Forgetting You, Forgetting Me (Memories from Yesterday Book 1) Page 9

  When we round the corner, I see Saxon braced against the wall, looking worse for wear as he scrolls through his phone. I’ve been awfully hard on him and I’ve also been unfair. It’s his choice whether he wishes to stay or not. I’ve voiced my opinion on more than one occasion, so the rest is up to him.

  He raises his head, his intense gaze falling on both Sophia and I. Now that I’m not looking at him through a veil of crazy, I can see his pain. Regardless of their strained relationship, I know Saxon cares for Samuel. I know that he cares for me. He’s come to my aid on more than one occasion, and all I’ve done is yell at him.

  Sophia stops and smiles. “Hi, I’m Dr. Yates, Samuel’s doctor.”

  Saxon pushes off the wall and shakes her hand. “Hi, I’m Saxon, Sam’s brother.”

  I notice they shake for a little longer than needed, not that I can blame Sophia as Saxon is ridiculously handsome. I can’t say that he isn’t, considering he’s the spitting image of my fiancé.

  “Lucy,” she says, turning to face me. I notice her crimson cheeks appear pinker. “I’m going to talk to Samuel. Would you mind waiting out here for just a few moments?”

  “Of course. Take all the time you need.” Saxon doesn’t hide his surprise at my newfound composure. She nods before entering Sam’s room.

  Saxon and I stand quietly, him peering at me, no doubt waiting for me to breakdown, or claw at the walls, screaming about the injustices of the world. I do neither.

  “I’m sorry for being a complete bitch to you.”

  He fumbles over his words. “You…what…huh?”

  I can’t help but smile. “I haven’t been fair to you. It’s your choice whether you go or stay. I can’t force you. And that’s what I’ve been doing. You’ve got your own life to live in Oregon and honestly, my eyes have been opened these past few days.” When he cocks an eyebrow, I elaborate. “I don’t know what happened between you and Sam, or between your mom and dad, but I’ve seen the way your mom speaks to you. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to stay either. Sam is being a total asshole, so really, there’s no incentive for you to stay. There’s no reason for you to stay.”

  Saxon’s mouth moves with wordless animation.

  “Thank you for being there for me, Saxon. I won’t forget it.”

  I don’t know why, but I do something totally unexpected. I step forward, stand on tippy toes, and kiss Saxon’s stubbled cheek. The texture is rough, but it’s also incredibly soft. I can’t help but compare the feeling to Sam’s.

  I’m wrapped in his signature fragrance and the perfume has me closing my eyes, basking in the bouquet. I’ll miss him, which is ridiculous. Collecting myself, I step away, ready to say farewell. “Bye—” But I gasp, unable to finish when Saxon places a finger over my lips.

  I meet his eyes, confusion swirling in mine. “I’m staying.”

  “What?” I mumble in disbelief from under his fingertip.

  “I’m staying,” he repeats, sweeping his finger down my lip, releasing me.

  I try not to fall forward. Everything is too much. “Are you staying because I told you not to?” I ask, baffled. Is this one of those reverse psychology things?

  He smirks. “No, Lucy, I’m staying because I want to.”

  “But why?” I’m grateful, I truly am. I just don’t understand why he would choose to stay. “What reason is there for you to stay?”

  The space between us becomes stiflingly still and I feel beads of perspiration form at the base of my spine. He takes a confident step forward while I stand my ground, too baffled to move.

  “Ask me again when all of this is over with,” he replies, his voice heavy, driven with nothing but emotion.

  My head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as I nod.

  I don’t know why, but I feel like when I ask that question again, his response will change everything I believe in and love.

  Nine

  One Week Later

  “Do you want to go for a walk?”

  Sam looks up at me like I’ve just asked him to donate a kidney. “No, Lucy, I do not want to go for a fucking walk. I want to go home.” I suppose I should be grateful he got my name right.

  “Samuel! Language,” Kellie scolds, looking up from her fashion magazine. “Apologize to Lucy.”

  “Sorry, Mom, and Lucy—” he looks at me guiltily “—but I just want to go home,” he gripes, sinking against his pillows.

