Never Say Goodbye

by Sakwa, Kim

  “Do you…do you have a condition?” she asked with genuine concern.

  “A condition?” he repeated. “A condition, Amanda?” He got right in her God damned beautiful face. “Yeah, I have a condition, Amanda—it’s called you’re fucking killing me!”

  Alexander watched Amanda bite her lip just before she smiled up at him. “You don’t scare me.”

  “Bloody hell, that I know.”

  “First of all, there’s a swear jar in the kitchen. You can make a contribution on our way out. And secondly—”

  “Swear jar?” Was she crazy? “You’re serious?”

  “Why does that surprise you?”

  “Because my favorite swear word I learned from you!”

  She sucked in an audible breath. “That can’t be true.”

  “It sure the hell is!”

  “I don’t swear!”

  “Oh, sweetheart, it may only be one word, but your mouth is filthier than any sailor I’ve ever been around. And I’ve been around a lot.”

  “You’re lying!”

  “I. Don’t. Lie.”

  “I. Don’t. Swear.”

  “Yes. You. Do.”

  “Well, maybe it’s because of you.”

  “Oh.” He grinned devilishly, looking at her in such a way that made her blush, like he was seeing right through her clothes. “I can assure you—it is.”

  “What are you trying to say?” she said, shifting in her seat.

  “I’m not trying to say anything,” he said, still taking her in, top to bottom. “I’m telling you—in the right circumstances, you swear!”

  “Because you irritate me?”

  He shook his head. “No. Irritating you is fun as hell.” He got right in her face again and gripped her shoulders before running his hands up and down her arms. “This is better.”

  The implication of what he was telling her hit full force, and she turned three shades of red before she was able to speak again. “So…so…” She had to clear her throat. “When we made him.” She pointed at Zander, hoping he wouldn’t make her say the whole thing aloud.

  Alexander put her out of her misery. “Yes.” Bloody hell, their conversation was messing with his head. Literally. “Secondly?” he asked.

  “Secondly?” she repeated.

  “After you informed me of the swear jar, you said secondly.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Good. Wheels up in forty-five. Let’s go.”

  Taking his family to the car from Amanda’s penthouse, Alexander felt like an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. They were going home. Amanda was quiet. Finally. Bloody hell, they were not the same two people they used to be. Maybe it was because she’d had her own life in the twenty-first century, while back in his, he and Callie were her life. How different things may have been if she could still remember him. Them. Zander was sound asleep, tucked beneath Amanda’s chin. Rosa was talking with Stephen, and Callie was holding his hand, staring between him and her mother. Every now and then Amanda gave her a wink, then a big fake smile, which caused his daughter to burst into peals of laughter, her face rubbing his thigh.

  Stan was downstairs making sure everyone and everything was ready. As Alexander stood outside the truck, he literally counted his ducks getting in. Amanda, check. Zander, check. Callie, check. As he checked Callie’s buckle she asked, “Do you like to fly, Papa? More than ships?”

  He covered the top of her head with his hand and told her, “I like anything that gets me to you.”

  “Hey, Callesandra,” Gregor called out as he adjusted the rearview mirror to see her, “I love to fly!”

  “I knew it!” she exclaimed with a fist pump. Amanda smiled, too, sharing a look with her.

  It was a forty-five-minute ride to the private airport, and they pulled right up to the plane. Hank, his pilot, and the rest of the crew were waiting. Alexander couldn’t help but check his family again as he helped them from the truck. Wife, check. Son, check. Daughter, check. Hank introduced himself to Amanda, Callie, and Rosa.

  Callie ran onto the plane, turned around at the top of the stairs, and asked, “Can I sit wherever I want?”

  “Anywhere but the pilot’s seat, angel.” He walked with Amanda to the stairs, his hand against her back. Callie had sprawled out on the sofa in back by the galley. She had three TV screens to watch and was already plugging her iPad and iPhone into the jacks. Stephen sat down next to her and she promptly threw her feet into his lap. Rosa took one of a cluster of four chairs with Stan and Gregor. Trevor and Michael took another cluster. Zander’s baby seat was already installed by the front. Amanda sat in the seat next to it. Alexander spoke with the pilot and checked Callie’s seat belt even though Stephen just buckled it.

  He checked Zander’s harness and Amanda’s belt too. Satisfied they were tucked in tight, he finally sat across from Amanda. He looked at his watch; he’d said his plane was leaving in two hours. It was one hour fifty-nine on the dot. As Hank started to taxi, Alexander shared a look with Stephen. This day was a long time coming. They left the ground a minute later.

  Mission fucking accomplished.

  Lights out and plane relatively quiet, thirty minutes later Amanda got up and went to check on Callie. She was sitting in Stephen’s lap, looking rather content. She gave her a kiss and told her she loved her. Then went to check out the galley where she found a feast from Gibson’s, her favorite Chicago steakhouse. She was just about to head back and ask if anyone wanted anything when she saw the bottle of Macallan. It was ridiculously expensive. In fact, one of the most expensive pours out there. The four cases at home, the bottles that lined the shelves above the bar, they were for him. She knew then she’d bought it for Alex.

