Forgetting August (Lost & Found #1)

by J. L. Berg

  I wasn’t quite certain I agreed with him, as I remembered the haunting pain of Everly looking back at me that day in the hospital. I had a feeling the shadow of the man I once was would follow me no matter where I went.

  But as I sat there, I knew there was only one way out of this place, and that was through Dr. Schneider.

  So it was time to start playing it his way.

  “How do I start?” I asked with an encouraging smile.

  He looked down at the laptop I’d brought back, and I knew I had my work cut out for me.

  No more sullen attitudes or gloomy meetings. From now on, it was nothing but hope, rainbows and sunshine springing forth from this mouth. I was getting out of this place, and once I did—I was going to figure out just who the hell August Kincaid was.

  Chapter Seven

  Everly

  Since when had coffee become so damn complicated?

  Granted, this frothy, overly complicated beverage was currently keeping me employed, but as I hollered back orders to my fellow coworkers…I failed to understand why someone would screw up a perfectly good drink with caramel and soy milk when it was like heaven on earth all by itself.

  The line of eager caffeine addicts currently cleared the door, as each person stared at our unfamiliar menu. I suspected they were each nervously comparing it to the big box chains they knew and loved, secretly wondering if that two-block walk down the street was suddenly worth it.

  We mostly catered to the locals, but being close to several hotels the cute little family-owned coffee shop I’d been working at for the past two years tended to get a rush of business professionals and tourists early in the morning as they rushed off to start their individual days.

  I knew Ryan wasn’t pleased with my career choice, but I enjoyed working here.

  The tourists could get a little intense, but I had my regulars and a lifetime supply of coffee. What wasn’t there to love? And I genuinely enjoyed my coworkers’ company. They were eclectic and wild, something I was used to growing up in foster homes.

  My life hadn’t exactly resembled a Leave It to Beaver episode.

  “Nonfat mocha latte with extra whip!” I shouted back to Simon, who continued to slow jam to the quiet jazz playing over the sound system. His rhythm was completely off, telling me he was actually dancing to his own tune—probably something he was working out for his reggae band in his head.

  The only acknowledgment I got for my shout-out was a slight raise of his eyebrow as he continued to work the machines, dancing backing and forth between them like he was seducing a woman rather than working at a frantic coffee house.

  But everything came out quick, on time and correct. I had no idea how he did it, especially considering the amount of medicinal marijuana that had to be running through his system, for a recurring migraine he never seemed to have. When I asked him about it, he just smiled and said, “Well, it must working,” as he moved on to the next coffee order.

  I continued to work our morning rush, saying hi to our many loyal customers. Trudy, another coworker on shift that morning, worked pastries, warming and toasting everything as I took orders and Simon brewed. I backed him up when things got tight.

  It was a well-oiled machine and we all worked well together.

  Why would I want to leave?

  We worked tirelessly until the morning rush passed, thoroughly earning our mid-morning lull. As Simon cleaned the espresso machine and restocked milk, I roamed through the café, emptying garbage and checking the creamer situation upfront.

  Trudy peeked up from the pastry case, a brownie in hand.

  “Hey, feel like splitting?”

  “You know we’re not supposed to take from the case in the middle of the day,” I reminded her, folding my hands across my chest.

  “I know, but this one might have fallen on the ground,” she said, scooping some peanut butter frosting off the corner with her index finger. I watched in fascination as she dipped it in her mouth.

  That bitch knew peanut butter and chocolate were my ultimate weaknesses.

  “You’re putting something that was on the floor in your mouth?” I asked, refusing to budge. Even for a brownie.

  A really gooey, yummy brownie.

  “No, but when I report to Sherry at the end of our shift, it will have fallen to its death on the floor. Very sad.” Her lips formed a little pout as she dangled it in front of me, the last shred of restraint melting as I caved.

  “Okay fine,” I answered, looking around the vacant store, “But I want coffee to go with it.”

  “Deal!” she exclaimed.

  Knowing I didn’t go for anything fancy, she poured us two freshly brewed cups of coffee and I watched her carefully split the brownie down the center with a knife.

  “Yours looks slightly bigger,” I complained.

  “It does not!”

  “Does too.” I fought back with a slight smirk.

  “Oh stop, and get back to work. I gave you chocolate, and coffee—you should be happy.”

  Kissing her smooth cheek, I grinned. “Thank you, Trudy. This makes my day.”

  The three of us finished up our little odds and ends chores, and I helped the few stragglers that managed to find their way in. The late bloomers, I called them: the tourists that moved to the beat of their own drum—setting their own pace as they relaxed their way through vacation—or the shift workers who kept odd hours and needed a pick-me-up or a relaxing cup of tea to help end their day while others where just starting out.

  I liked these people. They moved slower. Life always seemed to be a bit calmer for the late bloomers. That’s exactly how I wanted my life to be.

  Calm. Carefree.

  Simple.

  Looking down at my engagement ring with its small cluster of diamonds surrounding a glittering center stone, I knew I’d have that with Ryan.