  “I know, sweetheart, but the doctors say you need to stay for observation. There is still some swelling around your brain.”

  “I doubt the swelling is from the accident. It’s most likely because I’ve got a headache from the constant nagging.” He glares at me while I timidly return to browsing through my iPad.

  Sam has made his feelings for me perfectly clear—he hates my guts. I don’t know why he does, but it appears he can stand to be around everyone except me.

  I’m trying not to meddle or hover, but I’m just so relieved he’s okay. I need to touch him to make sure he’s real, but the moment I come within reach, I recoil, afraid I’ll lose a finger. Kellie even appears overprotective and sends me on ridiculous errands to keep me away. The only person who seems to want me around is Saxon.

  How backwards my life has become.

  “Hey.”

  I leap up from my seat the moment Saxon enters the room. He’s holding two cups of coffee, and I’m really hoping one is mine.

  “Please tell me that’s an Irish coffee without the coffee,” Sam says, looking hopeful.

  Saxon raises his eyebrows to the ceiling. “Good to see you’re Mr. Funbags today.” He passes me the coffee without making a fuss.

  I gratefully accept and cradle the cup, basking in the warmth, as there is a constant chill in the air whenever I’m in this room.

  “Why does she get one and I don’t?” Sam sulks, which looks as unattractive on a grown man as it sounds.

  Saxon looks over at me fleetingly before addressing Sam. “Because she deserves it. She deserves a lot more for putting up with your bullshit.”

  Kellie’s mouth gapes open in horror, Samuel flips him off, and I simply sip my coffee, hiding my smile.

  * * * * *

  Two weeks later

  “Samuel, we really need your cooperation here,” says the physical therapist, holding a skipping rope. “Before you can go home, we need to test your hand eye coordination, among many other things.”

  In response, Sam glares at the poor girl while flipping her off. “How’s that for hand eye coordination?”

  She looks over at Saxon and me, asking for a little help, but I shrug my shoulders, powerless to lend a hand. Two weeks in, and if possible, Sam appears to hate me more. He still hasn’t remembered a thing. According to Sophia, his sessions seem to be going well. She said it’ll be a slow process, as any brain injury takes time to heal. But how long?

  “Sam, seriously, hurry up and answer the question. The longer you’re a complete dick, the longer you stay in here, which nobody wants. This poor girl included,” Saxon says, while the girl blushes.

  Once again, Saxon has saved the day. He seems to be the only person who can talk some sense into Sam. I have given up trying because the moment I suggest something, Sam decides to do the opposite. I feel like I’m hindering his progress because he makes no secret that he can’t stand to be around me.

  I feel helpless and like I’m getting in the way. Kellie has suggested I go out and pamper myself on more than one occasion. She’s either trying to get rid of me, or I look like utter shit. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s both.

  Saxon crosses his arms over his chest, daring Sam to argue. I don’t know how he does it, but Sam accepts the challenge and yanks the rope from the stunned therapist’s hands. She looks relieved that he’s finally cooperating. And so am I.

  That relief is short-lived when he turns to look at me and scowls. “I’ll only do this if she leaves.”

  Sighing, I head for the exit.

  * * * * *

 
; Three weeks later

  I didn’t realize daytime TV was so sad. But I guess I didn’t realize a lot of things, like how my life is a complete and utter mess.

  I’m sitting on the couch sobbing as I watch an 80’s Hallmark movie when the front door opens. Quickly wiping away my tears and hiding the dozen used tissues, I reach for my wine and try my best to appear composed.

  Saxon pauses in the doorway when he sees me sitting huddled beneath a crocheted blanket, blotchy faced and in my pajamas at four p.m. Not a good look, I know, but I can’t face another day of Sam hating me.

  “This movie is so sad,” I say, pointing to the flat screen, hoping to explain my tears.

  Saxon cocks a brow when he sees the ridiculous, over the top acting, but doesn’t say a word. He’s holding two brown bags that I hope have more wine inside. “I’m making you something to eat,” he says, ruining my drunken dreams.

