Page 26 of Your Love (Merrimack Mavericks Hockey #3)
Chapter 26
“Desperately Wanting”
Kerri - Age 19, 1989
T oday is just like the last several Tuesdays. The sun rises slowly as I groggily wake up. With a sigh, I push myself out of bed and begin my morning routine—showering, getting dressed, and heading to physical therapy. At least I’m able to drive again, so that’s something. I’m nervous behind the wheel, but I feel more comfortable every day.
As I arrive at the clinic, the smell of disinfectant hits me, immediately reminding me of countless hours spent working hard, sweating, and complaining about the pain to Carlos, my therapist. But despite the discomfort, I understand the importance for the benefit of my recovery.
With school starting soon, I’ve been faced with a decision—whether to return to the university where I’d been studying before my injury or stay here and enroll at the local college. After much contemplation, I decided on the latter. The thought of going back to a place I don’t remember still makes me uneasy. It seems easier to start fresh in a new environment rather than trying to pick up where I left off.
I’m told the transfer to the local college should go smoothly. I have to fill out some paperwork and get my transcripts sent to my new school. I’ll need help with that since I don’t remember where my last school was. It seems that every time I take a step forward, I’m reminded that my brain is still broken.
Hopefully, I can move forward and not have to retake any classes, but it depends on how well I test when I get there. Since I don’t remember the material covered, it’s going to be a challenge, but the last thing I want to do is repeat my first year of college. I’m doing my best not to allow it to bring me down. My accident could’ve been a lot worse, and I’m aware of that. Paige is barely walking now. She had two broken bones in her right leg as well as a ruptured spleen, so her recovery has been much more difficult. She still remembers her boyfriend and best friends, though, so score one in Paige’s column, I guess.
I want so badly to remember Merrimack. I keep thinking that if I just will myself to remember, it will happen. Deep down, I know it’s a futile effort, and it doesn’t work like that—just like when I was little, and I was convinced that if I focused hard enough, I could move things with my mind. That never worked, either, but it didn’t stop me from trying.
My brain does seem to be trying to fix itself, at least a little bit. The memories of my first trip to the hospital and my relationship with Beau have become more clear. Of all the things that I want to remember, that’s the last one I’d ask for, but the doctors say it’s a good sign, nonetheless. That faceless person who was so horrible to me now has a face, and it’s one I’d very much like to donkey-kick.
It seems as though memories drift back to me in fragmented pieces. First, it was Beau’s unruly mop of hair, then the cold blue of his eyes, and finally, his insincere smile, which was a facade that hid his deep-seated spite and anger.
I sink onto my soft, cozy bed and pull my baby chicken stuffed animal close to my chest. With a sigh, I gaze up at the textured ceiling above me, its patterns swirling and twisting like thoughts in my mind. The memory of Beau lingers, and that’s a good thing, an important thing. I can’t avoid those memories and ultimately must accept that what transpired with him has shaped me into the person I am today. But so did Landry and my friends in Merrimack, and even as I try to focus on the good, the guilt for the way I treated Landry in the hospital washes over me in waves.
It doesn’t matter that everyone knows it wasn’t my fault; the pain I caused him must have been excruciating. To be mistaken for someone like Beau...it’s unbearable to think about. And then I asked him to leave. It seems that causing Landry pain is a skill I’ve become terribly efficient at, and the realization causes a sharp pang of self-loathing in my chest.
I let out a long, exaggerated sigh. At least Daddy has taken matters into his own hands and gone to the district attorney and other law enforcement officials in town, determined to get to the bottom of the accident. Thankfully, Beau’s father no longer works here, so we don’t have to deal with that potential roadblock.
Beau has disappeared since the day Landry threatened him, and no one has seen or heard from him since. Hopefully, he’s hiding and laying low like a scared cat at the dog pound. After witnessing the confrontation up close, it’d be wise for Beau to stay out of sight. He’s no match for Landry. Beau only picks on people who are smaller and weaker than himself. If he were melted down, he couldn’t be poured into a fight with Christian Landry.
