More Than a Memory

by Marie James

  I nod my head. “Yeah, she is. Were you able to get them all?”

  “I think. I mean, I don’t know how many there are, but I got everything that was on there.”

  I try to hand him a jump drive, but he holds his hand up and rejects it, offering over five instead. “I made copies, just in case.”

  “I appreciate that. How much do I owe you?”

  He shakes his head. “Not a dime, man. I’m just glad I could save that stuff for her. This is the email address the virus came from.”

  He hands me a slip of paper. “I mean, that’s my email except for the extra period.”

  “That’s how they get people to open it up. That shit hasn’t been around since the year two-thousand, but technology has changed so much since then, it’s no longer as detrimental as it used to be.”

  “You sure I don’t owe you anything?”

  He shakes his head before turning back to his computer and pretending like I was never here, and for that, I’m grateful.

  I slide all five jump drives into my pocket as I leave the dorm and get into my truck. I spend the drive back to the apartment wondering how my arrival is going to be taken. Even doing this for her, she may still ask me to leave and I’d have to at some point. I can’t forcibly hold her against my chest forever. Eventually, she’ll call the damn cops on me.

  Walking back into the apartment, I realize she’s still sleeping. I quietly place the new laptop and jump drives on her dresser and crawl back into bed with her. Smiling softly when she nuzzles against my chest, I hold her tight, knowing this may be the last time she’ll ever be in my arms.

  Chapter 37

  Olivia

  The heat of his body engulfs me and I stiffen in his tender embrace, unsure why he’s even here. The horrible things I said to him…the lies I spewed from my mouth when I was upset and angry.

  “Please don’t,” he begs, his warm breath gusting over my unruly hair.

  “Why would you do something so terrible?” I ask, thankful my back is to him so he can’t see my lip quiver.

  Silent tears fall from my eyes and dampen the pillowcase. My entire body aches, not unlike the way it did the day Duncan passed away.

  He releases one arm from around me and points toward a bag on top of my dresser. “I had Liam’s roommate recover the files. He made five jump drives with all the things from your computer on them. The email address the virus came from wasn’t mine. It had an extra period. I’d never do something like that to you, Liv. I hated finding you watching those videos, especially after sharing such an intimate moment with you, but I’d never hurt you in that way. I know you need him. I just want you to need me too.”

  His words come out in a rush, as if he doesn’t get them all out now, he wouldn’t have another chance.

  Relief washes over me as my eyes stay glued to the bag, the need to verify that I haven’t lost Duncan completely burning in my chest.

  “I got you a new computer, too. The guy at the store assures me the firewall protection on it will stop this type of thing from happening again, but if it does, your files are all backed up.”

  I feel safe in his arms, nurtured and loved, but it’s difficult to let go of the rage and anger I felt earlier. In the deep recesses of my mind, I didn’t believe he could do something so vile, but the proof was right there in front of me. The email wiped all of my recorded memories, leaving my computer and heart useless. The files may have been recovered, and for that I’m eternally grateful, but it doesn’t negate the fact that I turned on him so easily.

  Will my whole life be this way? Will I turn against everyone who cares for me, all the while holding onto a man who is gone? The very same man who urged me to move on even though I could see the heartbreak in his eyes along with his insistence?

  “I didn’t mean what I said,” I confess, praying he believes me, even though I only seem to speak in half-truths these days.

  “I know, beautiful. You were hurting.” His words are soft and placating, but I can’t tell if he actually believes me or is only telling me what I want to hear right now.

  I turn in his arms and reach up to cup his face. “I should never have said those things, Bryson. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to believe you’d do something like that.”

  His eyes soften just before he closes them and nuzzles his face into my touch. This amazing man, and I seem to push him away at every turn. I swallow against the lump building in my throat when the small band of diamonds on my finger catches the light. Weeks ago, it would’ve felt like a betrayal, seeing Duncan’s ring against the healthy skin of Bryson’s face. Today, however, I’m comforted knowing he’s here, holding me, forgiving me, standing by my side.

  “You deserve better than me,” I whisper. “You deserve someone who can love you with their whole heart.”

  His eyes open, the dark orbs growing wet from unshed tears. They wreck me, just as they did yesterday when he came home early and caught me on the computer.

  “Possibly,” he agrees, and my heart clenches, afraid he’s going to pull away. I know it would be for the best, but still pray he’s willing to settle for less than one-hundred percent of me. “But, Liv, there’s no other woman in the world besides you. I’ll take what I can get.”

  “You shouldn’t settle. I can’t give you all of me when I’ll never be whole again.”

  He wipes a tear from my cheek and leans in to place his lips on my forehead. “You will. One day, you’ll be unbroken, and I’ll be here every step of the way. If you’ll have me, I’m not going anywhere.”

  For the first time since I woke up, I pull him closer to my chest. His relieved breath warms the skin of my neck and shoulder.

  “I can’t let him go completely,” I confess.

  “I’d never ask you to.” He pulls his head back, gripping both sides of my jaw in his big hands. “But moving on isn’t the same as letting go.”

