Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Naturally, he looks at me as if to prove a point. “I am.”
“No, it’s different. You’re acting different.” I hate having this conversation in the car, but it feels too important to wait an hour in LA traffic to say what needs to be aired out. “You’re calling me confused. You’re barely looking at me. The only thing that’s different between now and back at the party is that I’ve had a memory of you from before.”
The loss of control starts getting out of hand, and my frustration grows. I want to scream. I want to rage. “I want to remember so badly.” Scanning the endless cars plodding along the freeway sends my blood pressure skyrocketing. “Why does it take so long to get anywhere in this forsaken city?”
I barely get a blink from him, much less a reaction of understanding. “You’re avoiding me. You’re avoiding me, Laird, and I don’t know why.”
“I’m not avoiding you. I’m sitting right here. You’re just upset when you should be happy you had a memory.”
“A memory that feels like a lie.” I roll the window all the way down to cool off, hoping the fresh air and cool night will calm the choppy waters of my thoughts. It’s not enough to keep the panic from rising . . . my heart racing . . . palms sweating. I run my hands over my skirt, but nothing seems to help. “It’s a lie, Laird. My memory . . . it’s a thief.” The words are harder to come by, so I massage my temples to break up the nonsense clouding them.
“I can’t fucking lie to you anymore.” He slams his palms down on the steering wheel, causing me to jump. “They’re not just your memories. It’s my fucking life wrapped up in them.” It’s not his tone that gets me. It’s the words that rip me to shreds. His reaction is quick—a hand to my arm, the stroke of my hair. “I’m sorry.”
The initial confession still lingers between us, even if I struggle to process it. “You’re lying to me?”
He says, “I can explain—”
“You can explain what?” I throw my arm out before me. “You just watched me spinning and lied until you couldn’t take it anymore?” My anger boils over as any ounce of the memory I was having disappears. “This isn’t about you, Laird!”
“You think I don’t know that? My fucking heart was destroyed by that accident.”
“What are you talking about?” I stare at him, unable to comprehend how deep this goes between us. “Are you saying you knew me?”
“I’ve loved you since the moment we met.”
Destiny.
Tattoos.
Barbecue.
The memories take a new shape as I put them back in order. But my tears water them down, making them fuzzy again. “The moment we met? The moment we met at your cabin, right?” I hate that my tears fall, making me weak in his eyes.
“No.” He’s shaking his head, but I still feel left in the dark.
I cover my temples with my palms, the pain becoming too much. “Make this make sense. Please. Please tell me you haven’t been lying to me this entire time I’ve been falling in love with you.”
“I can’t.” His gaze volleys between the road and my broken heart.
“You once told me the tattoo symbolized the brokenhearted. That’s you. It’s always been about you.” My heart hurts as much as my head. An ache that started in my chest radiates to every nerve ending in my body.
“You must believe me. Everything I’ve done I’ve done for you.”
“Except tell me the truth.” He tries to touch my cheek, but I pull away, needing space that a fancy car like this can’t give.
His hand falls to his leg. “I couldn’t.”
“No, you chose not to. You chose to betray me instead.” I could breathe fire from the number of times I’ve been betrayed.
“I didn’t betray you, Poppy. I swear to you.”
My dad.
My mom.
And now Laird.
“You knew me . . .” While that sinks in, I whisper, “Take me home.”
“Please don’t do this. I can explain when you’re calm.”
The anguish I feel, the dread growing unbeknownst, breaches the control that kept me afloat. “Calm?” I laugh and then go silent, knowing he was lying this whole time. The fight I had vanishes as I’m submerged in my deepest emotions. Grappling to save myself, I throw my arms wide against the console and the door. “I can’t do this. I need out.” When I close my eyes, my mind plays tricks on me—Laird in the distance, our eyes locked, but too far to hold on. My breathing shallows as bitterness coats my throat, and I begin to drown. “I, I . . .”
“Breathe, Poppy. Breathe.” His hand lands on my chest, but the words go under with me. “Take a breath.” Panic rises, the choking causing me to gasp. I rest my head on the opening of the window, close my eyes, and take a breath. “You’re okay,” he says, his voice wrapping around me to drag me to safety. “It’s okay.”