  He was my anchor.

  We quickly made it through our mid-day rush, which wasn’t as hectic as the morning’s but still quite busy. We had a partnership with a deli downtown. They delivered gourmet sandwiches and salads to our door every morning, so even though we didn’t have the equipment to prepare food on our own, we were able to serve lunch to the merchants and businessmen stopping by.

  It earned extra revenue for the shop and kept us all gainfully employed.

  Win, win.

  As I was finishing with my last customer, and dreaming of diving into a large bowl of split pea soup from my favorite bread store down the street, I saw him.

  Only it wasn’t a vision or a dream…or even a ghost this time.

  It was really him.

  Walking into my place of business.

  Dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt and designer jeans I recognized from years ago, he appeared disoriented, sweaty and tired as he stepped through the doorway. So different from the many visions I’d had of him over the years, and yet I still froze like a statue.

  I couldn’t breathe. I tried, taking quick sips of air through my lips and swallowing them in an attempt to force the air down, but it just felt like gravel against my throat.

  He couldn’t be here. Not here with my coworkers, who had no idea of the life I’d once had. Snapping back into reality, I moved. Pure survival instinct flowed through my veins now. I needed him away from here—out of my life.

  “I’m taking my lunch!” I hollered, grabbing my purse from under the cash register as I stepped forward, taking a ragged breath that seared a fiery path down my windpipe.

  “What are you doing here?” I gritted through my teeth.

  His eyes met mine and a brief moment of shock mixed with surprise moved through his features.

  “Everly?” he said, an acknowledgment that almost seemed a confirmation.

  “Yes, who else would it be?” I answered with annoyance, grabbing his arm. I tugged him out of the building.

  I glanced back and tried not to notice the way his eyes could look straight into me, like he had a direct line to my soul. It unnerved me—still. />
  He seemed unaware of his effect on me as his gaze darted from me to the street and back toward the building. I let go of his arm, not wishing to hold on to any part of him for longer than necessary, and watched as he pushed his hands into his jeans pockets.

  He was thinner than before, the jeans hanging looser on his body than they once had. But he was still August…still formidable and…

  Look away, Everly. Look away.

  “Is that where you work?” he asked, motioning toward the tan apron I still wore. I looked down and huffed, mad that he’d made me rush out and miss out on my date with my soup.

  “Yes,” I answered, undoing the ties and neatly folding it into my purse. “Isn’t that why you’re here?” I folded my arms across my chest, a clear indication of my less than hospitable attitude.

  His hands flew up in a defensive gesture.

  “No, god no. I’m sorry. This…shit. I’m sorry. I’ll go. I didn’t mean to.” A frustrated huff flew from his lips as his hand ran through his messy hair. One last glance and he turned.

  “August,” I called out, hating myself for getting involved. I was an idiot.

  A moron and a schmuck.

  No doubt, this was exactly what he was hoping for, and I was falling for his scheme beautifully. But as it had always been with all things August-related, I just couldn’t stop myself. “What are you doing here?”

  He stopped and I watched his shoulders fall in defeat as he pivoted back in my direction.

  “I’m lost,” he simply stated.

  “What?”

  “I decided to go for a walk; you know, to clear my head, and before I knew it one block started looking like another and I couldn’t remember my address, and suddenly I was going in circles.” He let out a frustrated breath. “I’ve been walking all morning.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  He just stared.

  “But your house is at least five miles from here,” I stated.

  “You know where I live?” he asked, before he remembered our earlier conversation. “Oh, right.”

  Part of me—the untrusting cynical side that still remembered the August who’d locked me in the house when he went to work during the day—doubted his sincerity.

  That part of me really wanted to believe that this was an elaborate hoax he’d concocted to get me back.

  Because the other part of me—the trusting, loving side—knew I was in big trouble with a brand new August in my life.

  * * *

  “You really don’t have to do this,” he said again as I clicked the “unlock” button on my little blue Kia sedan.

  “I know,” I grumbled, hating myself already for deciding to drive him home. “Get in.”

  I’d blame it on my good upbringing, but that certainly wasn’t it. God knows the host of foster parents I’d had over the years hadn’t taught me many values besides eat everything in front of you as fast as you can and the art of learning to re-wear clothes several days in a row without anyone noticing.

  Maybe it was something hardwired into my DNA—the same reason I wanted to save every kitten and stray dog that I saw wandering down the road, or why I felt the need to give every spare dime I had to the old man on our street corner even though he reeked of alcohol.

  Whatever it was, here I was—driving down the road toward the cliffs.

  In a car with a man I loathed.

  Ryan would kill me if he knew what I was doing. This definitely did not fit in with our status quo plan. It didn’t fit with any logical plan—at all. Yet, here I was, driving my psycho ex who had just been discharged from the hospital after waking up from a coma that no one had ever thought he’d recover from.

  And that’s when it hit me. He might never remember anything. Not a single kiss, a happy sigh or night spent in bed. The good, the bad—it was all gone.