  “I’m not hungry, but thanks anyway.” Just as I’m about to take a sip of wine, he snatches the glass out from under me. “Hey! I was drinking that.”

  “I think you’ve had enough to drink,” he refutes, tossing back the rest of the wine to remove temptation.

  He’s right. I’ve drunk more in the past few weeks than I have my entire life. But I can’t face the day sober because the harsh light of day hurts my heart.

  Saxon looks at the crumpled note on the table while I draw the blanket to my chin, tears filling my eyes. “What’s that?” He doesn’t miss a thing.

  “That is Sam’s official ‘fuck you’ letter,” I explain.

  He doesn’t bother asking me to elaborate, but instead places the groceries on the coffee table and reads the blasphemy for himself. It won’t take long, as Sam was never one to mince words.

  When his face hardens, I sarcastically quip, “Have you gotten to the part where he says he’d rather live in hell than with me?”

  Saxon shakes his head, tossing the note back onto the table.

  The note in question is the letter Sophia asked Samuel to write as a form of therapy. I was the lucky one, as I was the only person Sam decided to write a letter to. I was ecstatic, thinking that maybe he’d come around. But when I read what he thought of me, I wish he didn’t write one at all. It was short and sweet and pretty much said, ‘I can’t stand being near you. I wish you’d get the hint and leave. P.S. I’m not coming home to live with you. P.P.S. Fuck you.’

  I understand Sam is going through something awful and I’m trying not to take things personally, but I don’t know how much longer I can stand this. I’m miserable.

  Saxon has learned to read me so well, and I’ve come to rely on him more than I thought I would. We’ve spent every waking minute together, as he hasn’t left my side. He’s been my one and only ally as both Kellie and Greg seem to be giving me the cold shoulder, too.

  He takes a seat near me and sighs. “Lucy, it’ll get better.”

  “You can’t promise that.”

  “No, I can’t, but I do know that something will give sooner or later—either Sam or you,” he wisely says. “Try and look at the positives.”

  “There are no positives,” I refute.

  Saxon runs a hand over his scruff, deep in thought. “He offered you an apple today without using your head as target practice.” I half smile.

  What would I do without him? “Promise you won’t leave?” I selfishly ask.

  Saxon’s chest rises and falls as he exhales steadily. “I promise,” he finally replies, and I smile, just like I always do whenever he’s around.

  “Thanks, Saxon.” Without thinking, I shuffle over and give him a hug. He hugs me back and it feels nice that someone isn’t repulsed by my presence.

  I stay pressed against him, thinking about how drastically my life has changed. What my future holds, I don’t know, but I hope Saxon will remain a part of it.

  Just as I’m getting comfy, Saxon says, his lips pressed to the top of my head, “Now that that’s settled, next thing in order is for you to shower because you smell, well…a little ripe.”

  His light tone reveals that he’s joking, and for once, in so many weeks, I laugh.

  It feels good.

  * * * * *

  Four weeks later

  “Okay, we’re all set.”

  Even to my own ears, my voice sounds uneasy, strained. The past twenty-eight days have been trying, to say the least. But I persevered because that was the only way I knew I’d survive.

  Saxon stayed true to his word, much to the horror of his mother. It’s true what they say that in times of crisis, people’s true colors emerge. Sadly, Kellie’s colors are that of the darkest kind. I was half expecting Saxon to up and leave; I wouldn’t blame him if he did, but he didn’t. He put up with Samuel’s daily outbursts and Kellie’s constant cattiness with ease. The more they barked, the less he cared and his carefree attitude soothed my bubbling hysteria.

  Sam’s condition hasn’t improved; he’s still stuck—stuck not remembering who I am. And stuck being a complete jerk. Without Sophia’s encouragement, I dare say I would be close to giving up. She said Sam’s improving, but honestly, I think he’s getting worse.

  He barely acknowledges me and when he does, I wish he didn’t. He’s short tempered, indifferent, and just plain rude. But then sometimes, I catch him watching me musingly. I know he’s lashing out in frustration because he can’t remember me. He knows that he should, but he doesn’t. I can only imagine how frustrating and scary it must be. But his mood swings are slowly driving me over the edge. I really can’t keep up with him. He really is two different people—the perfect Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. But remembering my almost vows, I don’t take his behavior personally because I know this isn’t Sam.