  She fingered the bottle, desperate for a memory of him, them, anything. Just as she was about to whack the side of her head again, he was behind her, his large hand covering hers. “Don’t,” he whispered.

  “I can’t help it.”

  “If I thought it would work, believe me, I’d do it myself.”

  She turned and looked up. “It seems logical, doesn’t it?”

  “Let me tell you something about logic, Amanda…”

  Amanda waited for him to continue. And waited. He was just staring at her. “Well…?”

  Alex shook his head. “It’s complicated.”

  “It’s supposed to be simple.”

  “Not when all the variables change. Not when the simplest way from A to B is no longer a straight line. I lived for and by logic, Amanda.”

  “What changed?”

  “Bloody hell, sweetheart, that’s easy.” He smiled down at her. “You.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “You may.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Did you just correct my grammar?”

  He smiled, only slightly, and her heart hurt just then, realizing how much pain he was in. It was remarkable how well he seemed to push through things. “Not on purpose.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Always.”

  “Good, let’s eat.”

  As he was about to leave the galley, she called out to him.

  “Were we happy, Alex?”

  He turned and looked at her so intently, a million emotions crossing his face, before saying, “Deliriously.”

  “Really?”

  “Swear to God, sweetheart.”

  It was well past midnight by the time they circled Amanda’s drive and subsequently piled through the front doors, which wasn’t an exaggeration. Seriously, there were nine of them, and that number would have been larger if not for the late hour. On the ride from the airport, Alex had told her that he’d long ago leased the estate next door, and so whenever they knocked off for the night, that’s where he and most of his crew went. Amanda had stared at him incredulously. How had she never
noticed? No wonder they were always close at hand. Now that Amanda had some of her footing back and could see things a bit more clearly, she realized it was kind of ridiculous that she’d allowed the circus into her home so easily. The break had been good for her. She’d needed that burst of independence, even if it had been short-lived.

  Exhausted, Amanda let Alex carry a sleeping Callie up to her room and tuck her in, following closely behind. She stood in the doorway, watching him, racking her brain again for a memory, any memory, something. He looked so natural with Callie, so much like he fit. At that moment, he turned, stood, and approached her. “Amanda, I—”

  She reached out and laid her hand on his chest. It always surprised her that touching him was so easy, natural even. Was that a sign? She’d never been so immediately easy with a man before. And aside from when he’d dragged her closer in the truck and laced their hands together, he hadn’t made any overt moves. Nothing romantic or particularly intimate. In fact, she’d even caught him a couple times pulling back, which she really appreciated.

  “Can we do this tomorrow, Alex? Please,” she asked, not ready for whatever other revelations he had in store.

  He nodded. “I’ll be back in the morning.” He covered her hand, gave her an uncustomarily shuttered look, and said good-night. She could feel his hurt; it actually pained her. Not just emotionally, but physically. Half of her felt like the worst person ever for sending him away, and the other was just so confused and tired. Thank God for Evan, who had advised them to keep things as they were for the moment.

  She stayed on the landing listening as Alex spoke quietly with his brother. Once they stepped outside, Amanda walked down the stairs to sit on the bottom step, watching as his taillights wound down her drive. Stephen came back inside a few minutes later, looking beat and a bit forlorn. Amanda watched as he shut the door behind him and paused for a moment, before banging his head against it in frustration and cursing silently, rubbing the spot. He hadn’t seen her yet.

  “I’ve tried that, and been told it won’t help,” Amanda said, feeling a sudden rush of affection for this man who, she realized with a start, was technically her brother-in-law. So weird. She could see the corners of his mouth lift a bit before he turned to look at her.

  “Leave it to you, Amanda, to purposely hit your head.”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  He gave something of a snort. “There was a time when you did worse, so a knock to the head? Not even this much.” He demonstrated a smidge with his fingers.

  Wow, she could actually feel the history—the familiarity—between them now. Not that she remembered it, but even the way he looked at her, spoke to her, she knew now beyond a shadow of a doubt, she really was connected to these brothers in a deep, inexplicable way. “What’d I do?” she asked, scooching over to make room on the step for him.

  He sat down and held out his hand to her. Without thinking, she extended her left hand, but he shook his head. “Oh, the good one,” she chuckled. “Lucky me.” She rolled her eyes and placed her right hand on top of his. He turned it over and brushed his thumbs across the now-familiar scar that ran diagonally across her palm. She had a flash of Alex doing the same when he’d brought her home from the hospital. “Were you there?” she asked.

  The sound he made was closer to a chortle this time, and he shook his head, looking up to the ceiling before returning her gaze. “I was always there when something happened to you, Amanda. Or at least not far behind. I had your guard at times then too. When Alexander was off, uh, on business. Apparently, I suck at it.”

  She smiled. There was something about the way he said that that warmed her heart. “We were close, Stephen, weren’t we?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, we were.”

  “Was it you who took me to the hospital?”

  “A hospital.” He shook his head. “No way, we would have never—I mean—had we even been able, it would have been too far. Alex had just returned from sea and…Christ, Amanda, you were bleeding like a sieve. I held you while Alex stitched you up.”

