The Lost Fisherman

by Jewel E. Ann

  I couldn’t turn around. Or blink. I could barely breathe. But I could cry. And I did. So, so much.

  He thought. If he thought. He knew. If he knew. He remembered … everything.

  “Five years ago, I loved you and you loved me. It was really fucking messy … but we were real. It just wasn’t the right time. Our timing seems to always suck. And I’m sorry about that. But you’re here. And I’m here. And my best friend from high school is in town for the next two weeks, and you should come play pool with us.”

  I turned a degree every second, like a ticking clock, until I faced him—that gleam in his eyes.

  “I love you today.” He shrugged a shoulder. “And I’m going to wake up and do the same thing tomorrow.”

  I had so many questions. Did he have sex with Angie in Costa Rica? That was my biggest question, or so I thought. But as I inched my feet in his direction, I realized it didn’t matter. If I wanted to cross that threshold back into his life, it couldn’t matter. If I accepted his love and gave it freely back in return, there were Biblical rules about love I’d have to follow.

  It was never jealous or demanded its own way.

  It wasn’t irritable.

  It didn’t keep record of being wronged.

  Love never gave up.

  Never lost faith.

  Love was always hopeful.

  And it endured through every circumstance.

  However, before I could take that final step back to him, there was a question he had to answer.

  “Were you ever going to come for me?”

  Fisher smiled that glorious, unmatchable grin, and it instantly sent a new round of burning tears to my eyes. It blew my heart up like a balloon, and it rattled my stomach, sending those familiar, tiny wings aflutter. “I was thinking about it.”

  “I found my lost fisherman,” I whispered as I took that final step and wrapped my arms around him, our lips reuniting after too long apart.

  When we pulled back an inch and gazed at each other, he grinned again. “I told you, all you needed to do was go knock on his door.” He wiped his thumbs along my cheeks. “Don’t cry. I don’t want Shane to think I made my girl sad.”

  “You remember.”

  He grinned. “I remember. I just had no idea the memories of us would be so … NSFW. And when it happened, when I remembered the feeling, it felt indescribable, in some way like the universe was laughing at me. How could I have not known? Not like my brain forming the memory, more like my soul tapping on my heart and saying, ‘Yo, dumb ass, remember her? We love her. ‘We will always love her.’”

  I rested my forehead against his chest and laughed. “Not safe for work …”

  “No joke.” He took my hand and led me back toward his house. “You know, I can’t play pool anymore without getting an erection. Do you have any idea how awkward that is when you’re playing against a dude?”

  I giggled.

  When we reached the basement, Fisher released my hand and grabbed a beer. “Shane, this is Reese. Sorry we disappeared. She’s a little skittish.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Fisher.

  “Nice to finally meet you. This guy hasn’t shut up about you in days. After two beers, everything turns into Reese-this and Reese-that.” Shane sipped his beer in one hand while resting his other hand on the pool stick.

  “That’s not true.” Fisher rolled his eyes while opening his beer bottle.

  My scowl turned into a smirk. I felt ten feet tall, even if he was doing all this thinking and talking about me while I was miserable assuming he no longer wanted to be with me.

  When I turned back toward Shane, Fisher stood behind me, snaking his hand possessively across the top of my chest as he ducked his head and whispered in my ear. “It only takes one beer for me to talk about you. But I think about you all the time. And sometimes…” his whisper got even softer “…I touch myself.” He playfully teased my ear with his teeth eliciting another giggle from me.

  “Who’s playing?” Shane asked.

  “Reese. She’s freakishly good at whatever she does. She kicked Arnie’s ass in ping-pong.”

  I glanced back at Fisher, and he winked at me.

  Over the next two hours, we played pool. Shane told me all about Fisher’s shenanigans in high school. And Fisher called Shane out on a few of his own. I had to resort to college stories, which were much more recent because I went to a Christian academy and therefore had no exciting stories during that time in my life. The most taboo thing I had ever done was pull Fisher’s towel from his waist and give him head in his closet, but Fisher already knew that, and Shane didn’t need to know it.

