Keep

by Rachel Van Dyken

  My eyes narrowed. “I think you’re full of shit.”

  “Maybe.” She lifted a shoulder in a half hazard shrug. “But it was worth a shot.” Her smile widened. “You did pay me for a while—”

  “What happened?”

  “Uh, how are you feeling?” She stood abruptly and paced in front of the bed. “Do you need the doctors? More marshmallows?”

  “Fallon.” It felt right. Saying her name.

  Her eyes flashed with hope, like maybe I recognized her because I knew her name. My heart sank. I wanted to be deserving of that look.

  I wasn’t.

  “Why did I stop paying you?”

  She pulled her hair out of the ponytail and then readjusted it. “I um, well, it—” She sighed. “Things got complicated. Lines were crossed. It didn’t feel right anymore for either of us.”

  “I like lines.” I grinned.

  She went bright as a tomato.

  “Tell me about these lines, Fallon.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  I coughed. “I think I’m getting sicker—”

  “That’s not fair!” She burst out laughing. “And if you must know, we kissed.”

  “I would never stop paying you over a single kiss. I know myself better than that.”

  She shuffled her feet and looked up at me, her gaze traveling just above my head, so she wasn’t making eye contact. “We kissed a lot.”

  “How much is a lot? Like one kiss? Two kisses? Three kisses? How long were the kisses, were they timed? Was there tongue? And were we in bed? On the beach? Cut me some slack, Fallon, my brain isn’t working. Give me something to live for.”

  “You’re so….” She giggled. “You.” A frown marred her face. “But not. I mean this is you, this exchange is typical for us, but this piece is missing, an important piece, like the history of us, is suddenly gone.”

  “Fallon, come here.”

  She stayed rooted to the floor.

  “Please.”

  Slowly, she made her way around the bed. I held out my hand, when she took it, a spark of electricity filled my body like a slow burning fire as it roars to life.

  “Some of the history may be gone,” I whispered. “But the great thing about me not dying…is you can create more memories, more history, more conversations, more moments. Moments are forever, right? Look at it this way…” I cupped the back of her head. “I’m sure my old self, the part of my memory that’s not quite firing on all cylinders hates me right now, that I get to do this as if it’s the first time—all over again.”

  She frowned.

  And I kissed her.

  I kissed her slowly, testing the waters, making sure she didn’t push me away.

  And something clicked.

  Not my memory.

  No, my memory was still fuzzy.

  But my body was on fire.

  Like physically, I knew it was right, being with her was right. My thoughts might be scattered—but my heart—was owned.

  By this girl.

  I knew that just as I knew that when I took my next breath against her lips, she’d sigh into my body and clutch the front of my shirt like she always did.

  I knew that when I kissed her neck, she’d squirm while simultaneously arching for more.

  I knew that when my hands dug into her hips, she’d try to drive her body into mine so hard that it would feel like I was getting marked.

  I knew her.

  I knew her.

  “I remember your taste,” I whispered against her lips. “I remember the velvet feel of your skin.” I frowned. “And you’re ticklish just above your hip bone.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “How do you remember that but nothing else?”

  “I remember what’s important.”

  Our foreheads touched as her eyes searched mine. “And what’s that?”

  “That regardless if my memory ever comes back—being in your arms, is like finally coming home. I’m home. And I’ve never had a home—until you.”

  She gasped.

  “I’ve said that before haven’t I?”

  She nodded as tears streamed down her face.

  I kissed her again, licked away her tears, memorized her cheeks and the way they curved into a gorgeous neck that was made for my hands, my touch.

  I kissed her until my mouth hurt.

  Until I was afraid I was going to fall asleep still attached to her, and when I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore, she tucked her body into mine and whispered. “Sleep.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Fallon

  I SPENT A WEEK by his side in the hospital. We played poker with marshmallows as our cash, and he wrote music—beautiful music about second chances and falling in love twice.

  His album was finished. Complete.

  Will stopped by a few times but seemed stressed every single time he was in the room. His phone never stopped ringing, and his eyes had dark circles beneath them.

  The last time I saw him, Lincoln was huddled with him in the corner apologizing about his sister, I wasn’t sure what that meant, but when I brought it up later to Demetri, he cursed for a good five minutes before briefly explaining that Lincoln’s sister Angelica was Satan in female form.

  Lincoln didn’t agree, but he didn’t deny it either.

  Slowly, Zane started gaining more and more of his memory back, but only pieces and most of them were only tiny pieces of me.

  I think the low point was when he remembered my dad’s name was Bill and my mom was Stella and then proceeded to ask my dad about hunting.

  He remembered my dad of all people.

  But not me?

  He kissed me every day, in fact, I’ve never made out so much in my life, but it never went beyond that, probably because it would be weird in the hospital bed, but it would also be like sleeping with a stranger—for him, not me.

  Will had given a statement to the media, but I knew it was still going to be really intense when we left the hospital, though I would be happy to leave it behind.

  Everyone had returned to Seaside except for my parents and me.

