Page 44

Three days later…?

“Are you okay?” Rae asks me again from the driver’s seat, her voice soft but insistent. It’s probably the thousandth time she’s asked since we left the hospital, and I still don’t have a real answer.

Molly is beside her, staring out the window, and Lydia’s in the back with me, close enough that her silence feels like a question too. Their concern hangs heavy in the air, thick and stifling. It feels less like we’re driving to my new home and more like we’re headed to my wake.

I sigh. “Yes, for the millionth time, I’m fine.”

Rae huffs, and Lydia chuckles softly, squeezing my hand like she’s trying to reassure me that she’s here if I need her.

I know they mean well. I know that they’re here for me.

They’re looking out for me, making sure I’m okay riding in a car after the accident, an accident that I still don’t remember.

Despite searching every corner of my mind, trying to force the memory to surface, it stays hidden.

And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe if I did remember, I’d be more afraid right now.

Maybe I’d feel something other than this strange emptiness where a hole of memories I didn’t know I lost are missing.

The hospital, where I’ve been staying for almost two weeks now, is only a short drive from Mrs. Mayberry’s home—where I was told three days ago that I live now and before I know it, we’re pulling down the long, familiar, dirt driveway, and something in my chest tightens.

Because I know this place. I know it better than I know my own body.

I roll down the window, inhaling deeply, letting the familiar scent of fresh-cut grass and sunshine fill my lungs.

The Blue Ridge Mountains rise in the distance, deep green against the late spring sky.

The trees lining the driveway are in full bloom, their branches swaying in the warm breeze as they welcome May.

The house stands just beyond them, its’ white wraparound porch welcoming.

I smile at the home that’s always been so full of personality.

The old swing Mrs. Mayberry used to push me in is creaking slightly in the wind and for a second, I feel like a kid again, like I’m seven years old with scraped knees, sitting on that swing while she braids my hair and hums an old country song.

I’d probably be rambling on about my friends and classes and my dreams to be a princess someday.

Somewhere off in the distance, I imagine Mr. Mayberry listening to old school Garth Brooks while he brushes his horses in the stables.

A sharp pain lances through my chest. If Mr. Mayberry isn’t here to have cut the grass. And neither is Mrs. Mayberry, then who did it? Something tells me it wasn’t one of my brothers. Something tells me it was Hayes.

Hayes Walker.

My freaking one-night stand from seven years ago.

The hot cowboy, the bull rider who rocked my world, played my body like an instrument, and then watched me walk away after I left his hotel room.

The same man I told not to fall in love with me after spilling my most painful secret—that I was losing one of my fallopian tubes, that I might never have kids despite wanting them desperately.

Heat rises in my body unexpectedly.

Because though Molly and Declan explained to me three days ago that I now live with him—a completely bizarre detail that I still can’t quite process how he even ended up in this town—I didn’t react the way I thought I would in shock.

And when they told me that I married him willingly because of Mrs. Mayberry’s twisted contract in order to obtain ownership of the property that she practically gave us for free? Well, I felt… nothing.

Because I don’t remember it.

Not a single second.

Living with him. Marrying him. Agreeing to a marriage of convenience.

Were we just roommates? Molly explained that he agreed to the marriage for the property, for the one-of-a-kind horses he wanted to board there and ride during his days off.

And I did it for the wedding business. But the strangest part?

The night of the accident, we were having our wedding. Our second wedding, I guess.

And I have nothing. No memories of what our relationship was like. No recollection of how we went from pretty much strangers to legally bound or whether we were even friends or just business partners.

Instead, I’m stuck on Declan. The last thing I remember is dating him.

That we were together, that we were sleeping in the same bed most nights at his house, that I cared for him, and he cared for me.

And when he came to the hospital to tell me I turned down his proposal?

That I walked away from him? It shattered everything I thought I presently knew.

Tonight, I asked him to dinner. A date at one of our old, favorite barbecue places. Just to catch up. Because while everyone insists that so much has changed, I don’t remember the most recent changes, and I need to understand why I turned him down and left.

