Mind Lies

by Harlow Stone

  I shake my head and speak softly. “Do you remember what I asked you when you left Ming’s last time?”

  “Same thing as always, Lass: for me to stay, and when I’ll be coming back,” he answers.

  I nod. “That’s right, Lock. I asked you to stay, and you told me you can’t. And I asked how long you’d be gone, and you said maybe two months. Do you want to know why I wanted you to stay so badly that time? Why I was so upset?”

  He shakes his head. “You’re always upset when I go, Lass, as am I. But we make it work. We’ve done this a long time, and we know each other better than any other, do we not?”

  I frown. “No, we really don’t, Locklin. I asked you to stay because I was two months pregnant with your child.”

  “Was?” he rasps, but I put my hand up to keep him from speaking. “Two months, Locklin. I asked you to stay because I was too scared to do it on my own. I didn’t want to do it on my own, but if I had to I would. I would have done anything.” I whisper vehemently, getting angrier with the loss that’s coming. “But you know what happened days after you left, Locklin?” I let the tears pour down my cheeks as I tell him. “I suffered a chorionic hematoma—a miscarriage.”

  Grabbing the sides of my face, he wipes his thumbs over my wet cheeks before asking, “Why didn’t you tell me? Do I not have the right to know? Why would you keep this from me?”

  I sigh. “Because it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference.”

  “How can you say that?” he angrily replies.

  “Because it’s true,” I tell him. “Would you have stayed? If I had told you about the baby that day, would you have stayed?”

  The sound of silence is his answer, and it confirms what I already know. He will never give up, and until he finds complete justice for her, I will always be second fiddle.

  No woman or child will change that.

  As much as I admire his determination, his drive to complete a goal, I remind myself it’s not conducive to a relationship, let alone a family.

  I squeeze his wrists and lower them from my face. “I’m done being alone, Locklin. I was alone when I was rushed in an ambulance, praying our baby was alive. And I was alone in the hospital bed when I was told I was losing our child. And I was alone when I called a taxi, not a loved one, to take me home.” I wipe my eyes and whisper, “I’m done being alone, Locklin.”

  He too has shiny eyes, and he stubbornly shakes his head. “You won’t be alone.”

  Letting go of his wrists, I tell him, “I already am.”

  “No!” he argues. “You should have told me! You could have called me; I would have been there!”

  I scoff. “Where were you a few days after you left? The harbor? On a ship to Ireland? Where, Locklin?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I would have come back, Jerri. You lost a child for fuck’s sake. Our child. I would have made time!”

  Shaking my head, I ask him, “And would you have stayed?”

  “Yes, I would have stayed!” he shouts.

  “For how long?” I quickly reply.

  “Until you were well!”

  “Exactly!” I shout back. “You would have stayed until I was well enough to be alone, and then you would have left again. What if that baby had survived? Would you have stayed with me then? Would you have helped and been here for the birth and raising of our child?”

  “Don’t, Jerri. You act as though people don’t travel for work.”

  “This is not work, Locklin! It’s revenge! There’s a big fucking difference.”

  He sighs, nostrils flaring. “I would never leave you on your own, Jerri. I would have helped you when I could, and I would have been there for our child.”

  “Yes, when it was convenient for you. I won’t live like that, Locklin.”

  “No, you’re choosing not to live like that, there’s a big fucking difference there too, Lass. Have the past few years meant nothing to you?”

  “Don’t you dare turn this around on me. Your silence has been deafening, Locklin, and I’m not going to feel guilty for wanting more. Do you know how badly it hurt knowing that while I was losing our child you were out avenging her? I’ve been patient and understanding for years. That meant everything to me, Locklin. You had been my everything. But for nine short weeks, it wasn’t about you or me; it was about the baby. It was during that time I realized that there are more important things in life than avenging death. Those nine short weeks of embracing the life we created were proof of that.”

