to be caught more in my life? Probably.
“Y-you fell asleep on the couch and there was nowhere else for me to sleep. I left you a note—”
“I didn’t see it.” He’s nearly to me. If I have any hope of surviving this encounter, of living another day, I’ve got to get out of here.
“Oh man, do you smell that? It seems breakfast is ready.” Then I throw open the door and slip into the hallway, Kevin chuckling behind me.
It’s only when I finally reach the kitchen, where Connor is at the stove and all dressed for work, that I realize I’m still wearing Kevin’s T-shirt. Before I can pivot and head back to change, Connor turns.
He takes one look at me—and Kevin, who emerges shirtless beside me—and whistles. “Fun night?”
“Shut up.” I glare at him and waltz to the coffee pot. There’s a rack of mugs—all white and utilitarian—and I snag one.
“You’re mean in the morning,” Connor teases.
“Only before she’s had her coffee.” Kevin’s voice drifts toward me, and there’s something so loving and tender in it, like he doesn’t mind that I require caffeine to be a decent human.
And then he comes up behind me, hands at my waist, and nuzzles my neck with his nose. “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “It’s adorable.”
I can’t take this anymore. Can’t do this whole reenactment of the past. Because as much as Kevin believes it is, it’s not the past.
And he’s got to know it.
“You have amnesia!” The words are out of my mouth before I can fully process them. I glance over at Connor and wince.
Connor curses under his breath and pulls the eggs off the burner. The pan clatters against the stovetop.
Behind me, Kevin’s body stiffens. I feel the void of him as he steps back. “What?”
I turn a one-eighty and rub the tip of my nose. “When you fell … you forgot the last two years.”
He snorts, a strange look on his face, like he doesn’t understand me. “Buttercup, you sure have a good sense of humor.”
“I’m not joking.”
“Wait, what?” Kevin’s brow furrows and it takes everything I have not to step into his arms, to reassure him that it’s all going to be okay. He turns his attention to Connor. “Is she serious?”
Connor nods. “Afraid so.”
Feeling his way backward, Kevin plops into a wooden kitchen chair and shakes his head. “That’s not possible.” He sits there for several long seconds, hands propped together over his lips like he praying. After what seems like five minutes, he speaks again. “Walk me through this. Why wouldn’t the doctors have said anything to me? I’m the patient.”
“That was my doing.” Connor slides into the seat next to him and Kevin swings his chair around.
I pivot back to face the counter. My thumb moves along the rim of an empty mug while Connor explains the basics of the doctor’s report, and I busy myself with pouring three cups of coffee. Outside the window, the sun is still waking up the world, but dark clouds dot the horizon. Looks like it could storm even though we rarely get rain in September. Regardless, birds chirp in the tree just on the other side of the glass, a reminder that maybe there’s hope even in the storm.
If nothing else, perhaps after this is over and he gets his memories back, Kevin will be open to talking about what went wrong between us. If I even want that. Do I? Maybe not. Maybe just seeing the old Kevin for a little while will give me the strength to finally forgive him for dumping me with a lame excuse.
Maybe I can finally move on. I thought I had, but being here, feeling the things I am, is proof that Theresa was right. Score another point for the big sister.
I bring two mugs to the table and place them in front of Kevin and Connor, then go back for my own. While Connor continues to review the doctor’s findings with Kevin, I dish up three plates of bacon and scrambled eggs, along with some salsa for Kev, just the way he likes it.
When I finally bring everything to the table and take a seat, Kevin turns his eyes on me. “I’m so sorry about all of this.” Then, before I can assure him it’s fine, his gaze narrows in on my hand—my left hand, to be exact. “Wait.” His eyes widen and he looks around the kitchen like he’s searching for something. Then he pushes away from the table so fast the chair legs scrape against the tile and emit a high-pitched squawk.
“Kev?” I ask. His cheeks are devoid of color, like when he was in the hospital bed. Maybe his head is pounding again. Is he about to faint? “What are you doing?”
Without answering, he rushes into the living room. Connor and I look at each other and both stand to follow.
But he’s not throwing up or collapsing or doing any of the things I thought he might be doing. He’s just standing there, fingers gripping the ends of his hair as his gaze roams the room rather frantically. Finally, his eyes settle on me once again, and I’ve never seen such pain there before. It’s like equal parts shock and horror. “You don’t live here.”
I’m not following his line of thinking. “What?”
He points all over. “My apartment looks the same as it did two years ago. If you lived here, you’d have put up more artwork. You’d have painted the walls and insisted on having colorful throw blankets on the couch, and we’d definitely have teal green or bright yellow plates and mugs in the kitchen. But they’re white. They’re all white.”