  “I have to get home.” I glanced at my phone screen. “Rory and Rose were shopping, but now they’re home and looking for me. We’re making cookies.” I returned my pool stick to the rack. “Nice meeting you, Shane. I hope we get to hang out again before you leave.”

  “Yeah, that would be great.” He plopped down onto the sectional and turned on the TV.

  “I’ll walk you upstairs.” Fisher took my hand and led me to the front door. Always … always me following Fisher off a cliff or to the ends of the earth.

  “I have a million questions.” I trapped my lower lip between my teeth and wrinkled my nose.

  “And I’ll give you a million answers. Just not until Shane leaves town.”

  Nodding slowly, I whispered, “In two weeks …”

  “But I’ll answer one now. So pick the one that matters the most.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s not fair.”

  “Ask me.”

  Did you have sex with Angie?

  “When did you remember … everything? And do you remember everything? Do you remember all your memories of Angie?”

  “That’s three questions.”

  “Fisher …”

  He kissed me once. “I remembered after I got drunk off my ass at the wedding … because I was so pissed off at you.”

  I frowned.

  Fisher didn’t. He kept grinning and kissed me again. “And I remember all my memories of Angie.”

  Another kiss.

  “I remember everything.”

  Another kiss, but slower.

  When he released my face, I stood motionless for several seconds. “You knew that morning we had Starbucks? And you didn’t tell me? Not only did you not tell me, you completely played dumb about it. You asked me questions you already knew the answers to.”

  He shrugged. It was an arrogant shrug, like he had every right to not tell me the truth that morning at Starbucks. As I started to protest his arrogance, my conscience got the best of me, halting my words. I slid into my jacket and pulled on my boots.

  “Shane doesn’t know I lost my memory.”

  I narrowed my eyes before returning a small nod. I wasn’t sure why he didn’t tell him, but I figured it didn’t matter.

  As I opened the door, he grabbed my wrist, and I turned back toward him. A slightly pained expression stole his beautiful smile. “You. I’ve told you about my memory. That’s it. No one else.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I didn’t tell Angie. And I didn’t tell my family. Not Rory or Rose. Not anyone at work. Just you.”

  Still a little confused, I added another nod. He wanted to tell them, so he didn't want me saying anything.

  “I’m not going to tell them. You know. And you’re the only one who ever needs to know. Except my doctor. I’ll tell my doctor.”

  “W-why?” I shook my head.

  “I know I hurt Angie. And when I told my family, they were hurt too.”

  That answered another one of my questions. He told his family.

  But did he tell them about me?

  “But it would have been worse for everyone had they known I made the decision knowing how I felt about her before the accident. I think it’s easier for them to believe that I can’t marry her or that I’ve fallen in love with someone else because I simply can’t recall my feelings. They are all so sure tha
t I would marry Angie tomorrow if I only remembered. So that’s the deal. I don’t want them to know. I’m not going to tell them. And I don’t want you telling anyone either. Not even Rory and Rose. Can you do that?”

  I didn’t know. That was a big ask on his part.

  Fisher pressed his lips together and canted his head. “Need I remind you that you kept a big secret from me … because you thought it was for the best?”

  “And look how that turned out.”

  He grabbed the collar to my jacket and brought his lips to mine without touching them. “I am looking at how that turned out.”

  He won. Fisher always won.

  “When will I see you again?” I changed the subject, realizing that I’d lost.

  “Shane’s on East Coast time, so he goes to bed by ten. What kind of cookies are you going to bring me? You know I have a thing for your cookies … your muffins … your whole damn bakery.”

  I matched his grin. He remembered that conversation.

  “Now you’re just flexing.”

  He barked a laugh and released my jacket. “Not yet. I’ll do that for you later … after I eat your cookie. Maybe bring extra frosting. I have an idea.”

