She was probably thinking she'd just won the fucking lottery.
Too bad I wouldn't be calling her after tonight. Apparently I wasn't too different from my old self after all.
I paid the driver, thanking him for his service and we both stepped out, then I led her to the front door. "Beautiful house," she commented before she'd even crossed the threshold.
"Thanks," I replied dryly.
Taking a look around, I watched as she most likely mentally rearranged the furniture and planned our destination wedding in the Caribbean.
Even knowing all that didn't stop me from offering her a drink. She was my distraction, and as Everly's beautiful face flashed across my mind once again, I knew I needed one.
Fast.
Even her drink choice annoyed the shit out of me.
Sex on the Beach-who asks for that outside of a college bar?
"I have no idea how to make that," I admitted. "Maybe a glass of wine, or a rum and coke?" I offered.
"Rum and coke would be fine," she smiled, her eyes batting like crazy.
"One rum and coke coming up."
I really had no idea how to make anything, honestly. I wasn't sure if that was something I'd lost or if it was just something I'd never learned. Either way, I just improvised and threw in a good amount of rum and twice as much coke and hoped it tasted all right. I'd learned over the last week or so that I was more of a beer guy. Fruity drinks had been put into the same category as mint-chip ice cream.
"So, what did you say you do again?" she asked.
"I didn't," I answered, taking a long swig from my beer before adding. "It's complicated."
"Okay," she said softly as she walked slowly around the living room with her drink. Her long legs took one deliberate step at a time. She was beautiful, especially tonight, with her hair out of those ridiculous braids. The black dress she wore left nothing to the imagination, showing ample cleavage and every round curve.
But nothing compared to the elegant gown Everly had worn, that accented and hinted but never screamed sexy.
In a way, that made it so much more.
"That couple you were talking to tonight-old friends?" she asked, as if she were able to pick up on my exact train of thought.
I glanced up at her, leaning against the fireplace like a male fantasy come to life.
And I was thinking of another woman.
I set my beer down and walked toward her.
"I guess you could say that. It's-"
"Complicated?" she guessed.
"Yes." I gave her a weak smile as I reached her, sliding my hand up her curve of her waist.
"Let's un-complicate things-shall we?" she said softly.
"Yes."
And for the rest of the night, the only redhead I thought of was the one nestled between my thighs.
Hopefully, the lack of breakfast in the morning dashed any future wedding plans for Meg, but I did promise to call her.
A promise I didn't plan on fulfilling.
I was starting to see why no one liked me.
But that was what single guys did, right? One-night stands-with no plans of repeat performances.
Although I would miss those tacos.
I definitely couldn't go back to that place now.
That was truly unfortunate.
But right now, I had greater things on my mind. Today marked one month since I'd been discharged from the hospital. One month since my life had started over. As I took what would hopefully be one of my last cab rides back to the hospital, I thought back on the last four weeks and how much I'd accomplished.
Or how little.
Sure, I now knew several foods I liked, and that I preferred comedy over horror when it came to movies, but it all felt so superficial. I was a multimillionaire with no career because I had no fucking clue how to do what it was I'd been trained to do. If I planned well, I could probably live comfortably on the large amount money I had in the bank for the foreseeable future.
But what would I do with the time? Taste test food and watch bad movies?
There had to be more.
Thoughts like this brought back the fear of nothingness, the sense of loss and the overwhelming feeling that I was no one.
Absolutely no one.
When, if ever, would I feel like someone again? And would it ever be the same?
I finished checking in at the hospital, got my awesome white bracelet again, and was ushered back into a room so I could be evaluated by my doctor once more. If all looked good, I would be given a clean bill of health and my driver's license would be restored-something I'd been longing for.
No more cabs or long, tedious walks to the grocery store. Ultimate independence was almost mine.
I sat waiting for the doctor to arrive, then started pacing back and forth rather than sitting on that uncomfortable paper-covered exam table. Several brochures on brain injuries and neurological conditions lined the walls and my eyes briefly roamed them, wondering how they would summarize my specific situation.
Coping with total memory loss in three hundred words or less.
Reclaiming a life you don't remember.
Starting over-a brief guide to living with amnesia.
Yeah, none of those sounded great. Pretty sure I could check "motivational writer" off my list of possible career choices.
Finally the door creaked open and my fragile old doctor appeared. With his white hair and wrinkled, thin skin, Dr. Lawrence looked like he was about twenty years late to his own retirement party, and yet when he spoke, you couldn't help but pay attention. He demanded attention, owned a room, and was as sharp as a tack.
I was still afraid to be alone with him, for fear that he'd drop over dead and I'd be somehow blamed for it, but I was also glad to have him as my doctor.
"Well, look who it is!" he greeted warmly, taking my hand in his in a friendly handshake. His cold palm felt small in mine but I gladly took it, aware of everything this man had done to keep me alive over the past few years.
It might not seem like much to others-I was just one of his patients, part of his regular duties. But to me, those routines he'd performed had kept me alive. Checking to make sure my muscles hadn't atrophied, monitoring my brain waves, and running tests … and everything he'd done after I awoke. I had no idea why I was here-why I'd come back, but I knew for a fact I wouldn't have even had the option had it not been for this man, right here, doing his job.
Sometimes the simplest things we do in a day have the greatest impact.
"How have you been?" he asked as he ushered me to the exam table. I took a seat, ignoring the awful crinkling sound beneath me.
"Good. Not too bad," I answered as he began checking my heart and lungs. I took breaths when he directed and let them out at the proper time. Everything must have sounded like he'd hoped because he moved on to my eyes, flashing a light back and forth between my pupils.
"And are you adjusting well?" I caught his gaze briefly before his attention centered, and he held up his index finger and told me to focus on it.
"I guess-I mean, as well as can be expected."
The flashlight disappeared and it was just the two of us once again.
"Any blackout periods or dizzy spells? Any points you can't remember since you woke up?"
Nope, those were crystal clear …
"No," I simply answered.
"Well, then I don't see any reason we need to hold your license any longer. Just continue to take it easy, August," he advised, placing his hand on my shoulder. "This will get easier."
I took a deep breath and nodded.
"And the memories?"
He shook his head in uncertainty. "I don't know. I wish I could give you an answer but, I just don't know."
As I watched him walk out the door, I looked up at the brochure board again and wondered what brochure could help me cope with the loss of the important person in my life.
Myself.
Turns out I didn't just have a thing for redheads.
I could also be persuaded by a nice shade of ebony … if it came with enough horsepower.
As I walked around the sleek, black Mercedes sport car that looked like something out of a movie, I couldn't help but grin. And soon that little baby was going to be all mine.
"I'll take it," I said smoothly, trying to remind myself that I could indeed afford such a luxurious item. The old August Kincaid probably would have walked in here without a second thought, plunked down his black Amex card, and been done with it.
But now, the entire place gave me anxiety, and I had no idea why. I felt like an impostor.
A hoax.
I worried that somehow, at any given minute, a team of guards and police were going to rush in, arrest me, and charge me with falsely impersonating another person.
Because this couldn't possibly be my life. Fancy cars and unlimited bank accounts.
But it was, and as I signed on the dotted line and handed over my fancy credit card, I finally saw it. The reality of my life.
I was fucking loaded, and so far I'd done nothing but buy buckets of ice cream, cash in a couple free tickets to the ballet, and take my therapist out for dinner.
It was time to celebrate.
Chapter Thirteen