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Present: Eight Years After the Accident—Twenty-Eight Years Old

Sweat drips off my forehead, my lungs heaving in loud gasps of air as I stare at my enemy in front of me.

The box. The crate. The one foot tall monster .

Art and I just finished our therapy session for today, where I failed at the box jump yet again.

I’m supposed to relax and let my muscles rest before the grueling afternoon sessions I’m dreading.

Cognitive games, memory cards and drills, looking at photos and describing the things I see or remember, virtual reality therapy—all exercises for my mind.

It’s been months and months of it, but I’ve made no progress in recovering the memories lost between the ages of sixteen and twenty.

Instead, I only have those random flashes of screams and rushing water.

Then there’s the blistering headaches, gut-wrenching fear, and near panic attacks whenever I try too hard.

It’s like my mind is trying to tell me to stay away.

The last two water therapy lessons have also been a disaster.

I couldn’t get into the pool.

I’d throw up before my toes touched the water.

Art has canceled those sessions for now.

They’re doing more harm than good.

But I’m Alexis Vaughn.

I may be handicapped, twenty-eight-years-old with no college degree, and no job prospects, but dammit, I’m not a coward .

I won’t run away from the past.

My eyes dart to the door and I listen for any footsteps.

I’m not supposed to be exercising on my own—someone is always supposed to monitor me.

To catch me if I fall.

It seems like I’ve been surrounded by people who want to catch me when I ultimately fall my whole life.

Gritting my teeth, I glare at the crate in front of me.

I’m not fucking helpless.

Teenage Lexy may have been helpless, but adult Lexy isn’t.

The familiar lava surges up my chest. The world may have moved on without me, but I’m going to do my damned best to catch up.

Starting with this damn box jump.

The burst of anger propels me to run toward the crate at a breakneck speed, ignoring my uneven gait.

I swing my arms back for leverage and momentum.

My feet lift off the carpet.

Land, Lexy. Land on that damn crate.

My breath freezes mid-inhale as I watch my feet rise and rise, almost clearing the height of the crate.

But I fall short.

My right toe stubs against the edge and I know I’m screwed.

My body pitches backward, my arms flailing as a cry rips from my lips.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I brace for the floor.

But it never comes.

Instead, a wall of heat sears me from behind, followed by muscular arms wrapping around my waist.

A burst of leather and amber hits my nose.

“Easy there.”

That deep, raspy voice.

Two simple words. The masculine scent.

They’re familiar. A shiver rolls down my spine.

Slowly, he sets me on the ground, the sinuous graze of my backside along his front lighting my nerves on fire .

“You need to take care of yourself better. Think about the people who love you.” There’s a hard edge to that voice now and I turn around, finding myself staring at the handsome face of Ethan Anderson.

A sharp pain stabs my head and I wince—I don’t understand why I react this way to him…

this cold, intense…stranger.

His slate-gray eyes flash and his brows pinch into a severe frown.

“You hurt yourself, didn’t you?”

The molten lava, which has subsided momentarily, comes rushing back—indignation straightening my back.

Narrowing my eyes, I fling him off me and back away.

“What’s it to you? I don’t know you that well, so save me a lecture.”

He flinches, a flash of pain appearing in those stormy gray eyes.

But it’s gone as quick as it appeared.

A mirage.

Ethan stalks toward me, his tall frame poured into an expertly tailored deep navy suit, crisp white shirt, and a burgundy tie.

His dark hair is carefully tousled, not a strand out of place, and an enticing five-o’clock shadow peppers his jawline.

My pulse ratchets up as I stumble backward.

Involuntarily. A prey in the presence of a predator.

He looks every inch the brooding, cold numbers king I’ve heard so much about.

An Anderson, from one of the richest families in the country.

How is this guy, who looks like he eats interns for breakfast and prides himself with his impeccable control, best friends with my sleeve of tattoos, leather jacket wearing, motorcycle riding rebel of a brother?

The backs of my shoes hit an exercise bench and I waver.

