Page 58 of Dear Future Husband

Trey’s distinguishable laughter was back at the front. “Hey, May, these guys aren’t going away anytime soon. Can I call you again tomorrow?”

I smiled to myself. “Of course. Goodnight, Trey.”

“Goodnight, Mayhem.”

Guess I’d be getting out there and making friends a lot sooner than I anticipated—which meant I needed to be walking ASAP.

23 That Book Belongs to Me

Trey

It was late Thursday night. I should’ve been exhausted, especially since practice ended about an hour ago and it was well past my bedtime, but I was wide awake.

Soon, I’d be Face Timing my Maybelle.

We texted whenever I had free time. We had that one call the guys interrupted, but that was the only contact we’d had over the last few days. Tonight, we were calling because I finally convinced her to open the backpack I packed for her that night in the Mason home. But she only agreed to it if I opened it with her.

I changed myself into a pair of comfortable black gym shorts and a faded, gray, dry-fit tee I knew did my body justice. I had to dress to impress for my girl. I’d taken notice that when I wore clothing that painted to my sculpted build, Miss Maybelle had a hard time keeping her eyes off me. That was the goal of all this, to make this girl want me. To make her long for me almost as much as I longed for her.

It blew my mind just how easy it was for us—now that she couldn’t remember. I wanted her to remember, of course, for the sake of remembering her family.

But I also selfishly loved that she couldn’t rememberher life, the things that made her quiet, and the nightmares that made her muscles and joints lock up.

I suddenly felt a little sick with the heavy knowledge and secrets I alone held.

I got up into my bed, trying to focus and remind myself that I would be seeing her face. Laying my back against the headboard of my bed, I pulled out my phone, feeling it vibrate. Maybelle’s name scrolled across the top of the screen.

She was calling ten minutes early.

I smiled as I answered the call. Maybelle and her massive mane of messy curls filled the small screen, stealing the breath from my lungs. She was wearing a black sports bra with an open, gray zip-up across her shoulders. The look would have been simple, maybe lazy on anyone else, but on Maybelle…

Jesus, this girl was a type of beautiful that had me believing angels did walk among us, and I was lucky enough to be a personal witness of one.

“Hey, how was therapy?” I asked, trying and failing to get my focus off the little of her body that was showing and back on her face.

She beamed. “Better. It still kicked my butt, but I don’t feel half as exhausted as I usually do. And I can walk across the house without using the wall. Given—I’m slow, but at least I can do it on my own.”

Her toothy grin was contagious. I smiled proudly back at her. “I’m proud of you, May. You’re doing extremely well in such a short amount of time. I’m impressed.”

She tipped an imaginary hat to me.

I chuckled, sitting myself up higher on the bed. “Alright, are you ready to open the bag?” I asked, a thrill expanding in my chest.

I wasn’t hopeful the things I got for her would suddenly fix her memories. I was content with allowing her to heal and remember with time. But I felt a few ofthe items could connect her to herself, to her family and the things she loved.

As I watched her, I felt the exposed emptiness in my back pocket. The space that was once filled by a little, black journal I held tightly to over the last year.

Maybelle’s smile wavered a split second before she recovered and bobbed her head up and down.

“Yeah, let me grab that.”

She put the phone down, facing me toward the ceiling. Then she was back, propping me up on the bed so I could see her while she sat on the other side of the mattress, hands busy with the backpack. She was biting into the inside of her cheek, staring off to the side, like she was mentally running away.

“May.”

Her eyes slowly panned back to the phone.

“You don’t have to do this, you know? The last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable.”