  Zipping up his duffle, I smile, hoping the gesture displays my excitement at Sam coming home today. Whether he notices or cares, I don’t know, because he remains stone-faced and uninterested. “You ready to go home?” I ask, hoping for a signal other than this blankness.

  He shrugs, turning to look out the window.

  Counting to three, I remind myself of how hard this must be for him and don’t take his response to heart. “Well, I am,” I state, shouldering his bag. “I can’t wait for things to get back to normal.”

  I refuse to believe that this staleness between us is our new normal.

  Taking a moment to look at Sam, I still can’t believe he’s the same man he was weeks ago. Not only has his personality changed, so has his looks. He hasn’t bothered to shave nor groom his hair. The longer locks on both his face and head have him looking more like Saxon. His clothes are no longer conservative or chic, and when his mother asked if he wanted to wear his favorite green polo, he told her to burn it and any others just like it.

  He now sits in ripped jeans, black Nikes, and a plain black t-shirt. He told me that I was to replace his entire wardrobe with items just like these. I did as he asked because I just wanted him home. However, now that the day has arrived, I’m not so certain on what I wished for.

  “When is Sax coming back?” Sam asks, finally making eye contact.

  Fiddling with the strap on the bag, I shrug. “He had to go back to Oregon to take care of a few things. He didn’t say when he’d be back.”

  “Lucky him,” he mumbles under his breath. I do as Sophia says and brush off his lack of interest.

  Saxon has been gone three days. He wanted to check on the garage and ensure things were running smoothly without him. From the brief conversations I’ve overheard, business is going well. I can’t help but feel responsible that he’s here and not there, but I’m selfish, and am glad he’s stayed.

  “I’ll just have to do until he gets back,” I tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

  He smiles, but it’s forced.

  Sam has made no secret of the fact that he’d rather be going home with his mom and dad than me. But Sophia, Dr. Kepler, and Sam’s parents agreed for things to go back to ‘normal’ he was to return home and fall back into his usual routine. But I wasn�
�t so sure.

  “C’mon, babe.” I bite my lip, the slip making us both feel uncomfortable. Sam thankfully doesn’t say anything and stands.

  Time freezes as he reaches out and slips the duffle from my shoulder. It’s the first contact we’ve made in weeks and my heart sings at the connection. He however remains untouched as he peers around the room sadly. I suppose this was the first new memory he made, and leaving it behind and venturing into the unknown is a scary feeling. Especially venturing into the unknown with a stranger.

  I stand off to the side, giving him the space to say goodbye.

  After a few moments of silence, he turns to me. “Okay, let’s go.” Those words should be filled with hope, promise, and joy. Instead, they’re filled with dread.

  We walk down the corridor and into the elevator, feet apart. To onlookers, we must appear to be complete strangers. Sam doesn’t look at me, nor does he appear excited to be leaving. Regardless of his apathy, I’m ecstatic to have him home.

  It’s been nice having Saxon stay in the guest room, as the thought of going home to an empty house depresses me more than I care to admit. The thought has me wondering if Sam will be comfortable sharing our bed with me. I’ve been too preoccupied in ensuring he indeed was leaving this hospital with me, I skimmed over the minor details like whether or not he’ll want his own room for the time being.

  I want him to remember me, remember us, but I don’t want to cram it down his throat.

  In a way, we’re sharing a bed for the first time and I don’t want things to get any weirder. I can’t handle any more weirdness.

  The bright sun warms my Vitamin D deficient skin thanks to being cooped up inside for weeks. Both Sam and I are outdoorsy kind of people and being contained within those four walls was making me go a little stir crazy. I’m happy to finally be free.

  Sam follows closely beside me, oblivious to what car I drive. Slipping the keys from my pocket, I sound the alarm on our silver Jeep.

  The lights blink once in sync with Sam’s eyes. “You own a Jeep?”