  Tender lips brush against mine and his willingness to stick by my side even when I’m always trying to push him away seals up one of the tiny fissures in my injured heart, making it just a fraction more durable.

  He shifts his weight so he’s lying on his back and I’m splayed at his side and on his chest. I close my eyes as his hand runs up and down my spine.

  “Tell me about him.” His words are sensitive and pleading. His request doesn’t feel like a demand for knowledge, but more an opportunity to understand what things were like between the two of us.

  I falter for a brief second, unsure if opening this door to him, allowing Bryson into the part of my past is the best thing. I always considered my time with Duncan sacred; precious moments only the two of us shared.

  I take a moment to imagine the shoe being on the other foot, how I would feel if Bryson had lost someone he loved so much. I don’t know that I could be as considerate of his feelings as he has been with mine. I can easily admit he’s a better person—stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.

  “We met my freshman year of high school, before the first bell rang for class to begin.” I close my eyes as I begin to reflect, giving a voice to the memories that have only been in my head.

  He holds me closer, urging me on, giving me the strength to continue.

  “He was a year older, sitting near the front steps with a group of his friends. They were older, of course. Duncan was always associating with the older kids, almost as if he was too good for kids his own age. That’s the impression I got from him that first day anyway. Couldn’t have been further from the truth. I soon realized he wasn’t hanging out with the other kids, they were hanging around him. His personality, his charm, his ability to care for others was like a magnet no one could resist.”

  I laugh against Bryson’s chest thinking about Duncan sitting there with messy hair, braces on his teeth, and acne.

  “Even though he was catcalling, acting obnoxious, yelling out, ‘Hey, sweet cheeks, don’t act like you aren’t impressed,’ I was drawn to him. His friends laughed at his playfulness, but when I stiffe
ned at the attention and just walked away, he stopped, which I wasn’t expecting. I anticipated him calling me worse names, sure the goading he was getting from his friends would only egg him on, but it didn’t. When I looked back one last time before going into the school, I saw disappointment in his eyes. I thought I’d been lacking until he apologized later at my locker and I realized he was disappointed in himself.”

  I pause, waiting for his judgment, waiting for him to call Duncan an asshole and try to convince me it was an incredibly shitty way to start a relationship, but it never comes, so I continue.

  “We were pretty much inseparable after that. We started out as friends—my dad was pretty strict and according to him, boys shouldn’t have even been on my radar—but neither of us dated anyone else. It’s like we knew we were waiting for each other, even though the agreement was unspoken. I was terrified of making a move, even after I knew I was head over heels by the beginning of my sophomore year. He was the one who kissed me after a football game. It was quick,” I chuckle, remembering the shock on his face when he pulled away and I didn’t slap him. “We didn’t discuss it, but from then on, he found many more opportunities to kiss me.

  “I started hearing chatter in the halls. He’d told anyone who would listen that I was his girl. We sort of just went from friends to being in a relationship overnight. No one was shocked, though. They could see what we were trying to deny for the longest time.

  “He first got sick the second semester of his junior year, not long after we declared ourselves together. The diagnosis was almost immediate. Acute myeloid leukemia.” My voice cracks at mentioning the disease that ripped him from us, but I choke down my pain and continue. “His parents, like my own, are very wealthy. Only the best medical attention for their son. We were hopeful. He started treatments right away. By the end of his senior year, the doctors declared he was in remission—against all odds, they somehow beat the disease plaguing his body.”

  I close my eyes and grip his shirt in my hand, needing a break from the pain, yet wanting so bad to speak of him out loud. With renewed strength, I begin again.

  “One year,” I whisper, “we had him back, healthy, almost like his old self. He was still too weak to play ball, but they put him on the team anyway. He missed fall semester, but was at every practice. I was in my senior year in high school when he proposed.”

  I hear him swallow, his only response to the story so far.

  “He insisted it wasn’t too soon. ‘When you know, you know,’ was all he’d ever say. My dad wasn’t as excited. He felt we were too young. The summer between my senior year and first semester of college, he began to grow weaker. Later on, he admitted he’d been feeling bad for a while, but refused to accept he was sick again. I’m so mad at him for that.”

  I shake my head against Bryson’s chest. “I was so mad.”

  “You can still be angry, Liv. Every emotion you felt then, every one you feel now, is completely okay.”

  I swallow roughly, knowing that being unable to let go of some of the emotions I’ve clung to for so long has caused problems between Bryson and me. I don’t tell him that, though, I simply placate him with a nod.

  “When the leukemia came back, it was so much worse than it had been before. They tried everything—every drug, new treatments, and experimental medicine. Nothing worked. They moved him across the country for the last round of treatments. When the doctors declared him terminal, he finally got to come home. I couldn’t function. Every thought, every action on my part, was for him. I stopped going to class. Nothing mattered but him and his recovery. I wouldn’t listen to anyone when they tried to explain that it was hopeless. I never felt like it was hopeless,” I choke out, barely able to say the last words as emotion overcomes me. I sob into Bryson’s chest, the pain in my heart all too real again as he holds me tighter.

