Page 16

Jennifer

L ater that day, Dylan shuffled the deck of cards like he was preparing for battle.

One brow was lifted in mock seriousness, the tip of his tongue resting on the corner of his mouth, and despite everything—despite how much was unresolved between us—I felt the warmth of something familiar settle in my chest.

“I don’t know if cards are a good idea.” I eased into the chair across from him. “Bethany doesn’t know how competitive you are.”

He didn’t look up. “I’ll be chill.” He tapped the deck twice against the table. “Cards are restful.”

I smirked. “That depends on who’s losing.”

He grinned. “Then I’ll be fine.”

“See, so cocky.”

“That’s confidence , darling.”

“What are we playing?” I snorted and reached for the stack he dealt me.

“Kings in the Corner. Quick. Easy.”

“What are the stakes?”

“Bragging rights only,” he said. “Unless you’d prefer we revisit our Egypt rules.”

My cards nearly slipped from my hands. “You remember Egypt?”

He shrugged like it was nothing. “I remember a lot of good times. The hotel had no AC so we played strip poker and you spent a good deal of time naked.”

I groaned. “Because you cheated.”

He looked genuinely offended. “I did not.”

“You wore extra layers, Dylan. It was a hundred degrees, and you started with a T-shirt, a linen button-down, and a vest.”

He laughed—a full, belly-deep laugh that made me smile even as I worried it might hurt his ribs. “Is that cheating, or excellent planning?”

“You looked like a cosplaying explorer.”

“But I won,” he said smugly.

“You did,” I muttered. “Barely.”

He leaned forward slightly, his grin softening. “That was a good night.”

“It was.” I looked down at my cards, then back at him. “I have an idea for what the winner of each round gets.”

“I’m down for anything.”

He was and that did all kinds of funny things to my heart. “Winner shares something happy about themselves. Something they’re proud of.”

He sobered just a touch. “Deal.”

I chose a card from the middle, then played a red eight on a black nine. “All set.”

He picked a card then gleefully began to move cards around and lay more down. “That’s all I can do.”

“You missed one.” I cackled and scooped up one set of cards he hadn’t matched. “But don’t worry, I got it.”

“Heartless,” he teased and brought a hand to his now T-shirt-covered chest. “You’d think you’d slide a little help to a man with a brain injury.”

“Quit your whining and take your turn.”

We shared a laugh.

The game itself didn’t matter. We were rusty—laughing over missed plays, teasing each other for forgetting to pick up cards. Our easy, affectionate banter had been a cornerstone of the best of what we’d once had.

When he won, he took a moment to think after I prompted him to share something he was proud of. When his eyes met mine, they burned through me. “How real do you want to be?”

“As real as you’re comfortable with.”

He inhaled sharply then said, “This is hard.”

“And not necessary.” I grasped his hand. “I’m sorry. I thought it would be fun. But I’m not missing memories so of course it’s not easy for you. Duh, let’s ditch this part of the game.”

Our fingers laced. “No. It’s good for me. I didn’t anticipate how difficult it would be to say something positive about myself.”

My mouth rounded. That was a heartbreaking insight into the man I loved. “Let’s turn the prize around then. I’ll tell you something I’m proud of you for then you do the same when I win.”

He frowned, but didn’t argue.

So, I said, “I’m crazy proud of how well you’ve handled the accident and your memory loss. You’ve always had the grit to keep going regardless of the obstacles in your way.”

It took him several beats to answer. “Thank you.” With that, he gathered the cards, shuffled them, then dealt.

This time, I won, laying down my last card with enthusiasm. “Boom.”

He groaned and pushed his stack away. “I obviously shuffled poorly.”

“Or I rock at this game,” I said, tapping the table.

He smiled, then gave me a long, loving look.

“You make people feel seen,” he said, not teasing this time.

“Strangers instantly accept you as a friend. You ask questions that no one else would and somehow bring out the best in those around you. I remember how you would walk up to complete strangers in every new city we visited and somehow leave knowing more about them than their family probably did.”

Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how large a role he’d played in my journey to becoming a travel influencer. “You opened the world to me. All I did was take the time to get to know it.”

Dylan beamed a proud smile at me, and my chest tightened in gratitude. Who would we have become to each other if I’d believed in him as much as he believed in me? The question filled me with enough shame that I looked away.

