“I can’t slow down, Adam! I’m six freaking months behind, okay? I can’t remember anything that happened to me! That night in the school? When you said I called you? I don’t remember calling you. I don’t ever remember speaking with you until that moment.”
“You don’t remember calling me,” he says, brow furrowed. “That night at the school—you don’t remember that?”
“I’m trying to tell you I don’t remember anything! I have pictures that I don’t even understand, and before you even ask me, yes, I’ve been to a doctor and my brain is just fine. Which means that the doctors and my family think I’m totally unhinged, and they don’t even know how—”
“Hell, Chloe,” he says, voice gruff.
His arms lock around me, and he hauls me into an embrace, burying my face in his T-shirt. I promptly burst into tears, my arms going around him like they were grown on my body for this purpose. I feel the press of his strong hands on my shoulder blades as he whispers soft, hushing noises into my hair. I inhale a shuddery breath, taking in his warmth and feeling right for the first time since I can remember.
And just like that, I know.
This is how it should be with Blake. Tingly and warm and bigger than any words I can think of.
“You’re not insane,” he says. Plain as day. Like it’s not even a possibility worth pursuing.
I nod against his chest and close my eyes. His hands are in my hair now, and every single part of my body is intensely aware of every part of his. It’s wrong to want him this much.
He seems to realize it too, and we separate. I don’t want to let go of him. The truth is harder, colder outside his arms.
I look up at him, and he thumbs my chin, narrowing his eyes at me. “You said you don’t remember anything before that night. But you remember everything up to May?”
“Yeah.”
He believes me. I thought it would be harder to convince him, but he doesn’t even look shocked. It’s like people tell him they’ve lost enormous chunks of their lives every day.
He palms my cheek with his hand, and I close my eyes, pretending to think. But I’m not thinking. I’m soaking in the feel of his skin against mine. The familiarity of his hug. The way he smells. I exhale slowly and a memory comes.
Pizza. A cheesy, gooey piece. And chemistry notes spread out all around my plate. I’m reciting something about sodium chloride, and Adam nods and flips to the next card in his stack.
I pull back, shaking myself from the past. Right now I need to be present.
“Okay, step me through it because I’m a little lost,” he says.
“I don’t remember anything that happened between May and that night. The whole summer and fall are just…missing.” I pause and swallow hard before I admit the rest of it. “Except for a few things about you. When you…touch me, I sometimes get flashes of things that happened between us.”
I open my eyes, knowing my cheeks are red. Adam doesn’t seem to notice. There’s a smile on his lips, like he loves hearing this. But there’s something else too. A shadow of sadness in his eyes.
“When I touch you?” he asks softly, stepping a little closer.
And then I take a little half step toward him. We’re going to run out of personal space quick if we keep this up, but I don’t care. No matter how much I should, I just don’t.
“You’ve touched my hands,” I say, and then I take his hand, sliding my palm against his.
I see flashes from before. Him looking up from a book. And then I hear his laughter. And then that pizza place. In my memory, he pushes a red, fizzy drink toward me with a smirk, and I scoot my chemistry notes out of the way.
“We ate at the Pizza Palace while we studied chemistry. You gave me something red to drink.”
“Red pop,” he says, nodding.
“It’s just little things.” I sigh, too embarrassed to admit the scene with the leaves in my yard. I release his fingers with a laugh. “Pretty pathetic, right?”
He looks at me for a minute then. I wish I could read whatever’s going on behind those beautiful eyes.
“All right, lead the way.”
“Huh?” I can feel myself gaping at him, mouth moving open and closed goldfish-style. He finally nudges me with his shoulder.
“Your house, Einstein. Let’s go figure this out.”
Chapter Eleven
It is 10:38 on a school night, and a juvenile delinquent is preparing to sneak into my house. This is not my life.
“I am bushed,” I tell my parents as I hang up my coat.
Bushed? Seriously? I’m a much better liar than this. Haven’t I proved as much with Blake?
But Mom and Dad are engrossed in some World War II documentary they got from the library, so they don’t seem to notice my decades-old slang or my long sigh.
“We can turn it down if you want, honey,” Mom says, stealing popcorn from the bowl on my dad’s stomach.
“No, that’s okay.”
We exchange good-nights, and then I slink up my stairs feeling like a criminal. I close my door and lock it. Not convinced it’s safe enough, I move my desk chair over to the door, wedging it as quietly as I can under the door handle.
“Might want to look up paranoia while we’re at it,” Adam says, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
I clamp a hand over my mouth and spin to see him straddling my window frame, one denim-clad leg already inside my room.
I flip on the radio and cross the floor in two strides. “Are you insane? I was supposed to get the fire ladder. How did you even get up here?”
“I did use a ladder. Borrowed it from your shed out back.”
“Oh. Well.”
Adam slides the rest of the way in, and I stand there, crossing my arms over my chest as he moves quietly around my room.
Adam is tall. I mean, I’ve always known he’s tall. But seeing him here somehow makes my whole room look so small.
“Cute bear,” he says, picking up my rag teddy, Phillipe, from the dresser. I snatch him back and do everything short of wringing my hands while I watch Adam walk around my room, silently inspecting my posters and the miscellaneous earrings and perfume bottles on my dresser.
God, it’s like that awful moment at the end of a first date. You’re making painful small talk on the porch or in the car. Of course, you both know why you’re stalling, but it’s weird until someone moves—oh my God, this is not like that! We are not here to make out.
Are we?
I ignore the flutter in my belly and pull my laptop out of my nightstand. Research tools. Because we are here to research.
I tug two or three notebooks out of my backpack and dump at least ten pens and highlighters on top of them.
Adam laughs at me, cocking a brow. “How many people did you invite to help out tonight?”
I put some of the pens away and blush so fiercely my hair is probably turning red.
Adam turns to my bookshelf, running his long fingers over the spines. He pulls out three or four, and I turn my radio up a little louder.
He makes himself comfortable on my floor between the bed and the window. Back against the wall and knees against my box springs. It doesn’t look terribly comfortable, but it’s a smart spot. If, God forbid, my mom decides to pound her way through my reinforced bedroom door, he’ll have plenty of time to climb out the window. Or at least slide under the bed.
“You want these?” he asks softly, offering me two books.
Right. I should start researching now. Read things. Write things. Stop staring at Adam.
I walk over to the bed and sit down, taking the two he’s handing up to me. I’m familiar enough with the titles, but I haven’t read much of them. At least not that I can remember.
“Um, what exactly should we be looking for?” I ask, sitting down and feeling really awkward.
“Memory stuff,” he says, already nose-deep in a pretty dense-looking tome. “Something had to trigger this. Maybe if we can find it, it’ll help.”
“I don’t think I’m going to find a chapter titled ‘Recovering the Six Months You Lost,’ you know.”
Adam smirks but doesn’t look up from his book.
“You know, you could fill me in,” I say softly.
He does look up then, eyes catching mine above the pages.
I shrug halfheartedly. “You could give me a Reader’s Digest version.”
His smile is mischievous. “What makes you think I’d know? We’re strangers, remember?”