  Chapter 38

  Bryson

  “Shhh,” I whisper in her hair as her tears soak my shirt. “I’m here, beautiful.”

  After several long minutes, her grip on my shirt loosens and I’m certain she’s fallen back asleep until she shifts slightly against me.

  “Thank you,” she says almost incoherently, her voice getting lost against my chest. “Thank you for letting me talk about him. For not judging or interrupting with your opinions. Everyone I’ve tried to talk to since it happened shuts me down. They got frustrated with me. You just listening means more than you can know.”

  I tilt her chin up, my eyes skating between hers. Tear stained and swollen, she’s still the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever held in my arms. “I’ll always listen to you. You can tell me anything, anytime you need to. Don’t ever feel like you can’t tell me the truth.”

  I close my eyes for a moment, hating that what I say next may be a step toward our future or the last step in what we have building. My heart could shatter with my next breath, but I have to know. She loves so fiercely, so damn deep—I long for that from her.

  “I need to know, Olivia. Tell me there’s a chance for us. That eventually you’ll find room for me too. I’m losing myself to you.” Lost, gone, you own me.

  My heart hangs in the balance as a tear rolls down her cheek. She cups my face and shakes her head slightly.

  “It’s too late, Bryson.”

  Shattered, destroyed, wrecked.

  “If you asked that question weeks ago, I could have said eventually.”

  I shift my weight to get off the bed, but she clings to me harder.

  “You misunderstand.” Reaching down, she grips my hand and places it over her frantically beating heart. “You’re already here. There’s no eventually. I may get angry or sad and try to pull away, but never doubt, even on my most self-loathing days, I care for you.”

  My heart thunders in my chest as she peers up at me. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  “Please,” she pants against my lips.

  With unhurried intention, my mouth moves over hers, our tongues working in sync. Hands roam and legs shift. It’s futile to fight the erection throbbing in my jeans, so I don’t even attempt to, deciding to ignore it instead. Olivia has different ideas, though.

  I quell her fingers as they try to open the button on my jeans.

  “That’s not what I expect,” I tell her. The slight shake of her head as her lips find mine again is the only acknowledgment I get from her.

  Making out with a girl, knowing I could have her if I wanted her, yet not taking that extra step is a different situation for me. She was so angry earlier, that even as much as I want to make love to her right now, it doesn’t feel right. I don’t want her to think it’s the only thing I’m after.

  I slow our kissing until it’s nothing more than soft pecks and gentle stroking hands.

  “Go with me to the party tomorrow night.”

  She shakes her head, immediately refusing the invite.

  “Please?”

  “Parties aren’t really my thing. Never have been.”

  It doesn’t surprise me. Her whole adult life has been dedicated to Duncan, his illness, and then the grief over losing him. She’s not the type of person to let go and give in to common young adult dalliances. With Duncan being so sick, I imagine they avoided all types of social gatherings, if anything to keep him from coming into contact with germs and illnesses that could’ve proven to be fatal.

  I need to go, but I won’t do it without her. Wherever she’s at is where I have to be.

  “It’s Halloween. You can wear a mask and no one will even know who you are.” I nuzzle her neck, nipping the delicate flesh below her ear, and smile when a soft whimper escapes.

  Her head shakes again.

  Time for the big guns.

  “It’s my birthday,” I confess in her ear.

  She gasps and pulls her head back to look in my eyes. “Really? I’m such an asshole for not knowing that.”

  I smile at her. “So, don’t be an asshole. Be my birthday date to the party.”

  “I didn’t get you a gift.�
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  I laugh at the absurdity of her words. “You’ve already given me the greatest gift, Olivia. One I’ll treasure for the rest of my life.”

  Her face falls, tears suddenly forming in her eyes. “What I said earlier. Please don’t believe those horrible words.”

  I gave you something he should’ve always had.

  Even now, after her confessing she didn’t mean it, after assuring me I’m in her heart, they still sting, burning deep in my gut and contaminating the beautiful moments we’ve shared. I know they will for a long time to come. That’s the crazy thing about words spoken in anger—they have the ability to plant doubt, ruin the sweetest of moments, and make you question every damn thing that has ever been said, every soft touch and tender emotion.

  “You were hurting. You thought I purposely hurt you. I know you wish you could take them back. Hell, I wish you could too, but it doesn’t matter now.”

  “It matters,” she argues.

  “Will you be in my arms when we wake in the morning?” Her face softens and a small smile forms on her lips.

  “Of course.”

  “Will you let me hold you? Be okay when my mouth seeks yours out in the middle of the night because my skin against yours just isn’t enough?”

  “Yes,” she pants, breathless.

  I shift my weight, maneuvering between her legs, rotating my hips until her eyes flutter closed and lips part. “Will you come to me if you’re upset? Let me explain if you feel like I’ve done something wrong?” This is such a big one for me. How easily she can question my intentions burns the most.

  Slowly opening her eyes, she peers up at me with reverence and adoration.

  “Always,” she whispers.

  “Then don’t worry about the words you said, beautiful.” I kiss her again. “Go to the party with me?”