Something across the room caught my eye. Was that... could it be... he’d kept it?

I stood slowly, crossing to the built-in shelves. My fingers skimmed past a blown-glass paperweight we’d bought in Mexico, a wooden giraffe I was pretty sure we found in Tanzania, and a black-and-white photo of us standing outside a café in the south of France.

There, half-tucked behind a shell we’d taken from a beach in Florida, sat something I thought I’d never see again, its luster slightly dimmed by dust.

I reached for it, my breath catching. Dylan came to stand beside me. I held it reverently. “You kept it.” My glance swept back over all the other items. “All of it.”

“Of course I did.”

My vision blurred with so many tears I had to return the frog to the shelf to wipe them away. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, babe.” He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “You’ve done nothing to apologize for.”

“What is wrong with me?” I couldn’t look him in the eye. My hands fisted angrily at my sides. “I’m supposed to keep you calm and here I am losing my shit again. You’re the one who’s hurt.” I sniffed and my lips quivered. “I’m sorry I keep falling apart.”

He wrapped his arms around me in a natural and much-needed act.

And the kiss he gave the top of my head had me shaking in his embrace.

When he spoke, his voice was steady and calming.

“You have no idea the peace you bring me, simply by being here. Steven mentioned something at the hospital that stuck with me. He said that he knows men who would see the kind of memory loss I have as a gift. Something tells me he’s one of them.

Whatever you did, however you feel you failed me—I obviously failed you too. Or we would never have broken up.”

His heart was thudding in his chest and that had me feeling even worse. “We should change the topic to something happier.”

Tipping my head back, he murmured, “The past doesn’t scare me. I don’t remember building this place, but it was my retreat. It was where I came when I wanted to be alone, and looking around... it’s full of you. Of us.”

I glanced back at the bookshelves—photo frames, tokens from trips, the painted ceramic dish we picked up in Portugal. A 3D scrapbook of our time together.

His voice turned gravelly. “Whatever happened, how did we not move past it? I struggle to imagine a version of me that would have settled for memories of you.”

There was so much love in his eyes it was impossible to doubt his sincerity.

“Sadly, I can remember everything. Without going into the details, we were young and both ripe to believe the worst of each other. I don’t know what you thought of me during the years that followed, but I had to hate you to let you go.

I had to blame you, or I would have had to admit I was wrong.

And by the time I looked at our breakup with the clarity of maturity, we’d both moved on and built separate lives. ”

He took a moment before answering, then lifted his arm, and shook it so the bracelet I’d given him as an engagement present danced on his wrist. “I didn’t move on.”

This level of honesty was terrifying, but we owed it to each other.

“I didn’t either. Traveling and sharing people’s stories became my entire identity.

Experiencing new places allowed me to not think about why I had no reason to stay anywhere in particular.

” I cleared my throat. “I still love what I do, but recently I’ve started to want more. ”

“You said I came to see you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I was ready for more as well.”

I wanted to agree, but half the truth was worse than none of it. “You said there were things you needed to figure out before you could come back to me.”

He frowned. “Did I mention another woman?”

Fuck, this is hard. “No, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one.

A lot of people came to see you at the hospital and for whatever reason they didn’t want to be there when I was.

Steven said they were okay with that, though.

If I were in a relationship with you, I couldn’t stand back and let some woman from your past try to rekindle what she had with you. ”

His jaw ticked and I appreciated that he didn’t immediately toss me reassurances he had no way of supporting.

Suddenly certain, he said, “Unless I build a home and fill it with memories of every woman I’ve ever been with, I wouldn’t worry that my heart might belong to someone else. And you are in a relationship with me.”

I glanced down at the ring. “Full disclosure, it won’t be real until your memories return. Until then, I feel... a bit of a fraud.”

“I’m the fraud,” he said in a tight voice.

“I don’t feel like someone who takes the easy way out, but that’s what my mind has chosen.

I fucked up with you and something happened with my parents that I’m beginning to believe was also my fault.

And instead of manning up and talking it out with them, I’ve chosen to just fucking delete it from my memory?

And why isn’t it my choice to unchoose that option?

I want to know—everything. I don’t want this. ”