  Before I even get the last sentence out, I’m in his arms. His hand holds firm at the back of my neck, and my face is buried in his chest where I breathe in his scent. “I’m so sorry, Jerri girl. I know words don’t help, but I am sorry.” His lips move where they are pressed against the top of my head. Locklin doesn’t process emotions instantly. He’ll quickly analyze the facts (which he’s done) and argue the logic, and afterwards, which could be a few hours or a few days, the rest will set in.

  In this case the rest is the loss of our child and the ramifications for his actions. He truly does mean what he says. I know he is sorry, most likely for a lot of things. But the kicker is it won’t change. He won’t change. I’ve been doing this dance with him for long enough, and she will always take precedence over what happens between us. And another thing about Locklin—he never makes a promise he can’t keep.

  He made her a promise, and if it takes him ’til his dying day to fulfill, so be it. He won’t stop.

  A long time ago, I made peace with that, peace with the way he is. But today? Post-pregnancy loss, I can’t.

  These are the famous last words that I never thought I would be the one repeating. I hate those two words, the two that break my heart every time he leaves. But it’s time now.

  Pushing against his hard stomach, I lift my head off his chest to look at his face. He places another kiss in my hair before he too leans back. I run my hand up his chest until I reach his jaw. I rest my hand there, absorbing the warmth and energy that radiates from this powerful man.

  “You’re not going to ask anymore, are you, Lass?” he asks.

  I press my lips to his chin and whisper, “I can’t.”

  Holding my face close, he tells me, “This is not goodbye, Lass. I won’t let you tell me goodbye. I care for you deeply, so I’ll give you some space.”

  I give him a squeeze. “I know, Locklin. But don’t expect me to wait.”

  And then I let go.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Here you go, Love. Saltines and ginger ale.”

  Yet again, when I woke up from my dream this morning, I flew straight to the toilet. The memories bring me closer to Locklin but have yet to give me answers. The only thing I’m getting is the feeling of emptiness and pain, slight dizzy spells, and nausea, of course.

  I’m still trying to piece together the timeline of memories as Marcus settles me into the chair at his salon and spa. He’s a beautiful man, nothing reckless or rugged about him. He has long, floppy, straight hair at the top of his head, but it’s nearly shaved on the sides. The blonde hair and bright blue eyes combined with his height give him a Norwegian appearance. Of course, his skinny jeans and bedazzled purple scarf detract from the Viking persona.

  Marcus is yet another member of the fabulous group I wish to remember. I’ve been in his company for an hour, five minutes of which were spent with my head in the toilet, and he still makes me feel as if I’ve known him for years.

  I suppose that’s true.

  It’s just a pile of years I don’t remember.

  I take small bites of the saltines, sipping on the ginger ale as he begins the process of trimming my hair. “Portia promised to cut off my balls if I do anything too drastic.”

  I frown at him. “Pardon?”

  We make eye contact in the mirror when he says, “I saw the contemplative look on your face. I’ve always wanted to try something new with this lush, thick hair of yours. I love this feisty, mid-length bob thing we have going on here, but I’ve trie
d to talk you into something sassier. Portia told me no sass today or she’d have my balls.

  I smile. “She is a bit of a ballbuster, isn’t she?”

  He gives me wide eyes. “Hunny, you have no idea. Remember when I gave her fuchsia highlights?” He waves his hand. “Of course you don’t, my bad. Anyway, Pixie wanted viper-red. I told her repeatedly it would not blend well with her blonde, so I did what I thought looked best. I’m the best stylist in town, so my best is the law around here,” he deadpans.

  “So what happened?” I ask.

  He scoffs. “She knew it looked great, way better than viper-red. Bitch still stole my bedazzler.”

  I fight a smile. “I take it this BeDazzler is important to you?”

  He raises a brow. “Do you think this scarf would look half as entertaining and stylish without the jewels?”

  I’m serious when I reply, “I don’t think it would.”

  He raises his arms. “There you have it. BeDazzled always wins. Now, enough about the ballbuster. Tell Marcus all about home life and how you’re getting on. Your eyes are sad and dull and your hair is flat.”