“You need to watch where you’re going, Alexis. You’re recovering. Can’t you take better care of yourself for the sake of everyone around you?”

The anger in his voice is baffling, and a pinch of guilt eats away in my gut.

I know he’s right. What if I get hurt and undo months of progress?

What if I slip into a coma again ?

The familiar tendrils of fear strangle my throat.

It keeps me up at night—not knowing what happened in the past and whether I’ll slip into a state of nothingness again.

But I don’t appreciate his attitude.

“Ethan. Just because you’re my brother’s best friend, doesn’t make you my brother, okay? Your point is noted and I’ll be more careful in the future, but don’t you dare raise your voice at me like I’m someone you can boss around. And seriously, what happened to you? Can’t ask nicely and have to command people all the time?”

He stops in his tracks, his icy eyes flaring with something I don’t recognize.

“What happened to me?” he rasps.

“What happened—” He halts himself, his eyes wild and nostrils flaring.

This man has issues.

I stomp toward him until I’m a foot away.

“I may have gotten nowhere in my life and you may be a hotshot CFO, but that means nothing to me. I will get my life back and I won’t have you or anyone around me babysitting me because I’m not fucking fragile, okay?”

My chest heaves, my face on fire, and I want to curl into a ball to cry or run my fist through a punching bag.

Ethan is eerily quiet as he stares at me.

His intense gaze misses nothing as he scans my face, like he can read every convoluted thought flashing through my mind.

Another urge slams into me—the need to flee, to hide so he can’t see how desperate and useless I’m feeling.

Wordlessly, he steps forward, his steps measured.

But this time, I don’t sense fire and brimstone behind his eyes.

They’re soft and gentle and my heart flips and a swooping sensation appears in my gut.

It has to be guilt. After all, he did nothing to deserve my irrational bursts of anger.

“Look, I…I’m sorry—”

“It’s nice to see the color on your face again,” he murmurs, stopping a hairsbreadth away .

I crane my neck to look at him, watching as his eyes darken and his lips part for his next words.

“I thought I’d never see it again. The flush.” His low voice is gravelly and intimate, each syllable feeling like a caress on my body.

My core clenches. “It’s beautiful.”

His cryptic words barely register.

My lips part, my nerves aflame, and I’m hit with an urge to throw myself at him.

What’s wrong with me?

“I shouldn’t have overstepped. I’m sorry. It’s been hard and I don’t know how to tell you…I…I…can’t…” The muscles in his neck work and I watch, riveted at the flush creeping above the collar of his crisp shirt and knotted tie.

“Do you know how much the people who cared about you missed you when you were asleep?”

My eyes bounce back to his, and his ever-changing orbs are now blazing with fire, singeing me with their heat.

“You need to take care of yourself because if anything happens to you again, those people would be heartbroken. I don’t think they’d survive it.” Ethan’s nostrils flare, his low, rumbly words sending a frisson of pain spearing into my heart.

My hand flies to my chest, gripping my T-shirt and his eyes snare on the movement.

His lips part, his attention riveted on my hand, which fails to rub away the soreness behind my rib cage.

His pulse batters against his temple.

He lifts his index finger toward the bridge of my nose, and my breath stills.

My nerves come to life.

“Liam and Charles. They must’ve been devastated,” I whisper.

His gaze snaps back up, and he drops his hand, fisting it before sliding it in his pants pocket.

This strange moment of intensity suddenly disappears, a mask of indifference falling over his face.

He steps back and I drag in a deep breath of oxygen.

His silhouette splits, then merges.

My vision slowly clears .

“Of course I’m talking about Liam and Charles. They never gave up on you.”

“Right.” Except it doesn’t feel right.

There are holes in the puzzle and I’m missing crucial pieces.

“Alexis, I…I—”

The ache reappears inside my chest as I watch him struggle with his words.

What? Alexis, what?

“Everything okay?” Liam’s voice appears from the door.

His head cocks to the side as his eyes bounce between the two of us.

Ethan swallows and curves his lips into a half-grin, and my heart flips.