The tires crunch over gravel as we pull up to Mrs. Mayberry’s home.

My home. The pond glistens beyond the porch, and it looks like just how I remember it just a little more polished.

The windows sparkle, the furniture on the porch is clean, and everything feels…

taken care of. Like someone’s been keeping it ready for me.

I exhale slowly.

“I can’t believe this is my home now.”

Lydia squeezes my hand as Molly puts the car in park and turns in her seat to face me.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.”

My fingers tighten around the handle, and I step out of the car, tilting my face up to the sun, letting its late spring warmth seep into my skin.

God, it feels good to be outside. To be free of that sterile white hospital room.

My family visited constantly—my brothers, their wives, my sister-in-law’s, Lydia, even Lydia’s father, the town’s preacher.

But at night, it was lonely. Quiet. And sometimes, I swore I wasn’t alone despite seeing no one.

I swore I felt someone sitting beside me in the dark.

Like the warmth of a presence never fully left my side.

Maybe that’s just how it feels when you have a brush with death.

I shake off the thought, adjusting my shorts—a simple white cotton pair with a tight, red cropped top that Molly brought from the house so I wouldn’t have to leave the hospital in a gown.

My freshly washed hair falls down my back, the loose waves brushing against my skin.

I feel good. Healthy. No physical impairments, my PT had said.

A miracle, really for how badly my car was crushed.

And while my short-term memories are still missing, the doctor said there’s still a chance they could return.

I step up onto the porch, placing my hand on the familiar wooden railing, and exhale.

Then, finally, I push open the screen door.

A clean, citrusy scent greets me immediately along with the unmistakable smell of Clorox on every surface, like someone was just here wiping things down.

The wood floors gleam, the furniture is pristine, the air carries the faintest trace of fresh linen and the set-up.

Whoa. This isn’t how it looked when Mrs. Mayberry lived here.

“Wow...”

Molly steps behind me and squeezes my shoulder. “You decorated it when you first moved in. Colt helped you rip out the carpeting to get down to the original hardwood, and he and Cash moved in your furniture. I think Hayes has made a few additional updates this past week.”

I nod because it looks like me. This makes sense. It certainly doesn’t look like a guy lives here. A guy I don’t even know. That thought has me spiraling for a second, my stomach twisting as I scan the space again, searching for something that might jog my memory of living with Hayes for weeks.

“I…” I walk toward the kitchen, my fingers skimming over the counter, my eyes flicking to the appliances I don’t recognize, the food in the fridge I don’t remember putting there. It’s like stepping into someone else’s life despite the home being familiar. “Where is my bedroom?”

“Second door upstairs on the right.”

I head up the steps, hoping that maybe walking into the place where I used to dream might trigger something but when I hit the landing, my steps slow as my eyes catch on the open doorway to what is clearly the master bedroom and not mine.

I hesitate, curiosity pulling me in. The bed is neatly made, a navy-blue comforter with subtle stripes stretched tight.

White dressers, a few framed pictures clutter the wall.

My pulse kicks up as I step forward cautiously, half-expecting Hayes to appear out of nowhere.

God, what was he thinking marrying me for this property? Did we really do this just as a matter of convenience? He hadn’t seemed like the type to settle down from what I remember seven years ago. Why is he even in my town?

The thought sends me spiraling, and I grip the doorframe to steady myself before turning and heading straight for my room. But I stop short when something catches my eye in the corner of his room: a cowboy hat. One that looks way too familiar.

I step toward it slowly, where it’s resting on top of a dress. My breath catches as I brace myself, then flip it over. There it is. His name, phone number, and a date I’ll never forget written in faded felt-tip marker. The day we met, seven years ago.

God… he kept it?

I set it down like it’s burning and back away, then rush down the hall.

When I step inside my room, I pause. It looks…

almost untouched. Simple. Lived in, but not in the way I expected.

I move through it slowly, trailing my fingers over the furniture, opening drawers only to find nothing new.

All my things, everything familiar, just…

here. Like I’d never changed. Like I’d never become someone who could agree to this arrangement in the first place.