30 Days (Lost Love Trilogy #1) - Belle Brooks Page 0,71
like when it was freshly cut. That’s it. I met him in the hospital when they were stitching his scar. It has to be.”
“Do you ladies want anything from the kitchen? I’m going to get another beer,” Mosby says. We both bolt upright and turn in his direction. We laugh.
“What’s funny?” he scoffs.
“I forgot you were here.” Sammy snorts loudly.
“Me too.”
“You two are crazy.” He smiles before he gets up and then hikes back towards the house.
“Has he been there the entire time?” I choke out.
“I think so.” Sammy snorts again.
When our laughter finely calms, I lie back and watch as a contender bay boat chugs down the river. Water swirls around its bows as it moves forward, holding my gaze. I have amnesia. I had an accident, so I presume I hit my head. I press ten fingers against the front of my skull, feeling for any obvious dips or abnormalities, but there are none. I continue this process until every part of my head is examined by touch.
“What are you doing?” Mosby asks, looking down at me. When did he get back?
“I think I hit my head.”
“When?”
“When I forgot Marcus.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Has Ginger told you everything that happened?” I look to Sammy who shakes her head.
“No,” he replies. “Just the basics on the plane here.”
“Oh.”
Jackson moves out of my line of sight and the afternoon drifts by silently. Occasionally, I hear Sammy and Mosby muttering to each other, but their words are never clear enough to warrant my attention. I close my eyes, and a light afternoon breeze brings the smell of rain with it.
I reached out my fingers to touch a freshly stitched cut to his cheek. My face felt wet and my eyes puffy as my tongue licked my bone-dry lips. Every beat of my heart caused an ache so painful and raw; it was unbearable.
“See? It was only a small cut. Barely even worth getting stitched.” His eyes were so dark I could barely see the pupils. “Are you usually so persistent?”
“My dad always said I was.” The pain in my chest became so excruciating, it caused my knees to buckle slightly.
“I really think you should sit back down like the doctor just told you to.”
“My mum. She’ll be here any minute. How can someone tell a person their love is gone? The father of her child no longer breathes.”
“I don’t know.” His eyes were sympathetic.
“What’s your name?” I asked even though I felt like I’d known this man my entire life.
“Marcus Klein,” he replied softly.
“Thank you, Marcus Klein, for trying to save my dad.”
He nodded. “You’re so lucky to be alive, Abigail. If I hadn’t seen what happened with my own eyes, I would’ve never believed it. How it didn’t collect you with its force is a complete miracle.”
“Can you stay with me?” I wiped fresh tears that fell over my cheeks with the back of my hands.
“I won’t leave you.”
“Thank you.”
“Earth to Abi. Where’s your head at? I’ve been talking to you.” Sammy’s voice calls me back from the memory.
“I want to go inside now.” My throat tightens. “It wasn’t an aneurism.” I stand, and I run back to the house.
He didn’t die from an aneurism.
THIRTY
A Past Forgotten
Lying with my head tucked into the crook of my arm, I will every bit of these last few days to disappear completely. Right now, I want nothing more than my body to be freed from this overwhelming tension. I’m shattered and completely robbed of what was once my true reality.
My father didn’t die from an aneurism. So why does my memory tell me he did? I can picture the entire event like it was yesterday. How can one remember something that never took place? Clear visions of the race to the hospital, as I held Mum’s cold hand in mine, exist in my mind. She’d been shocked to her core as she watched her husband collapse to the floor. Her screams of horror must have been real.
We’d run through hospital corridors in search of Dad. Was he still alive when they got him there? Pure desperation sears through my heart as the pain grows so intense, it’s almost debilitating. That look, the one in the surgeon’s eyes as he’d approached us, the look that said dad was gone and it was over—I couldn’t have imagined it, could I?
“Hey, Abs. How are you holding up?” Mosby’s voice is soft as he approaches the dining room table.