  “Wait,” she said, pulling her hand back and looking at the scar. It was so smooth, and aside from the small dots that still marred her skin where the stitches had been, it was terribly clean. “Your brother did this?” She held her hand up to him just to clarify they were speaking of the same wound.

  Stephen nodded. “Yep. He did. Mr. Cool as a Cucumb—”

  “Oh my God,” Amanda said, cutting Stephen off. “Something just came to me, someth—if you ever have a crisis,” she said slowly, an image of Callie in an old-fashioned dress flashing through her mind. Had she been playing dress up? “He’s the one and only person you need with you,” she said, her voice trailing off a second before she finished. God, was this normal? Her new normal? “I don’t know where that came from.”

  “Let’s keep that between us, okay? I wouldn’t want it to go to his head,” he teased. The levity was a much-needed break from all the tension that had been filling the air, and she was grateful for it. “Back to your hand, he cleaned, stitched, and dressed it him—”

  “Wait!” Oh God, she could see a glass filled with a white milky substance. She shuddered—a tactile memory of how horribly awful it had tasted. Alex was straddling an ottoman on one end and she was facing him with Stephen behind her holding her steady. There was something terribly odd about the memory. It looked like a room at the estate in Abersoch, but the furnishings were so old-fashioned. “I remember that.”

  “You do?”

  She nodded. “He had the most serious look on his face—I mean more serious than usual.” At this, Stephen smiled and nodded. “I think he was in a uniform.” She hesitated. The uniform was more like the ones she’d seen in historical reenactments, but she supposed it was entirely possible Alexander was into those things. She narrowed her eyes as she tried to home in—her head was obviously a jumble—then shook her head and shrugged. “Maybe.” It was gone.

  “He was so scared you would get an infection, or that if he didn’t get it closed just right, you wouldn’t be able to play the piano anymore.”

  They both turned as Callie’s voice sounded from the top of the stairs. Poor baby, traipsing to and fro the past few days had taken its toll. She reached out to Stephen. “Thank you for sharing that with me.” Then she called to Callie, “Coming, sweetie.”

  So much had changed in the past few days. And while she didn’t have her memories, at least not of her relationship with and marriage to Alexander Montgomery, she felt more secure, like there wasn’t this big secret hanging overhead, being kept from her. It really helped her feel more in control. And bits and pieces were starting to come back.

  She heard a soft knock on her door a bit later. She was in bed but still had the light on.

  “Ammy?”

  She turned as Sam pushed the door open and padded to the other side of the bed to slip beneath the covers next to her. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. You have every right to be angry with me,” she blurted out.

  Amanda closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know what to think. Evan has assured me that my memory will return naturally. He really believes that.” She rolled her eyes. “Seriously! Now I’m buying into what the company shrink says.” They both chuckled. It felt good to laugh with her best friend again. And Evan’s words felt more possible now that she had started getting vivid flashes of things, as strange and startling as they were. “I was just so mad and freaked out—you were an obvious and easy target.”

  “You and Callie, and now Zander, have been my life for these past months, Amanda. I would never let anyone hurt you. Ever.” She came up on an elbow. “Like Stan would have to get the hell out of the way, because I would kill them myself.”

  Amanda’s eyes narrowed as she tilted her head. “Wait, wasn’t it you who told me Stan was the guy who would take care of everything?”

  Sam rolled her eyes
. “You were a mess that night, Amanda. Jesus, according to Stan, Callie was too. I was thousands of miles away when you called, and if I couldn’t be there myself, I reached for the first name I could think of, and that was Stan.”

  “I can’t remember it, but I’m glad it was him. I can’t remember any of it.” She shook her head, looking at her wrist and the scar she had from her surgery. She thought about Alex then, his stricken expression when she’d replayed whatever scene had happened with their hands. Finally wiped out, Amanda turned off the light and rolled over. She heard Sam flip the pillow and get comfortable. “I asked him if we were happy,” she whispered a few minutes later.

  “What did he say?”

  “Deliriously.”

  “You know, I didn’t meet him until Zander was born, but based on the way you spoke about him, I think you were, Ammy. I really think you were.”

  Alexander walked back into Amanda’s at o-seven hundred. It had been a long, restless night. Evan had given him an earful, going on about Alexander letting his anxiety—that was Evan’s word—get the better of him. But the truth was Alexander had been furious that Amanda had left and taken his children. Not that she wasn’t capable or for that matter entitled to do what she wanted, when she wanted, but—and it was a but of monstrous proportions—he’d just found them again for Christ’s sake, did she really have to leave? Deep down, he knew the answer of course—they’d kept her in the dark. And now, although she knew there was something between them, a big something at that, presently it felt worse. He checked in with Stephen when he decided to stop torturing himself and get out of bed. Stephen told him lights had been out in Amanda’s house on the later side, as in way later, which meant no one was about yet, not even Helen with the baby. A quick workout later, Alex and the boys made their way over just as Amanda was coming down the stairs with the baby.

  “Morning,” he said. She gave a perfunctory hi in return. This new awkwardness between them was difficult even under the circumstances. “Callie going to school?”