Remembering Everly (Lost & Found #2)

by J. L. Berg

  I didn’t understand how the French stayed so thin. It was mind boggling.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” Sarah announced, taking a deep breath, as if she were getting ready to do something incredibly impressive, like sing the National Anthem, or give a speech on poverty.

  I ignored her dramatics and waited for her to begin.

  “I believe our loner friend is on a secret mission. Notice the unassuming way everyone seems to pass by him? He’s almost invisible. How does anyone that good-looking become nearly microscopic?”

  “It’s France?” I wagered a guess. “All the men around here seem to be hot.”

  “That guy who gave us a cab ride to the cooking school yesterday?” she reminded me.

  The toothy, nearly bald man’s face came to mind. “Okay, not all the men. But the ratio seems to be more favorable than home.”

  “Anyway,” she said, clearly moving on with her espionage story. “He’s here on a secret mission, and his goal is to remain as incognito as possible. Don’t arouse suspicion. So that’s why he’s being so patient at the bar. Raise a hand…call out? Instantly, someone will remember his face, because he was a jerk.”

  “Your story sucks,” I said, giving her a big thumbs down.

  “Oh, and yours didn’t? Cougar? Really? Try something original next time!”

  “At least now you know you can get that shit tightened down under,” I laughed.

  “Oh please, there is nothing of mine that isn’t tight.”

  “Gross. Just gross,” I said, pretending to gag. We were so involved in our conversation that I barely noticed someone else had approached our table until I looked up and saw the loner from the bar making his final steps toward us.

  My cheeks flushed instantly, knowing we’d just been discussing him at length without his knowledge.

  He smiled and uttered something in French. I giggled like a foolish school girl and replied in English.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t speak French.”

  “American?” he asked.

  I simply nodded.

  “My apologies. I was simply asking if I could buy you a drink.”

  My belly was instantly a jumble of nerves, as everything came to life, dancing and fluttering inside. I glanced over at Sarah, who was giving me the slightest nod, with eyes that said if I said no, I was an absolute fool.

  “Sure, but I do have a rather odd question for you first.”

  “But of course,” he graciously agreed.

  “What do you do for a living?” I asked.

  He was a bit confused by my turn of phrase, so after a brief explanation, he nodded his head in understanding and answered, first in French as he searched to find the English word.

  “Taxes,” he finally answered, looking for something more specific. “I’m an…accountant.”

  I caught Sarah’s expression out of the corner of my eye as she shook her head and silently spoke the word ‘spy.’ I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

  What had I just gotten myself into?

  Chapter Fourteen

  August

  I hated work lunches.

  It took all the joy out of the simple pleasure of eating.

  Instead of eating at my desk or fleeing from the office like I normally did most days, I’d let Trent pull me in on another one of his client lunches where he made me dance like a pony and did what he did best.

  Lied his ass off.

  It was enough to make me lose my appetite.

  The only benefit to these work lunches was that Trent always paid, and there was plenty of alcohol. Coming back to the office with a healthy buzz always made the rest of the day go by a little faster.

  It also helped numb well…everything. And lately I was enjoying the tangible feeling of absolute oblivion. The memories were coming faster, each random and varying in length, but they pushed me further and further down the path of self-destruction.

  I’d always known the type of man I was, but now I was seeing it firsthand. I watched memories of my former self fall from grace, my own future fell by the wayside.

  The night before, I’d had my first memory of locking Everly up. I understood now—the fear behind why I done so. Trent had become less of a business partner and more of an evil overlord through the years—pushing my paranoia until greed had driven me a bit insane. I could feel the fear running through my thoughts as I’d clicked the lock securely into place and walked away, listening to her sobs as she’d begged for an answer I never gave her.

  So many mistakes.

  I’d also eventually realized after several long nights, as the flashbacks played over and over in my head, how much I’d neglected my long-lost friends Vodka and Bourbon. They were quiet, didn’t ask a lot of questions, and always managed to make me feel better without much fuss. They also dulled the memories.

  This was the exactly the kind of comfort I’d been requiring lately.

  It was the only kind of friendship I deserved.

  I’d lost count of the number of times Magnolia’s number appeared on my cell phone as a missed call. I hadn’t spoken to her since our single night together. Try as I might to avoid it, I’d become the man I had feared—the one who takes and takes with little remorse.

  Only, I had remorse. And guilt, regret, and pain.

  I’d just chosen not to do anything about it.

  I could have answered her phone calls, apologized for not being the man she’d hoped I could be. I could have ended things civilly, with the maturity of someone my age should have.

  Instead, I dove inside a bottle and drowned myself over and over, wishing I could rewrite time.

  Men like Trent, the masters of fortune and fame, thought they owned the world with their riches and ridiculous bank statements. They tossed around cash like it was paper and laughed at others’ misfortunes because they couldn’t fathom walking in someone else’s shoes. Money was the ultimate commodity and they ruled it—owned it and completely dominated it.

  But if you looked around, at the old and the dying—visiting a man saying good-bye to his ailing wife after eighty years of marriage—there was always one thing people desired more than money.

