Before & After - Nazarea Andrews Page 0,10

gone.

And I’m alone. With my thoughts and a tablet.

I could Google. I can’t imagine I was a girl who didn’t like social media. But I think using that to get a fact is cheating. The notebook is sitting in my lap, with the cell phone. It was mine. Why is that terrifying?

I take a deep breath and flip it open.

The pages are covered in neat, tiny script, looping little letters. I stare at it for a moment, my gaze skimming the page before I flip to the next. And the next. Page after page.

Poetry.

And it's gorgeous. I flip through the book slowly, reading the poetry. It's everything from Thoreau and Frost to people I've never heard of. I'm tempted to Google them, and I finally reach for my own notebook. Jot down a few things to look up tomorrow, before I settle into the pillows and read.

It’s hours later when the nurse comes in to check my vitals. Her gaze tracks over me and the array of books and the open notebook. Her gaze brightens and she gives me a smile. “Remember anything, Peyton?”

I make a face and shake my head. She clucks softly. “The doctor is talking to your parents tomorrow.”

I shift and straighten. “I would really prefer he didn’t.”

Her eyes widen, and I bite my tongue. Why the hell did I say that? I don’t know. But the mere idea of him discussing my medical condition with my parents makes me want to crawl into a hole and hide from everyone. And fire him immediately.

“Please let him know I want to be consulted before he reaches out to anyone. I’m sure that I’m protected by privacy laws.” I say it evenly, but I’m seething. Just because I’ve lost a chunk of my memory doesn’t mean I don’t remember basic privacy.

Her face goes white and she bobs a nod as she goes quiet and finishes taking my stats. Then she’s gone and I’m left staring at the notebook of beautiful words, and the unshakable feeling that I don’t—didn’t—like my parents.

The why is a lot harder to figure out.

I pick up the phone and text quickly:

Peyton: I know my one thing.

Rike: Tell me. Blow me away.

Peyton: Don’t be pushy. You said one thing. Not blow-you-away revelations.

I can hear him laughing even though he’s not here. I grin, and tap out quickly.

Peyton: I’ll tell you tomorrow. Thanks for keeping me company tonight.

I wait a moment for a response, but none comes. And I’m okay with that.

I lean back on the bed and lose myself in the words on the page, until my eyes are too heavy to stay open, and all I can see is beauty.

I fall asleep with two truths ringing in my mind.

I don’t like my parents. And I absolutely adore poetry.

Chapter 5: Before

Scotty is watching me from a barstool as I tap at the drums nervously. It's been two weeks since that first date in Keegan's record store, and I still haven't brought Peyton home. She's flirted, and we've done dinner, and constant texting. She still comes by to listen to us play, but she scooted out before I could talk to her last week, texting quickly that she had a class early the next morning.

Which might be true. It might be she doesn't want to get serious enough that she's meeting Scott

"You need to get laid," Scott says, and I flick him a dirty look.

"Have you even kissed her yet?" he asks, and I duck behind the drums. He barks out a startled laugh, half choking on his beer. "You haven't. Shit, bro, you're losing your touch."

"Shut the fuck up," I growl. "I'm not fucking this up because I'm horny."

Scott laughs again and I stand abruptly, glaring at my brother. Amused blue eyes meet mine, red hair framing a private smile that tells me I'm not in trouble, but I'm skating close to it.

Peyton reaches out and snags Scott's Redd’s, sipping from it as she saunters up to the stage and climbs up. She's wearing a tight little jean skirt that rides up a little when she steps up, and I get the quick flash of her smooth thigh, the hint of bright blue of her panties before she's on the stage and stalking toward me.

She moves with a prowling grace that make me hard, and I swallow, watching as she closes in on me.

"You’re horny and you won't touch me?"sShe murmurs, soft enough that even in the still quiet of the bar, only I hear her