Page 58

“The arrests sent shockwaves through the financial industry. Dayton Holden and Trey Spencer have pled guilty to multiple counts of racketeering, blackmail, embezzlement, and attempted murder—among other charges. Legal analysts predict they’ll spend the rest of their lives behind bars. The pair claimed full responsibility for the crimes, though rumors persist about The Association’s involvement—”

I turn off the TV, not wanting to see Dayton and Trey’s faces ever again.

They look haggard, their eyes haunted.

My guess? They’re afraid for their lives—when you’re caught, you become a loose end for The Association.

I don’t give a crap about them anymore.

They don’t deserve another second of my thoughts.

Blowing out a breath, I walk over to the windows and stare at the dreary skies when the doorbell rings.

Despite missing Ethan, I’m glad he’s taking the time to work on himself.

He needs to heal—I can’t imagine how traumatizing it is to almost lose the person you love twice.

He’s waited for me for almost a decade.

This time, I’ll be the one waiting—in whatever capacity he needs me—because I love him and I know he loves me.

We’ll come out of this stronger.

The doorbell rings again.

“Coming!” Who is it?

Is it Ethan?

My pulse quickens and I hurry to the door and yank it open, only to deflate when I see the person on the other side isn’t him but is his sister .

“Wow, you look so disappointed to see me.” Lana smirks, her expression reminding me so much of him.

She’s elegant as always in a brown wool dress and a beret, and she’s holding a large paper bag.

I smack my forehead and give her a hug.

“I’m an idiot. I was hoping Ethan came to his senses, but I’m glad to see you. What brings you here? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, don’t worry.” She steps inside my apartment and looks around.

“I’m doing a welfare check. Good—the blinds are open, no pigsty. You look like you’re coping well.”

“It’s a speed bump. I don’t like it, but I’ll survive.”

Lana nods and turns toward me, her thick braid swinging from the movement.

“I stopped by his place this morning to check in on him—making sure his fridge is stocked, he’s eating, and whatnot. I came across something I thought you should have.”

She hands me the paper bag.

“What is it?” I pull out a large leather book and frown.

This looks really familiar.

Then it occurs to me.

This is the book Ethan has in his arms in every one of the artsy photos decorating his apartment and his office.

“He’ll probably kill me when he finds out it’s missing. But I’m thinking if I were you, given what happened, I’d probably quit the medical trial in favor of learning about my past.”

My fingers tremble and my pulse riots inside me as I carry the book to the living room and sit down.

I trace the faded gold lettering on the cover.

Letters to the Universe.

The hairs prickle on my forearms. The answers I’ve been waiting for.

Call it a gut feeling, but I know they lie within these pages.

“Thank you, Lana,” I whisper, unable to tear my gaze away from the scuff marks on the cover .

“Don’t mention it. I’ll leave you to it. I’m a phone call away if you need me,” she murmurs.

A whiff of her rose perfume hits my nose, and I hear her quiet footsteps and the soft click of the door shutting behind her.

My hands fist on top of the book, my heart drumming a rapid beat.

Before what happened on the Delfina, I’d already decided to drop out of the medical trial.

I don’t want to let the past hang over me and prevent me from living the future I deserve.

I want to know my love story with Ethan even if I might never remember.

Open it.

The urge grips me—a gut feeling so strong, I have to listen to it.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly flip open the cover and read.

To the Keeper of My Secrets,

Yes.

That’s you, the nosy person reading my journal.

A gasp slips out of me, my eyes absorbing the entries a lost girl on the cusp of womanhood wrote to her mysterious pen pal.

A familiar headache forms at the base of my neck, and I know it’ll hurt—whatever I’m going to remember next.

But I can’t stop reading.

I can’t flip through the pages fast enough.

These are letters between me and Ethan.

I recognize his masculine scrawl.

P.S. Not that this helps, but I don’t think you’re easily forgettable.

You know the saying, “A picture speaks a thousand words?” I actually have an opposite belief—words illuminate the soul.

I haven’t met you in person, but based on your words, your zest for life, I know you’re the type of person who leaves an impression.

You’re unforgettable, remember that.

And I’ll always remember you.

Don’t be too hard on yourself .

My eyes tear up as I trace his words.

You’re unforgettable, remember that.

And I’ll always remember you.

How true they are.

“Oh Ethan,” I choke out, watching our love story unfold in front of me.

I hope you find genuine love, even if you don’t believe in it.

Perhaps I haven’t experienced the heart-wrenching twist of loving someone.

But I’ve seen it. My parents, as flighty as they are, truly love each other.

But their love is volatile—a tsunami drowning everyone in the vicinity.

I want what they have, minus the wreckage.

I hope to find it someday and I wish for the same for you.

Your confidant,

Dreamer and Believer

P.S.

Clue: Another name for this journal.

I know, I’m lazy with this one, but ballet practice and school have been kicking my ass, so I haven’t had time to come up with something cleverer.

Suddenly, a knife of white-hot pain drives through my skull.