  “Kiddo.” My dad casually walked down the hall and held out a cup of coffee. “Your mom and I are gonna hit the road. We’ll see you tonight?”

  “Yeah.” For some reason, the fact that my dad was leaving had me more emotional than normal. I gripped the cup with shaking fingers and tried to keep my smile normal—friendly.

  “Fallon…” His pained expression made it so much worse because I knew he was upset that I was upset. “He’ll get there. He cares for you so much.”

  “I know he does,” I said in a hollow voice. “It’s just hard.”

  “I could always chase him with a gun, see if it jolts his memory” Dad winked. “Works for the foxes.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s a nice gesture, I’ll keep it in mind.”

  He gripped my hand and walked with me into the hospital room. My mom was fussing over Zane like he was her son.

  I loved it.

  I loved it because I knew he’d never been fussed over. He’d been too young when his grandmother had died—it made me feel guilty for hating my bedtime routine in high school.

  Both parents made sure my homework was done, my teeth were brushed, both always tucked me in.

  Even last year I was still getting tucked in.

  I smiled at the memory.

  Zane would have committed murder to get tucked in at night.

  If anything, I couldn’t bring myself to regret the way things had happened for us because regardless of the relationship I had with him—I knew that my parents were slowly becoming something consistent in his life—and that made me happy.

  I would be happy that he had them.

  Even if it meant he would never have me—even if it meant I would never have him, the him I’d had before.

  He smiled at me, but it wasn’t the same teasing smile.

  He joked around with me—but he used kid gloves.

  He
kissed me—but it was a kiss of exploration—not love, his kiss searched for answers—while mine simply begged to be enough.

  “Be safe.” My mom squeezed his hand and then in a fit full of completely unnecessary tears, she kissed his cheek.

  When they left, the room fell into silence.

  Zane was dressed in a band T-shirt and ripped jeans. He picked up his Ray-Ban sunglasses, shoved the rest of his stuff into his bag, and then held out his hand. “Ready to go?”

  I nodded.

  Body numb.

  Because at least in the hospital, I still had him.

  I still had Zane Andrews.

  But I wasn’t stupid—there was nothing keeping him tied to me—nothing except for guilt on his part and love on mine.

  How could a relationship last on that?

  It couldn’t.

  Thankfully, Demetri had leaked information to the media that Zane was flying home the day before we left, so no crazed fans were waiting for us outside. Though I would have welcomed the distraction, because then at least, I wouldn’t feel as awkward as I did every time he tried.

  Tried and failed to be the man I loved.

  He tried to engage me in conversation the entire limo ride back to Seaside. We joked, we hung out—we were friends.

  No longer anything else.

  I tucked the memories of our nights together in my heart and swore I’d be thankful—after all, what were the odds it would have worked with a nearly blind girl and a rock star anyway?

  It was goodbye.

  It felt like goodbye more so now than when he’d gone into surgery.

  The closer we got to Seaside, the heavier my chest became, until it was hard to breathe, until I thought I was going to pass out.

  “Are you okay?” Zane gripped my hand. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

  I nodded, afraid that if I used words, I’d puke or maybe just sob all over him—that wouldn’t be fair, none of this was his fault.

  And yet, none of it was mine.

  It would be so much easier to blame someone.

  But we had nobody to blame, just an unfortunate situation that miraculously ended up being okay.

  Except for us.

  We didn’t make it through surgery that day.

  I choked back a sob as the limo turned down my street.

  What was I supposed to say?

  How could I say anything?

  Zane wrapped an arm around me—I couldn’t take it anymore and politely scooted away, giving him a lame smile.

  “Thanks,” I whispered. “For taking me home.”

  “That’s it?” His voice was low, quiet. “Thanks for taking me home?” He looked hurt.

  “Zane, don’t do this.” I pressed a palm over my mouth to keep from sobbing. Once I regained control, I tried again. “It’s—it’s fine, okay? I get it. I swear I do! And it’s not fair to you to have to pretend with me. I want it to be real. We both deserve real.”

  “It is real.” His eyes pleaded. “I just need more time.”

  “Your album is done.” The elephant just dropped. “You have nothing keeping you here anymore.”

  “I have you.”

  “You don’t know me!” I yelled. “And it’s not fair to beg you to stay! It’s not fair to either of us. I’ll resent you if you don’t feel the same way, and you’ll feel guilty if you never love me. We can’t live like that.”

  He cursed and punched the seat with his hand. “I care about you. I like you.”

  “I know.”

  He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The truth hung in the air between us, the words he couldn’t say, the words I needed to hear.

  “Zane.” I put on a brave face. “You’re album kicks ass, you’ve been given a second chance at life, and you’ve completely shocked your friends by going down to only one bag of marshmallows a day. Your grandma would be proud of you. I’m proud of you. But it’s time to go.”

  His eyes filled with tears as he placed his hands over mine. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Live your life.” I smiled sadly. “And if you ever remember me…” Words tumbled out of my mouth right along with my beating heart. “I’ll be home. Waiting.”