  Since Marcus sees that sad eyes and flat hair are clearly signs for distress, he gets to work while I try to explain.

  I nonchalantly tell him, “I suppose when you don’t know who you’re looking at in the mirror every day, the windows to the soul tend to lose a little life, ya know?”

  His face softens. “No, Love. I don’t know.”

  I shrug my shoulder in an effort to ward off the uncomfortable feeling of talking to a stranger who knows me so well. “Well, it is what it is I guess. The harder I try to remember, the more tired I get.”

  He nods. “I’m sure the walk here helped with your fatigue. But until Cooper has Portia’s car looked at since she parked on the street yesterday—because, you know, the whole brake line thing—looks like you two are walking or cabbing.” I frown, and he says, “Cooper told Portia about the visit from Boston PD. Portia told Cory and then he told me. Now we’re all double checking vehicles before driving you anywhere.”

  “Not much stays a secret around here, does it?”

  “Was it supposed to be a secret?” he asks.

  “No. I guess it’s just confusing.”

  “What’s confusing?”

  I sigh. “Everything.”

  Marcus grabs the scissors. “Well, Love, one thing that is not confusing is how fabulous this hair is going to look when I’m done. We’ll save the blow-dry for when you’re done with the massage. Let’s get you clipped, painted, and primped, and you’ll be feeling like your fabulous self in no time.”

  I sincerely doubt that, but since I look a little worse for wear and have nothing pressing going on at the moment, I sit back and let him work his magic before he ushers me to the massage room.

  “It smells fantastic in here,” I tell him, eyeballing the diffusers in the room and the cozy heated bed in the middle.

  “Strip and get comfy, Love. Sarai will be here in five.”

  I smile over my shoulder. “Thank you, Marcus.”

  He kisses the top of my head. “Anything for you, Love.”

  When he shuts the door, I proceed to strip down to my birthday suit and get under the blankets. When Sarai comes in and introduces herself, as though we’ve never met before, I’m grateful. She says a few kind words and tells me she’ll be gentle around the swelling in my knee. When she asks about other symptoms, I tell her about my slight dizziness and nausea.

  I remember her telling me to breathe deeply before I promptly passed out on the table.

  * * *

  “Ms. Sloane? Can you hear me?” an unfamiliar voice asks.

  I grumble in reply, wanting to go back to one of the best sleeps I’ve had since I came home from the hospital.

  “Ms. Sloane, I need you to open your eyes for me, okay?”

  Doing as the unknown woman asks, not because I want to, I open my eyes to many concerned ones. Marcus and Portia are both wide-eyed, holding each other’s hands. Sarai stands near my feet where I’m still laying, naked but covered in a sheet, on the table, and an unknown woman with foils in her hair hovers over my head with her fingers around my wrist, checking my pulse.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “Sarai said you wouldn’t wake up,” Marcus tells me.

  “Have you eaten today, Ms. Sloane?” the woman asks.

  “A piece of toast this morning,” I weakly tell her, then add, “Peanut butter.”

  She nods. “Good. I’m Dr. Webber by the way, one of Marcus’s clients.” I nod toward the foils in her hair in a way that says I already figured that out.

  “Your friends here told me about the head trauma you recently sustained. I’m going to recommend you get dressed and call your doctor at the hospital.” I gape at her, but she continues, “Light dizziness and nausea can be normal, but it’s been over a month now since the original accident and almost two weeks since you’ve been out of the hospital. Marcus said you were sick this morning?”

  I shake my head. “A little. Usually happens after a memory hits me.”

  She places my arm back on the table and stands. “It’s still unusual and too frequent. I’m sure your doctor will want to do a round of blood work and run some tests to make sure everything is normal.”

  “Don’t argue, please, Jer. Cooper’s already on his way to take you,” Portia says.

  I have no desire whatsoever to go back to the hospital, but from the worried looks on their faces, I grudgingly accept Sarai’s and Portia’s outstretched arms to sit up so I can get dressed and head to the hospital.