“You’re right.” I say it slowly, like I’m talking to a child. But part of me is still processing all of this—the fact he’s thought about what it would be like if I lived with him. And I’m not quite sure what to do with that information. “I don’t live here.”
“But … why?” He steps toward me, then seems to think better of it. “I mean, if we’ve been together so long, why aren’t we married? Did you say no when I proposed?”
My lips tremble. I look at Connor, but he’s like a deer in the headlights—wide eyes, straight mouth. There’s no help coming from that direction. I’m on my own.
I’ll try to be as gentle as I can because of Kevin’s mental state, but some part of me wants to shake him for what this is doing to my insides.
Moving toward him, I touch his arm. “You never proposed.”
“That’s not possible. I … I bought a ring. Why wouldn’t I have proposed?”
“You what?” His skin burns my fingers and I pull away. That’s the first I’ve heard of a ring. “When?”
“Just a few weeks ago.” He blinks. “I mean, two years and a few weeks ago, I guess. Right before my residency started. Come on, I’ll show you.” Taking hold of my hand, he pulls me down the hall again, into his bedroom, and toward the bureau in his closet.
With a clatter, Kevin tugs open the top drawer and feels all around, flinging neatly folded boxers and socks to the ground in his frenzy. When the drawer is empty, he turns wide eyes on me again. “It’s not here. Why isn’t it here?” Then he proceeds to search the rest of his drawers one by one, slower, more methodically, as if that will give him the answer he’s seeking.
All the while, I’m standing there, bereft. He bought me a ring? And then dumped me a few months later? Why? I don’t understand what changed. Well, I do. That conversation we had, after he found the NYU brochure.
After that, things shifted. Even though it had only been five months, I thought our love was strong enough to survive anything.
Apparently he disagreed. Or he’d never really loved me in the first place.
But he bought me a ring.
And that means something. I can’t pretend it doesn’t.
“Kevin.” My voice cuts the air.
He’s crouched and rummaging through the final drawer, his eyes narrowed. “It has to be here.”
“You must have returned it.”
“I know it was early in our relationship, but I just knew, Lola. I knew you were the one for me, so I was impulsive like I never am and I bought a ring. I was going to wait a bit to give it to you.” He settles back on his heels, blinking at the last empty drawer. “Maybe on our six-month anniversary. Maybe longer. I don’t know when. But I should have given it to you by now. It doesn’t make sense.”
I suck a breath between my teeth. What am I supposed to say to that? Seeing his reaction now is all kinds of confusing. I don’t know which way is up and which way is down.
Just rip off the Band-Aid, Lola. “Kevin, we … we aren’t together anymore.”
Shaking his head, he refuses to look at me. “No. That can’t be right.”
“It is.”
“Why?”
And oh my gosh, I’m about to cry at the anguish in his voice. At the squeezing in my lungs. I snatch my clothes from the spot I left them on his floor last night and run to the bathroom. Flicking on the fan, I bury my face into a towel and scream.
Theresa was right. I never should have come here. Should have let Connor handle this on his own.
There’s a knock on the door. “Lola, please. Let me in. Talk to me.”
I run the water so I can’t hear him. “I just need a minute, okay?”
He mumbles something but the knocking stops. My shoulders relax and I splash my face, slowly pulling myself together. I shed his T-shirt and kick it into a corner like it’s on fire. Then I shimmy into my blouse and skirt, run my fingers under my mascara-smudged eyes, turn my head upside down to fluff my hair, and walk out of the bathroom, my legs only slightly trembling.
The bedroom is empty. Just as well. I snag my phone from the bedside table and leave the room.
Connor is sitting on the arm of the living room couch, alone, and he looks up at me. “Hey.”
I cut right to the chase as I gather up my purse and slip on my shoes. “I can’t help you anymore, Connor.”
“I know.” A sigh. “That was brutal. But thank you for your help.” He glances over his shoulder. “Kev is in the kitchen waiting for us, but go. The doctors and I will handle this from here.”
“Okay.” I don’t trust myself not to burst into tears if I give him a hug, so I just shoot him a final nod instead. “Take care of yourself, all right? And … him.”
“I will.” A pause. “Lola?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but my brother was an idiot to let you go.”
A single tear leaks out from my eye. “Bye, Connor.” Then, before I can change my mind, I open the door to the apartment hallway and race to freedom.
Freedom from Kevin.
But the memories? I have a feeling those will haunt me for a long time to come.