  “Home.”

  I placed his hand over my heart and repeated. “Home.”

  Too soon, I backed away.

  Too soon, the car door slammed.

  Too soon, my legs were taking me into my house.

  Too soon.

  Zane Andrews was gone.

  He’d entered my life like a bolt of lightning and left it like a hurricane, leaving me to pick up pieces I never knew had shattered in the first place, until it was too late.

  Zane Andrews had destroyed me—and he didn’t even remember doing it.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Fallon

  MY MOM AND DAD weren’t really sure what to do, and since I’d always been a relatively happy kid as long as I didn’t have a ton of homework and didn’t have to eat my mom’s burned food—we were all in foreign territory.

  They ordered Chinese takeout.

  We ate at the table as we always did.

  Only this time, Zane wasn’t in his spot.

  The spot he’d occupied for the past few weeks, teasing me that even muses need to eat, but not my mom’s food.

  My parents showed him love because they knew I loved him. But I think they would have fallen in love with him if they would have had a chance to spend more than a handful of dinners with him.

  He and dad would have talked about guns and actually taken that hunting trip that Zane swore up and down he was still going to do even if he came back with holes through his skin.

  I wiped at a few fallen tears.

  He made my family feel like his friends too. He engaged in conversation because he was genuinely interested in others lives.

  And he genuinely wanted people to feel like they mattered.

  Tears welled in my eyes as I pushed around the sesame chicken with my fork going over all of the what-ifs.

  “Hey!” My mom clapped her hands together in excitement, and a fork clattered to the floor. “Why don’t we go get ice cream?”

  “Okay.” I swallowed my tears.

  She was trying. And I loved that she was trying.

  By the time we made it back to the house, it was dark and I was exhausted, I had to work for the next few days. I purposefully picked up extra shifts so I wouldn’t sulk at home or, God forbid, turn on Zane Andrews’ music and sob into my pillow wishing for something that was never going to happen.

  Like just another one of his fans.

  “YOU LOOK REALLY BAD.” Mags elbowed me as we walked to the Seaside resort. “Like bad, bad. I mean, good call on wearing the contacts and at least trying to put on mascara, but maybe you should take a few days off?”

  I snorted. “He’s so famous he’s everywhere, his story is everywhere, Mags. The last thing I need is a day off. I need an escape plan.”

  She placed her hand on my arm. “But is that what you really want? An escape plan?”

  “What I want doesn’t matter,” I whispered. “At least not anymore.”

  “What if you just…” She threw her hands up in the air nearly taking out someone on their bike. “Tried?”

  “We did try.”

  “You kissed and played cards for a week straight, that’s not trying.”

  “It wasn’t the same, I’d catch him looking at me, like he was trying to figure me out. Do you even realize how that feels? Being a stranger to someone who used to be…” I shuddered. “Closer than anyone else you’ve ever been with? I mean, for all I know he’s wondering what his previous self ever saw in me.”

  “Stop that.” Mags pinched me. “You’re absolutely gorgeous, and if he doesn’t see how amazing your soul is right along with those giant brown eyes, then he’s an idiot.”

  I smiled. At least I had Mags.

  “So.” She popped her gum and stared up at the large resort building. “Five hours
of hell, and then I say we binge watch something on Netflix.”

  “Bring popcorn.” I pulled off my sunglasses and numbly walked into the lobby. I refused to think about the last time I was there, but memories, the real ones, the ones that were tied to things like smell.

  They stayed.

  So when the smell of the hallway hit me.

  I thought of his hands on my body.

  When the elevator dinged, and I went to grab the cart and punch in, I thought of his nervous laughter.

  When I finally managed to wheel my cart down the hall, thunder sounded outside reminding me of that night.

  Reminding me that we’d made love all night.

  I was in his arms.

  Goose bumps erupted across my body. I hugged myself and forced tears back—it seemed like that was all I was doing lately, pretending to be fine, pasting fake smiles on my face and rewarding myself when I didn’t cry.

  As luck would have it, about an hour into my shift, I was moved to the penthouse floor.

  I rode the same elevator to the top.

  And closed my eyes as the memory of his kiss burned into my brain.

  My cart got caught on the elevator door, with a curse I pushed it through and started the slow painful walk down the hallway.

  Luckily, I didn’t need to clean his room.

  Just five of them on the same floor.

  Room one took me an hour.

  Room two took me another hour.

  It was starting to get dark by the time I made it to a relatively clean room three.

  Room four was next door to his room.

  I think I stared at both doors for at least ten minutes before finally gaining enough courage to open the door nearest his.

  I knew he wasn’t there because the staff had been given strict instructions not to go inside until he was back.

  A door slamming caught my attention, around ten girls all dressed in short skirts laughed and made their way down the hall.

  One had a bachelorette crown on her head.

  “Hey!” One of them stumbled toward me. “Is it true that Zane Andrews lost his virginity on this floor?”

  “Yes.” I fired back defensively. “At least that’s a rumor, but you never know.” Why was I still talking?