It’s blistering. It isn’t just pain this time—it’s an explosion.

I cry out and bury my face in my hands as the headache bursts from behind my forehead, rippling out like a bomb just went off.

Then the images come.

Vivid. Sharp. A slide show.

The missing pieces, the memories of us I’ve been searching for.

Me huffing down the steps of Ravenswood Library to the DVD room, freedom in my veins after I broke up with Dayton.

I wanted a glimpse of my keeper, even if that broke the rules.

The beautiful man—the god of war—smiling at me that first day outside the library after he picked up the things I dropped on the ground .

Me describing the perfect picnic at the hidden courtyard to be shared with the man I love—Ethan—once I graduated from college and got a job.

A picnic I inadvertently had years later, not knowing how hard it must’ve been for him to live out this beautiful future we planned together, but I’d become a stranger.

A violent storm and a blackout.

The elation I felt when I saw him walking up to me.

His words, “I knew you’d be beautiful,” before he kissed me like his life depended on it.

Our passionate sex, his tutoring sessions, the way he grinned when we jotted down the first seven items of my Twenty by Forty list.

My hummingbird earrings and his vintage cuff links.

The gentle graze of his finger on the bridge of my nose—his love in a single gesture.

His favorite color, blue, because it reminded him of my eyes.

“Marry me,” his words to me when he crouched over me, shielding me from the violent hail during the first snowstorm of the year.

I teased him, saying he didn’t have a ring, that I wouldn’t answer him until our date for the ghost pepper curry challenge.

The what-if game, me asking what he’d do if a rock struck me and I lost my memories.

His fervent response that day at the library.

“If a rock smacked you on the head and you lost your memories, I’d do everything in my power to make you remember. Even if that meant recreating our love story, reminding you with every touch, every word. Because there’d be no way I’d let you slip away. No way.”

I sob into my hands.

He did everything. He never gave up on me.

Every single moment since I’ve woken up from the coma carries a different meaning.

The memories continue to slam in—relentless—an avalanche finally tearing down the mountain after one too many snowstorms.

I shake in my seat, my fingers clutching my head.

And I remember .

Each and every moment.

Those four missing years.

The dreamer and his keeper.

How could I’ve forgotten?

Eventually, the pain subsides, but the chasm in my heart splits wide open and tears continue pouring down my face.

Those four missing years—the ones I’ve long associated with pain—held memories my mind tried to protect me from.

Moments too painful to relive.

But hidden among these memories were priceless, beautiful moments I’d give anything to keep forever.

I spend the next minutes reading our journal.

Pages and pages of love letters, pressed flowers, inside jokes.

I laugh and cry as the words trigger more precious flashbacks.

My mind makes the connections now.

The photos in his apartment and home—all from places on our bucket list. The little trinkets I found stashed away in the hospital nightstand when I woke up—the gold coin, the sea glass, the ghost pepper curry spices, every item a souvenir from the bucket list challenges.

His way of doing the list for me, of keeping hope alive, of keeping our love alive.

His vow to teach me how to swim, because he was supposed to in the past.

Oh Ethan, did you take on that guilt too?

Did you think if you’d taught me back then, perhaps I wouldn’t have nearly drowned?

I know he did. My Ethan carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He must’ve been gutted and riddled with guilt.

His poetry.

Did he regret it?

Loving me? Waiting for me for almost a decade only to lose me when I don’t remember him?

Then I remember the poem he wrote for me in the courtyard when I asked him for help with my assignment.

Love in seven lines.

A scent of lavender lingers.

An imprint time will not erase .

Pain and distance cannot sever.

Her laughter, her light—a path I chase.

Once in a lifetime, a sure-fired arrow.

Even through agony, loneliness, and sorrow.

No regrets, only gratitude—the lavender, always , woven into my soul.

Sobs rack me as the full meaning finally hits me.

The depth of his love, the steadfastness, the fact he only holds gratitude despite the years of pain he endured.

“Ethan, oh my God, Ethan.” I stand, needing to find him, to tell him I remember.

I remember everything.

A sheet of paper flutters to the floor and I pick it up.

The ink is newer and I see water marks dotting the page.

His tears. His grief.

Tibet

Memories dance behind my eyelids as I go to sleep,

Visions of you, soaring high in my dreams.

Ribbons of fire twirling in the wind,

Your lavender scent lingers, a longing I cannot rescind.

Hearts, once aflame, now smolder in smoke,

Our love, bittersweet, broken as fate’s cruel stroke.

The world spins on, blissfully unaware,

My life, forever changed, hollow as the air.

My Nova, my star, bright in the sky,

Farewell, my hummingbird, my darling butterfly.

He must’ve written this right before I woke up.

Liam told me Ethan was on a plane when I woke up and he dropped everything to rush to the hospital .

Only for me to reject him—because my mind hurt too much, because I didn’t remember him.

I need to find him.

I don’t care if he needs more time to heal.

I don’t care if he pushes me away.

He fought for me all these years.

This time, I’m fighting for him.