  Guilt hit me square in the gut as we drove, and my fingers loosened slightly as I tried to relax and calm myself.

  Status quo, I reminded myself.

  Looking over at him, I tried to feel sorry for him. I tried to feel remorse.

  But all I saw was the man who’d locked me up.

  And here are the days of our lives, folks.

  Yeah, so much for simple and carefree. My life was totally fucked up.

  My palms suddenly grew sweaty as we turned down the block, closer to the ocean. A salty mist blew through the winter air, reminding me of lazy evenings spent eating dinner out on the spacious patio, where the view seemed to go on for miles. Long ago, I’d thought we’d raise our children in that house.

  I’d thought a lot of hopeless things back then.

  Turning into the driveway that was no longer mine, I put the car in park, not bothering to kill the engine.

  “Well, here you are,” I said, averting his gaze. I couldn’t look at him. Not here. Not with the flood of memories that were threatening to assail me.

  “Thanks,” he answered, moving toward the door. He paused briefly as if he had something more he wanted to say, but then seemed to decide against it and stepped out. The door shut and I felt air rush back into the small compact space.

  I took one huge gulp, then another—willing myself not to cry.

  August Kincaid would not make me cry.

  He was awake, but he would not rule my life.

  Not ever again.

  Looking up, my gaze settled on the glove compartment—the place where I hid the key to my past. The key to this place.

  What had been a mere duty I’d carried on in his absence now felt dirty and shameful.

  The key was my last physical connection to him…to this place. I needed to get rid of it. Now.

  I ripped open the glove compartment, pulling out manuals and registrations for years back.

  Wow, I needed to clean this thing out.

  Finally I found it, in the very back where I had shoved it the last time I’d visited—when he’d first awakened. Feeling resolved and settled, I jumped out of the car and stomped toward the front door, intent on my decision.

  He opened the door even before I had the chance to pound on it.

  That was a little disappointing—I had some pent-up frustration to let out.

  “Sorry, I was watching from the window. I wanted to make sure you got out of the driveway safely. It’s steep,” he said lamely.

  I rolled my eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. “You forget I used to live here.”

  “Right,” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Stepping back, he motioned for me to enter, which I hadn’t planned on. Hell, it was the last thing I wanted to do, but before I had the chance to decline he was gone—disappearing around the corner toward the living room.

  “What the—” I huffed as I quickly followed him. Had he forgotten manners during his two-year slumber as well?

  “Listen, I’m not here to hang out. Believe me—that’s the last thing I want to do with you. I just wanted to give you my key.”

  As I rounded the corner to catch up with him, I nearly gasped. What had once been a warm, beautiful room was now full of dusty boxes, old papers, and god knew what else.

  “Your key?” he asked, turning around, his gaze searching the piles as if he were looking for something specific.

  What exactly, I wasn’t sure.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “Oh, um—everything I could find in the attic. I brought it all down, hoping I could make sense of…well anything.”

  I stepped forward, picking up a sheaf of pages from the top of a stack. It was an old term paper from his days at Stanford. I held back the smile that wanted to break through, remembering what a brainiac he used to be.

  He wasn’t that August anymore. He wasn’t anything anymore.

  And I needed to get out of this situation.

  “Well, I wish you good luck with that,” I said politely, placing the key on the stack of papers.

  “This was my key to the house. I had it while you were—absent—just in case, but now
that you’re back, well—there’s obviously no need. So I’m returning it to you. Also, if you could remove me as your power of attorney, now that you’re able—I would appreciate it.”

  His eyes met mine—those intense hazel eyes I’d fallen in love with at the tender age of eighteen, when life was easy and monsters were things of legend.

  “Good luck, August,” I said softly, before he had the chance to respond.

  It had turned out monsters came in all shapes and sizes—and right now, I needed to remember that.

  * * *

  Starting work in the wee hours of the morning had very few perks, aside from super fresh coffee, clear streets, and free afternoons.

  Today, I was thankful for one of those in particular as I clocked out at three and headed home.

  I had two hours to figure out what I was going to say to Ryan.

  Two hours to formulate my story about how my encounter with August wasn’t a big deal.

  My fingers tapped nervously on the steering wheel as I waited for the stoplight to turn green. As I turned into the Whole Foods around the corner from our apartment, I knew Ryan wouldn’t agree.

  To him, this would be a huge deal. Which was why I shouldn’t tell him.

  It would be so simple—easy. And after all, wasn’t easy what I wanted?

  Placing the car in park, I took a deep breath as my head slumped forward.

  It would be easy—so easy to just omit the entire event. He would never have to know.

  But how many relationships were built on tiny white lies? How many heroines had I read about, watched on TV—screamed at for making the same mistake?

  No matter how small, lying is still just that—lying. And secrets have a way of revealing themselves over time.

  Ryan was the man I’d chosen to spend the rest of my life with. He was good, decent and kind. The exact opposite of August and everything I’d left behind. I would not let the echoes of my past pollute the possibilities of my future.

  Taking a firm step forward, I got out of the car and began carefully planning out my night.