  “Whoa,” I mumble, trying to stand up. Dr. Webber and Marcus left the room, and Sarai’s arm around my waist helps hold me steady as I weave.

  “Take it slow, Jerri. I was only massaging you for about fifteen minutes, but I think you were out cold for all of them,” Sarai tells me. It takes some work, but once I’m decent, I make it to the back door and into the waiting car with Portia and Sarai’s help.

  “How you doing, Jer?” Cooper asks once I’m settled into the back seat with Portia at my side. I give him a small smile before closing my eyes and resting my head against the window. “Had better days, Coop.”

  It’s silent for what feels like minutes before he says, “It’s been less than twenty-four hours since we uploaded the video.” I open my eyes and meet his in the rearview mirror. “It’s already gone viral,” he adds.

  Portia gasps next to me, and even though I don’t remember much, I know that this is huge. “What? How is that possible?”

  “I’m sure it’s a combination of the story behind the song and the high-traffic sites I uploaded it to. #LoveLocklin will be trending by tomorrow.”

  Portia adds, “Has anyone responded to the question yet?”

  Unfortunately, Cooper shakes his head. “Not the answer we’re looking for.”

  I close my eyes again, and Portia takes my hand. “He’ll see it, Jer. We’ll find him.”

  All I can do is nod even though I’m not sure I agree with her. I hate to be negative, but how much shit can be dumped on one person? Between the cop last night, my messed-up memories, and my journey back to a place I never wanted to go back to, well, I guess I’m having trouble trying to view the glass half-full.

  * * *

  “Can I get dressed now?” I ask the nurse.

  “Best wait until Doctor Havan comes back. He should be here any moment,” she tells me before leaving the room. I stay on the bed, and Portia adjusts the sheet before taking a seat in the chair beside me. “You think they give courses on shitty bedside manners at nursing school?” I snort. “I haven’t met a kind one yet.”

  I laugh at her observation before a knock sounds at the door. Dr. Katherine walks in. “Good morning, Jerri.” I frown and look at the clock, noting it’s only 11:30 a.m. It feels as though a lifetime has passed since I showed up for my ten o’ clock appointment with Marcus. I mumble a “good morning” back to her, and she moves to stan
d at the side of my bed.

  “Aside from the obvious, how’ve you been doing?”

  I like that about her, her bluntness.

  Taking a breath, I tell her, “I’m tired, Doc.”

  She pats my arm in a friendly manner. “I could probably tell you about twenty different things that contribute to your fatigue, but none of them will make you feel any better. I don’t recommend sleeping aids with the recent head trauma either.”

  “The pain pills knock me out. I’ve only taken them a few times, usually at night. It helps a bit but not much.”

  “I think it’s more the pain meds allowing you comfort enough to sleep, as opposed to actually putting you to sleep. Are your memories still coming back when you go to bed?”

  I nod. She already knows about the laundromat apartment, the miscarriage, and Locklin, but I’ve refrained from calling and telling her about the incident in which Locklin and I were running. I haven’t told her about the scar on my hip, either. For some reason, I figure the less people know about that one the better. After all, if there is danger out there with my name on it, I hope to keep the people that it may impact to a small handful.

  I’m not sure if she knows about the detective yet or the brake lines that were cut on my car, but the door opens with Dr. Havan entering through it before I get a chance to ask.

  “Ah, good. You’re here,” Dr. Havan says to Dr. Katherine. Portia and I share a look before Katherine says, “Dr. Havan asked me to be present, Jerri. What we’ve talked about in private is between you and I, and Dr. Havan understands that I know a lot more about you than he does. That being said, he thought I might be able to help today.”

  Still confused, I wave for them to continue.

  “Alright, Ms. Sloane, your blood work came back. I’ll admit I was worried with the frequent nausea and dizziness. I wished you had come sooner, but I’m grateful the issue does not seem to be related to your brain trauma.”

  I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “That’s good, right?”