The thought of Landry standing up for me brings a smile to my lips but also sends a wave of heat through my body. The way he confronted Beau was scary at the time but also thrilling, igniting a fire within me that I’d never felt before, and as much as I may try to deny it, there is an undeniable attraction between us. But I know that any action taken by me would be driven by lust, while Landry’s feelings are rooted in love. It wouldn’t be fair to him, and I could never do that to someone who has shown me nothing but kindness and understanding. Besides, developing a crush on my boyfriend, who I don’t remember, is a complication I don’t need right now. That’s just one more reason why I asked him to leave—for space to figure things out on my own.
Part of that process includes following Dr. Sparks’s advice. He has been adamant about the importance of staying connected to the people I don’t remember. I’ve been making an effort, but the phone calls are awkward, so I’ve avoided them. I’ve been getting letters from Merrimack often from my friends and my grandparents. I open some and put some on my desk when I’m feeling mentally strong enough to read them.
The letters I’ve read are a treasure trove of personality and emotion. Sascha’s words are laced with sharp wit and clever sarcasm, giving me a glimpse into why I would be drawn to her as a friend. Ivy’s letters, on the other hand, are like sipping on sweet tea in the summertime— warm, comforting, and full of genuine sincerity.
I’ve tried to write them back, but I find myself struggling with the words to express how I’m feeling, so for now, they remain unanswered.
Even when I speak to Landry on the telephone, there are long pauses during which neither of us knows what to say. The sound of our breathing fills the silence as we search for the right words.
The last time we spoke, I mustered up the courage to tell him about my decision to stay here this year. He tried to sound optimistic, but the unmistakable sadness in his voice crept through. It breaks my heart every time I am responsible for causing him pain.
Instead of succumbing to my emotions and shedding more tears, I forcefully push myself off the bed and make my way to my wooden desk. I shuffle through the stack of mail that’s accumulated over the past few days, searching for a specific piece of paperwork—my transcript request form. When I can’t immediately locate it, I open up the top drawer of my desk, finding more pieces of mail scattered amongst pens, pencils, and markers.
Among them, I find an unopened envelope carelessly shoved into the drawer during a moment of overwhelming stress and frustration. It’s a letter from Landry, the first written correspondence I’ve seen from him. I can’t believe I missed this when it arrived, but then again, this drawer mirrors my chaotic mind, so it shouldn’t be that surprising.
I’m nervous to see what’s inside, but my curiosity wins out. With trembling hands and shaky breath, I carefully tear the back of the envelope. Inside is a stack of photos with a sticky note and what appears to be a letter. I don’t dare open the letter. I can’t read it right now, but I begin to thumb through the photographs.
The first photograph looks like it was taken on prom night. It’s me, and I assume, Sasha and Ivy. It amazes me how beautiful they both are. Sascha’s jet-black hair hits at chin level, framing her piercing green eyes. And Ivy, with her soft waves of blonde hair and caring blue eyes, radiates a gentle warmth. As I gaze into the photograph, I can see a pain hidden behind Ivy’s smile that resonates with me on some level.
I flip through the remaining photos he sent. They look like moments of pure joy captured on film. My smile is as wide as a river. I place the stack of photographs back on my desk, feeling overwhelmed. Landry had good intentions of sending them to me, but I can’t bring myself to continue to look anymore right now. They are precious and painful at the same time.
That night, my mind is transported to a surreal world. I stand in the middle of a vast field, surrounded by an endless expanse of stars twinkling brightly above me. The air is crisp and cool, but I am enveloped in warmth and comfort, unsure of where I am or who I am with. There’s a presence beside me, emanating a comforting aura that I cannot explain but lulls me into a sense of security and happiness.
In my dream, laughter echoes through my mind, a mixture of male and female voices intertwining and filling my heart with a sense of completeness. As it nears its end, I glance down at my hand and notice my pinky intertwined with a much larger one. A voice whispers in my ear, “Pinky promise.”
I wake up feeling a mix of disappointment and hope, my mind still foggy from sleep. I wish the dream had been more clear, but something tells me there’s more to it than I initially thought.
I head downstairs and pour myself a glass of cool water from the sink. Standing by the window, I take slow sips and try to gather my thoughts before returning to my room. The messy state of my bed sheets reminds me that I’m not going back to sleep anytime soon. Instead, I decide to follow Dr. Sparks’s advice and try journaling.