  One thing they would give everything up for in a heartbeat.

  Time.

  If someone could figure out a way to harness time—to give that dying man an hour or even a day more on this earth with his wife? Or if someone could manipulate time and send them back so they could start all over again?

  He’d be a god among men.

  I knew I’d surely give every dime I owed and more to go back to the moment when I’d first shook Trent’s scaly, double-crossing hand, leaving my comfortable job behind to go work for a shark. What would my life with Everly be now if I’d walked away from him? If I’d said no and we’d settled into our shabby low-key life?

  I guess I’d never know.

  Because time wasn’t for sale, and no matter how hard you tried—you’d never get a second chance to go back and fix your wrongs.

  Life was nothing more than a series of choices—right or wrong, good or bad. How we sorted through—that mess was the real test, and I guess I’d failed. Miserably.

  I shuffled through papers and entered data into the spreadsheet I was working on, not really caring about the work I was doing, as my earlier buzz slowly wore off. My eyes moved to the tiny numbers at the bottom of the screen, noticing the time.

  Two in the afternoon. At least three more hours until I could leave.

  This wasn’t how a life should be lived. Staring at clocks, waiting for time to shuffle on. It was a waste—a horrible waste of a life—and I hated that the man I’d been just mere months earlier had succumbed to this paltry existence.

  A tiny buzz against my desk caught my attention and I looked down to see a notification pop up on my phone.

  A new text message. From Everly.

  My hand shook as I picked up the phone, unlocking it to read the message.

  It contained one single word.

  “
Rutherford.”

  My eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and I wondered if perhaps she’d texted me by mistake. I don’t know how long I sat there staring at that one word, as my mind went through every conversation, every memory, trying to remember something about a person named Rutherford. Finally, as my brain was nearly squeezed dry, empty of ideas, she sent another text.

  “Norbert.”

  And then it dawned on me.

  “Do you remember our baby name game?” she’d asked me that night on the phone, her words slurring together in a haze as the liquid truth serum known as alcohol coursed through her veins.

  Now that I knew the meaning behind her odd texts, I found myself filled with even more confusion.

  What did this mean? How did I even respond?

  One final text came in, a plea. “Please, August.”

  After several moments of all-out war with myself that involved serious pacing around my office and several curse words, I finally came to a conclusion.

  I didn’t respond.

  No good could come from answering those texts.

  Brick had said I had a choice when it came to Everly. I could chose to involve her in my life—this choice I’d made—or I could make the mistake of leaving her in the dark.

  That was where she belonged.

  Darkness kept her safe.

  * * *

  Ignoring Everly became an internal struggle for the rest of the afternoon. It left me irritable and edgy, so much so that I’d nearly leapt toward the door the second the clock hit five, muttering that I’d finish the rest of my work from home.

  The crashing ocean waves did nothing to soothe my restless disposition as I settled in for the night, trading my suit and tie for a pair of jeans and a tattered old henley shirt. I downed a second glass of bourbon, feeling it ease my tense muscles.

  Looking down, I pressed the button on my phone, checking for alerts for the hundredth time since I’d arrived home. I hadn’t let go of the damn thing in hours, clinging to it like a lifeline. My lifeline to her.

  She’d contacted me—despite the way I’d acted toward her in the dress shop as she’d stood there looking like a damn angel from Heaven. She’d looked down at me with such a raw panic in her eyes. How long had she been carrying that secret with her? What kind of damage did that do to such a pure soul? There must have been a thousand times since that moment that I wished I could have told her I didn’t blame her for that night. But I hadn’t.

  Because what better way to keep her away than fear?

  But even fear, it seemed, couldn’t keep Everly away.

  Now, on my fourth or fifth glass of liquor, I bypassed the kitchen, choosing a liquid diet for the evening, and stumbled to the couch. Flipping through the channels, I found an old movie about a lone detective hired to unveil the dark underbelly of the Las Vegas mob. Slowly unconsciousness took over, and I fell asleep. Reality fell away and I found myself on the gritty streets of a long-ago Vegas metropolis.

  Trent had replaced the mob master and I was the detective sworn to bring him in. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never get what I needed. He was always one step ahead, smiling his way to the bank. Nothing got past him and I found myself flat on my face, trying to protect the people I loved.

  The woman I loved.

  If I could just get him behind bars…everything would be fine.

  Everyone would be safe.

  I was startled back awake when my phone, still in my grasp, vibrated to life, pulling me back into reality.

  Jumping up, I cursed as the ice from my cup fell into my lap. The cold to my nether regions sent another string of obscenities from my mouth as I pushed the ice that had fallen into my lap to the rug and looked down again at the phone.

  Everly.

  My heart sped into overtime as my muddled, liquefied brain tried to make a decision.

  I really should have eaten something for dinner.

  That reasonable, level-headed August from this morning, who made good, sensible choices, was halfway down a barrel of bourbon now, singing show tunes, giggling about flying elephants.

  I picked up the phone and answered it without thinking.

  Impulsivity for the win.

  “Hello.” I staggered.

