Page 32 of Ice Cold Christmas

She. Crap. Talking about herself in the third person again. Sometimes, she did that because Melody Mage just seemed like a different person. Someone she didn’t know.

The silence in the kitchen was deafening.

“Well?” Hatterson finally challenged as he tossed a glare over at Victor. “Aren’t you going to say something? Or maybe you want to throw her ass out into the snow for me?”

“Let me be very clear.” Victor moved to stand beside Melody. “No one is throwing her anywhere. She is Melody.”

“I heard you last night! We all did!” Hatterson pointed his index finger at Victor. “You wanted her DNA checked! You didn’t believe her, either, then she pranced out and did the little strip tease. So she has a scar on her shoulder? Big damn deal!”

Victor’s arm brushed Melody’s. “It’s not your job to test her. Not in any way.”

“I raised her.” Brittle. His hand curled into a fist before falling to his side. “Who taught her to ride her first bike? Me. Who was there at all of her volleyball games? Me. When her father was too damn busy, when he was out of the country on his trips, or going off with wife number three…who took care of the bully who was making her life hell? Me. Who taught her self-defense? Me. It was always me. Who got her to love scary movies because it’s better to be the villain than the victim? Me. Who taught her—” Hatterson stopped.

Her head tilted as she stared at him.

“I raised Melody Mage.” Softer. Sadder. Tears glistened in his eyes. “I mourned Melody Mage.” He grabbed for the plate of pancakes that had been placed in front of her. Hurried steps took him to the garbage. He tossed the pancakes inside. “I won’t be fooled. Melody wouldn’t just vanish. Not for a whole year.” His back was to her. His wide shoulders tensed.

A memory stirred in her mind.

Better to be the villain…

“Candyman,” she whispered.

He whirled toward her.

“Candyman is my favorite scary movie.” And why? Simple. “He won’t be a victim again.”

Hatterson’s gaze searched hers.

“Trish Yates was the bitch who made my life hell in ninth grade.” The name was just there. A vague flash of a girl with curly hair, braces, and a mean grin.

How on earth could she suddenly remember Trish Yates, but she could not remember so much more? Why something so insignificant? Dammit…why?

Oh, sure, she’d talked to doctors about her condition as she tried to understand what was happening. Plenty of them. They’d told her brain injuries could be unpredictable. Especially the sort of severe trauma she’d faced. One doctor had called her a miracle.

Bull.

She didn’t feel like anyone’s miracle.

But…

The docs had been clear that she couldn’t force her memories. Flashes would come. And the truth was that they’d warned her—the flashes might be all she’d ever get.

Hope crept across Hatterson’s face, only to be almost immediately wiped away. “What’s my favorite color?” Hatterson asked.

She didn’t know. It wasn’t like she could snap her fingers and random facts just hit. Trish and Candyman—they’d just been there in her mind, no prompting. Just—there.

Hatterson took a surging step toward her. “My favorite food? What is it?”

She had no clue.

Another step. “What did you give me for my last birthday?” Gritted from between clenched teeth.

Victor stepped between them as he faced off with Hatterson. “Pretty sure that’s where her not remembering would come in, Hatterson. Now stop being a jackass.”

“Oh, sure, she can toss out that Candyman bullshit and that crap about Trish—gossip that she could pick up anywhere. Hell, I think Melody even posted on social media about her favorite movie when she met the Candyman actor in real life that time, but this woman can’t tell any personal information about me?—”

“Because I don’t remember you.” And she was sorry if that hurt. But it just was.