I sit at my desk, the blank page in front of me, and reach for a pen. As I start writing, my eyes land on an envelope from Landry. When I open the piece of paper, I anticipate it to be a letter, but as I study the delicate lines and curves on the page, I realize that it’s something entirely unexpected.
A childish watercolor painting stares back at me, seemingly brought to life with vivid colors and intricate details. The familiar barn from my grandparents’ house is there, surrounded by rolling green hills and a menagerie of animals. Yet my eyes are drawn to the center of the page, where a girl with long strawberry-blonde hair stands next to a much bigger man, who I can only assume is Landry. Despite the cartoonish proportions, there is an unmistakable tenderness in their interaction.
As I continue to examine the drawing, I’m struck by the attention to detail and the emotions captured within each stroke of the brush. It’s as if this simple drawing holds a world of meaning and memories within it. Tears well up in my eyes as I realize that this was created by someone who knows me intimately, someone who has taken the time to capture my essence on paper.
My eyes drift down to where our hands are hanging by our sides. I stare at our fingers, and I see that our pinkies are intertwined. The words below the writing say, “To Kerri. I miss you. Love, Paisley.
My teeth sink into the tender skin of my cheek as my thoughts whirl like items caught in a tornado, spinning so fast I struggle to make sense of them. Each one passes by in a blur, but I reach out desperately to grasp just one and hold on tight.
Finally, I manage to catch a clear image. It’s me, looking up at Landry with my back against a towering tree trunk. I try to stand and stumble, but he quickly reaches out to steady me with strong hands gripping my shoulders. A fluttering sensation erupts in my stomach at his touch, like a swarm of butterflies taking flight. The image disappears as quickly as it came.
I snatch another thought from the raging storm in my mind. This time, we’re riding through a field on a golf cart. In the backseat sits a girl with long dark hair and curious brown eyes...Paisley. The memory of her name floods back to me, and I am overcome with a mix of emotions—disbelief, joy, and guilt.
My mind snatches onto another moment, vividly recalling the feeling of Landry’s strong hands carefully buckling my seatbelt. Another memory surfaces, this time of him bending down to shield my boots from a murky puddle. And yet another recollection emerges of him tenderly caring for Paisley and telling me all about how he rescued her.
But then there’s another image, one that stands out above the rest. Landry, my protector, pinned Beau against the wall at Twist ’n’ Taste.
More memories bombard me like a whirlwind, spinning through my mind like a carousel. But amongst them all, one stands out with such clarity and intensity—Landry’s warm lips pressed firmly against mine in what I can confidently say was the best kiss of my entire life. The sensation of his touch still lingers on my skin, sending shivers down my spine, even in this fleeting recollection.
I remember sitting in the passenger seat of Landry’s truck as I poured my heart out to him. The hum of the engine blends with his soothing voice as he leans closer to me. His words wrapped around me like a warm embrace, promising always to be patient and wait for me.
The first time we made love was perfect. Every touch and kiss felt like it was meant to be. I can still feel myself wrapped in his arms, encircled by him physically and emotionally.
This is what love feels like.
Suddenly, my legs give out, and I collapse to the floor beside my desk. My body shakes with sobs as I remember everything that had been lost. My friends Ivy, Taz, Delzy, Sascha...the memories flood back with such intensity that it feels like a physical blow.
I remember. I remember everything. My grandparents farm and the menagerie of new animals—the Colonel, Vincent, Lou…all of them. I remember Cocky chasing Michael.
Mama finds me sprawled on the floor moments later. My laughter echoes off the walls, mingling with tears that stream down my face. Relief washes over me, and gratefulness fills every breath. I am fixed and whole once again.
“Kerri, what’s wrong?” Mama’s voice is filled with concern as she rushes to my side.
“I remember, Mama. Every single thing,” I gasp out between sobs.
A soft smile graces her lips as she pulls me close. “This is wonderful news, Baby,” she whispers tenderly. “You can finally move forward.”
But as those words sink in, I realize there are decisions to be made. The reality hits me hard, and I’m now faced with choices I hadn’t even considered before.