  “You’ve ruined me,” she stated.

  “S’cuse me?” I tried saying. “I believe you ruined me.”

  Silence followed as she most likely tried to comprehend my words. “No, no…no, no. This is not how this phone call is going to go. I had a plan when I picked up the phone. I have things to say, and I’m going to get them out. You are not going to detour me.”

  “Okay,” I answered, feeling my head sway slightly as I tried to stay upright.

  How much had I drunk?

  “I went on a date tonight and, ah hell—are you drunk?”

  “Yep,” I answered rather quickly. “I recently discovered I really like bourbon. Did I always like bourbon?”

  “What?” she asked out of confusion.

  “You went on a date?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “Oh, um…yes. Right, I went on a date,” she said, seeming to get back to her point. “And doesn’t that sound a bit fucked up to you?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never met the guy,” I answered with a tiny shrug. I gave myself a mental pat on the back. Even drunk, I could be aloof. And funny.

  “What? No, August. Not the specific guy—the sheer fact that, less than three weeks after I called off my wedding, I went on a date. Not a hookup, or a one-night stand. An actual date. With a guy. Why would I do something like this? Why?”

  “Was he good-looking?”

  “I hate you,” she muttered.

  “Good,” I answered.

  “Why? Why do you want me to hate you?” she pushed, seeing through my drunken state to something deeper, something I knew I couldn’t share.

  “You shouldn’t be dating, Everly,” I finally said, giving her the answer she was seeking. “You need to be spreading those new wings you have. Give yourself time.”

  “You think I don’t know this? And how do you know about my wings?” she asked, suspicion tinting her words.

  “What wings?” I played dumb.

  “Never mind. It’s seriously hard to talk to you when you’re drunk. Anyway, it’s what I’ve been telling myself since the moment I called the wedding off—I need to be single. I haven’t been alone since I was eighteen. I don’t know how. I’ve been dependent on someone else for the entirety of my adult life. And yet, every time I think about being alone in this world, I want to run back to you.”

  Her tone changed, like a dam cresting over. Suddenly that anger she’d come into the conversation with spilled over, giving way to waves of emotions I guessed she’d been holding deep inside.

  “You don’t want me. Not really,” I tried to convince her. “You’re just scared.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Taking a deep breath as I tried to steady my thoughts, I stood, making my way toward the wide windows that opened out to the darkened sea below.

  “Because I’m a fucked-up mess. Because someday, you’re going to meet someone who makes you want to fly—who doesn’t cage your beauty or squash your dreams. The partner that encourages rather than holds you back—and when you do, I’ll be nothing but a distant memory you’ll eventually forget.”

  “I could never forget you,” she whispered, her words shaking.

  “Take it from me, even the most precious of memories can be forgotten.”

  The quick intake of air told me she’d taken my words the wrong way, and I quickly opened my mouth to apologize, but the sobering side of me realized it was probably for the best not to.

  “You know,” she said in the small voice. “Sometimes I wish it was me—who’d ended up in that hospital bed. I wish it was me who’d forgotten everything—who forgot you.”

  Now it was me who was speechless and searching for air.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Beca
use then I wouldn’t feel this never-ending pain each day when I’m not with you. I wouldn’t know what it feels like to love someone who doesn’t want me.” Her voice grew louder. “And I wouldn’t remember all the ways you broke my heart.” She breathed a long, defeated breath before saying, “Good-bye, August.”

  She didn’t bother waiting for me to respond as I heard the line go dead.

  My heart quickly followed as I fell deeper into the blackness.

  * * *

  I called in sick the next morning.

  Or at least I think I did.

  I remember picking up the phone, punching in a series of digits and announcing I wouldn’t be showing up to work that day.

  Sounded legit to me.

  Frankly, I really didn’t give a fuck. Trent could drive his ass over here and drag me back to that prison he called an office if he wanted. It didn’t matter.

  None of it mattered.

  Because, like the good lapdog I was, I’d always go back. Tomorrow, I’d put on my freshly laundered suit, neatly matching necktie, and walk out the front door, ready to do whatever the hell he told me.

  This was what my life had become.

  For her.

  And she wanted to forget—everything.

  Every lingering touch, each single kiss that had slowly etched her name to my soul—erased from her memory.

  “Jesus—did you drink all of that?” Brick’s abrasive voice cut through the silence as my dark thoughts ceased and I found myself looking up at the old man from the living room couch I’d slept on all night.

  “What’s it to you?” I said, my words coming out in quick succession. I tried squinting to stop the light beaming in from the windows from being so damn bright. Raising a hand above my head, I tried to focus on my good friend whom I hadn’t seen in ages. He still looked much the same. Khaki shorts had been traded in for a pair of jeans due to the colder weather and his button-down was another version of something I’d seen before.

  Good old predictable Brick Abrams.

  “I see you’re not any more pleasant than the last time I saw you,” he replied, rubbing his forehead and letting out a frustrated breath of air. I watched him as he turned, taking a seat in the chair across the room. He settled in, lifting his leg across his knee as he studied me.