  “So you have time to eat my cookie, but I can’t ask you any more questions for two weeks?”

  “Exactly.”

  Grumbling in the naked fisherman style, I headed out the door to walk home.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Spill,” Rory said the second I walked into the house.

  “Spill what?” I unzipped my jacket.

  “You were over at Fisher’s. We drove by there.”

  “Oh that…” I hung my coat in the closet and padded my way into the kitchen to wash my hands and start helping with the cookies “…yeah, we’re back together.” I could not have been more coy.

  “What? How? Who? WHAT?” Rory tossed me a hand towel as she and Rose cornered me.

  My coyness quickly vanished. “Yes!” I fisted my hands at my chest and squealed. “I texted him, basically for closure. And he texted me back this weird, vague response that just … ugh … ate at me. So I drove over there. Some stranger answered his door. Turns out, it’s his best friend from high school who’s staying with him for the next two weeks. That was awkward, so I went to leave and Fisher …” Then it hit me.

  His speech. Our big moment. I couldn’t share it with them because it was all about him remembering us—remembering everything. And how he felt about me. Carrying me to the truck and smelling my hair. Sure it might have sounded weird to anyone else, but it was so romantic.

  AND I COULDN’T TELL ANYONE!

  “And Fisher what?” Rose asked. She and Rory had wide eyes and hung on my every word.

  “Uh … well … Fisher felt really bad for not having called. But after breaking up with Angie and telling his family, he needed some time. And out of respect for both Angie and his family, he thought it was best to keep his distance from me. And he knew I was angry with him, so he thought we both needed to take some time and space. But…” my enthusiasm rebounded after that rambling version of the half-truth “…he was so excited to see me. And it was like nothing else mattered.”

  They seemed disappointed in my story. And it wasn’t the most dramatic ending to a love story, but it was all I could give them.

  “So you talked? Worked everything out? He told you everything that did or didn’t happen in Costa Rica?” Rory eyed me suspiciously.

  I nodded.

  “And did he have sex with Angie? Because I can’t see you being okay with that.” Rose gave me the same untrusting look that Rory gave me.

  I made my decision before I stepped into his house. I chose us, even if he had sex with Angie in Costa Rica. If I believed the giving of my body to another in that way was the most sacred part of a relationship, the defining characteristic of love, then I would not have given my virginity to Brendon without marrying him. I would not have been interested in Fisher, the furthest thing ever from a virgin, and I would not have been able to love him after he and Angie had sex the night before our Target trip.

  “He didn’t have sex with her.” That was my answer. And maybe that was a lie. Another lie I would never confess to Rory and Rose. And maybe it was the truth. I didn’t know. And it wasn’t going to change my love for Fisher. The second I hung up on him and didn’t return his calls or texts, that was the moment I could no longer call him mine.

  I abandoned him when he needed me the most.

  That worked. They smiled and hugged me. “So happy for you, sweetie. Both of you.”

  “Thanks. So … let’s make some cookies.”

  Mariah Carey belted out the lyrics to “All I Want For Christmas Is You” while we made cutout sugar cookies, chocolate crinkles, and peanut butter blossoms because Rory thought Fisher might like them. I didn’t break her heart by telling her that Fisher wasn’t the peanut butter fanatic he used to be.

  Then we strung popcorn for the tree and used the rest of the popcorn to make a batch of caramel corn. After that, we nearly passed out from too much sugar while watching Last Christmas and Elf.

  And finally, I grabbed my spare keys, packed up some cookies (and frosting), and headed to Fisher’s house after Rory and Rose went to bed. Tapping lightly on his door, I shivered from the gusty cold wind that night that promised to bring more snow by morning.

  “Hey.” Fisher answered the door with a very pleased expression.

  “Cookie delivery.”

  He chuckled. “We’ve been waiting for them.”

  We?

  I stepped inside to a kitchen filled with guys. “You have … more company,” I said with a tight, fake grin.