The man is too handsome for his own good.

He takes a few more steps backward and turns to Liam.

“Your sister was trying to do a box jump on her own and nearly broke her neck.”

“You fucker!” I hiss, my goodwill vanishing like an apparition.

I’m reminded of why I don’t like this man.

Something about him unsettles me, and now he’s a backstabber on top of everything.

Liam growls and stalks toward me, his leather boots clomping on the floor.

The last eight years have been kind to him—he’s filled out his black T-shirts and leather jackets, his tattoos on his arms and neck have multiplied but just add an element of danger.

But deep down, he’s still my doting older brother.

More pain in the ass and ridiculously overprotective now, but I can’t blame him.

It must’ve been hard for him to see me in a coma.

“Lexy, what did I tell you last time? Don’t rush this and don’t make me sic a bodyguard on you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“I definitely would, and Charles would agree with me. If you insist on endangering yourself, I don’t give a shit what your opinions are.” He swallows, a haunted hollowness appearing in his blue eyes.

“We can’t lose you again. We’ve lost too damn much already.”

My eyes prickle and I know he’s thinking about Grandma and Uncle Ian again.

They had to grieve the deaths of Grandma and Uncle Ian alone.

I was told Grandma had passed away in her sleep and Uncle Ian had died from a car accident.

I wasn’t there for them.

I couldn’t wrap them in a hug and give them a shoulder to cry on.

Taylor also told me Liam and Charles had a rift for most of the eight years and didn’t reconnect until this past year.

“Liam.” A sob chokes my throat and I throw my arms around Liam.

“I’m sorry. I promise you, I’ll take care of myself better. I was being stupid and impatient.”

Pulling back, I continue, “I just want to live again. Not only recover, but to move forward. And I want to remember what happened before the accident.”

“Does it matter, Lexy? What happened? It’s all behind us, right? Maybe it’s better you don’t know.” Liam swallows, his eyes shifting away from me and a muscle pulses in his jaw.

My eyes narrow.

“There’s something you aren’t telling me, isn’t there? Tay wouldn’t tell me when I asked her about the past either. Charles would always change the subject.”

“Of course not, you’re overthinking.” Liam drags his gaze back to me, his smile as fake as a spray tan in the middle of winter.

I squint, not buying it, but I’ll let him off the hook for now.

I’m supposed to let the memories come back to me and not ask about my past.

It’s so damn tiring.

Yawning, I rub my eyes and grumble, “Fine. Whatever. I should probably rest before the brain doctors pick apart my mind again. A fun few hours of memory games and testing await me. It’s exhausting and mentally draining.”

A headache forms at the base of my neck and I wince before closing my eyes.

“Maybe Liam’s right,” Ethan murmurs.

“Maybe trying to recover the past is hurting you.” He releases a ragged exhale.

“Maybe…maybe you ne ed to stop trying.”

Something in his voice—an anguished rawness—causes my eyes to snap open.

His gaze is shuttered, a muscle twitching at his temple, his jaw clenched.

His fingers are gripping, releasing, and tugging at his cuff links—aged silver and black ones which look incongruous with the rest of his expensive outfit.

“See? Ethan agrees with me. He’s an outsider, so he can look at this objectively.” Liam pats my shoulder.

“Anyway, we were headed out to lunch nearby and wanted to drop in to see how you were doing.”

A smile twitches on my lips as I see his mischievous grin.

“Nice to see you haven’t forgotten me. And you suck.”

Liam winks before heading back out the door, with Ethan trailing him.

“Dels, hurry up. Didn’t you used to say time is money?”

Dels.

Goosebumps form on my skin.

The nickname sounds familiar, even though I could’ve sworn I’ve never heard it before.

Ethan turns around at the threshold.

“Take care, Alexis.” He takes a few steps, then pauses, his back facing me.

“Don’t worry about us forgetting you.”

His hand clenches at his side, and the next words he says are uttered on an exhale so low, I almost don’t hear him.

“You’re unforgettable.”