  “Yeah, Shane rounded up the whole crew for dinner and … they’re still here.” Fisher took the container of cookies.

  “Yo, Reese!” Shane said with a drunk man’s boisterous enthusiasm. “Fisher said you were coming with cookies.”

  “Yo,” I replied with a very bummed girlfriend’s dismay as I removed my jacket and boots.

  Fisher opened the container and set it on the counter for the pack of wolves to devour, but not before snagging one of each for himself and putting them on a paper towel. “Guys, this is Reese. These are the guys.”

  They laughed and I rolled my eyes. It was all too reminiscent of his pathetic introductions when I met his family.

  “The game’s on downstairs. Let’s go.” One of the guys said, and the rest of the pack followed with their beers and cookies.

  “This isn’t what I saw happening tonight,” I murmured to Fisher as we brought up the rear.

  “Me neither. But they’re here, and I can’t just abandon them.”

  I bit my tongue. Abandoning groups and sneaking off to be alone was our thing. Did he not remember that?

  A few of the guys sat at the barstools, two other guys played pool, and the rest of the group sat on the sofa or floor in front of the sofa to watch the game.

  I snagged a blanket from the back of the sofa and plopped down next to Fisher.

  “I don’t need a blanket, baby. It’s plenty warm,” Fisher said.

  “It’s not that warm yet.” I covered him with the blanket, eliciting a frown from him. It lasted a full five seconds before his body went rigid and his lips parted with an audible inhale.

  “Reese …” he whispered.

  “Huh?” I turned my attention to the television, wetting my lips while he grabbed my arm—the arm attached to the hand down the front of his jeans and briefs.

  I wasn’t sure what got into me, but I suspected it had something to do with repression. Fisher was finally mine, and I didn’t have to hide it from the world anymore. We were no longer forbidden lovers. And while his friends knew nothing about our forbidden love, and therefore I had nothing to prove to them, I still felt the need to claim Fisher in a public way.

  My guy.

  My hand on his cock. (Now MY cock)

  All the kisses belong to me.

  All the nights out belong
to me.

  Me in his tub.

  Me in his bed.

  Me. Me. ME!

  My unsettled possessiveness seemed to spur on my hand, and Fisher whispered, “Fuck,” under his breath while yanking my hand from the inside of his jeans and then yanking me off the sofa.

  “Be right back,” he said to whoever was in earshot as he dragged me up the stairs. I didn’t miss the few looks in our direction. They knew what we were going to do, and while that made my face flush a bit, I didn’t care. In fact, it was really out of our way to go upstairs when there was a perfectly good pool table right there.

  When we reached his bedroom, we heard someone in his bathroom.

  Fisher growled and pulled me toward one of the spare bedrooms, but one of his friends was sitting on the bed, talking on his phone. He held up a finger like he would be just a minute.

  Fisher growled and pulled me to the guest bathroom. The door was locked.

  Another growl.

  His grip on my hand tightened. Frantic Fisher was my new high. Anticipation zipped through my veins. I liked him out of control with his need for me.

  “The pantry?” I laughed, a little in disbelief as he pulled me into the walk-in pantry.

  “Really?” He turned me to face the wall with a few hooks on it and random things like bags, a broom, and some grilling tools hanging from them. “A hand job in front of my friends? Who are you?” Fisher pressed my hands to the wall and yanked my sweatpants down to my ankles followed by my panties.

  “I hope … I’m yours,” I said in a shaky breath, rattled by what he was doing to me and how much it thrilled me.

  He chuckled. “You’re mine alright.” I liked his fast hands. He was impatient boot-shopping Fisher with his cock out as he thrust into me in a matter of seconds.

  “Fishe—” I wasn’t prepared for that quick of an invasion.

  He silenced me with his hand over my mouth and a harsh “shh” in my ear. Fisher moved with intention with one hand giving attention to my clit while his other hand snaked up my shirt and used my breast like a handle.