There were bills stacking up on the counter, a million messages on my outdated cell phone, and the idea of spending the rest of my life living off my fortune doing absolutely nothing was starting to make my skin crawl.
There was so much about this situation I couldn't control, but the tiny amount that I could … It was time I made that my bitch.
Starting with paying the bills.
I took a deep, settling breath, made the biggest cup of coffee possible and took a long walk down the hall toward my forgotten office-a place I'd never visited much, but which seemed like the perfect location for bill paying and general businesslike stuff.
Flipping the lights on, I took a brief look around. It was formally decorated-dark wood and leather-like something straight out of an old Hollywood set. It even had fancy green lamps that probably cost more than most people's cars. But I guess I had liked that look in the past. It was really quite intimidating.
Maybe it would grow on me?
Taking a seat in the large leather chair, I put my feet up on the polished wood table and leaned back, trying to imagine myself conducting business deals in this space.
Nope, couldn't see it.
Obviously, I had been good at what I'd done. The house and bank account were proof of that, but I just couldn't picture myself in a stiff dark suit, commanding business deals over the phone, while there was an entire world out there to explore.
And the perfect woman to worship.
Bills. Need to pay bills.
It had been three days since I'd asked Brick to take away the photo boxes. Three days, and yet I still couldn't go a few minutes without thinking of her. Even my subconscious was dreaming of her. My mind would drift as I brewed a fresh pot of coffee-the smell alone making me think of her-and I'd start wondering whether she was working, and if she liked her job at that little coffee house. Even today, as I grabbed the bills off the counter, I thought about how she'd handled everything for me for the two years I was in the hospital.
She'd giving over everything to my lawyer and accountant-making sure everything was taken care of. Even my cell phone bill had been paid, for two years, even while everyone assumed I'd never wake up.
Why? Did she secretly hope I would … or had that just been an oversight?
Whatever her reasons, she'd stopped the moment I awoke. All the bills came to me now, and it was about time I figured them out. I could have simply handed everything back over to the same accountant she'd used for the last few years, but for someone who currently didn't have a job-it just seemed ridiculous. I had plenty of time, and I really needed to understand my own finances.
For someone with no memory of their past-I was the easiest fucking target on the planet right now. I didn't want to be walking around with amnesia and also be poor. It was time to start using all those smarts I'd apparently been blessed with.
First bill on the stack-hospital bill. Easy; paid. Next. Utility bill-check.
I went through several like this-lightning fast-and I thought I'd be done in no time. I'd barely made a dent in my giant cup of coffee, and it was still piping hot.
And then I found the bill from an attorney.
Fuck.
The dude who'd hit me in the intersection was suing for damages and hospital fees. Looked like I needed my lawyer-and fast. Not remembering much from my first few days after waking up in the hospital, I couldn't recall the law firm that had contacted me off the top of my head. Pulling out my phone, I clicked through my old contacts, having previously discovered my former self had liked to list contacts in random ways. Dentist was listed just like that-"dentist." I'd spent several nights looking at this strange organizational system. Some people were just an occupation, while others had names-like Everly. But then some were just a string of initials. Not a single person had a last name, which made the whole listing seem very murky and clandestine. Did he think he was a spy? Whatever the reason, it made me hate myself a little more.
As I made my way down the list, I couldn't help but chuckle at some of the notations-"Everly's hippie doctor"-there had to be a story behind that one, I was sure. One that I'd probably never discover.
Shaking my head as I scrolled down, I found the one I needed: "lawyer".
Who knew what his name was, or if he'd even remember me after all this time, but it was worth a try.
After a few rings, a secretary answered, saying, "Johnson, Doyle and Platt". The names now sounded suddenly familiar, and I quickly introduced myself. As if I'd said some magic word, she quickly cut me off and placed me on hold.
"August Kincaid-it's Jeff Doyle. Is it really you?" A gruff-sounding older man came on the line.
"Yes, it is, sir," I answered.
"Well, I'll be damned. I thought you were dead," he chuckled. An odd response considering the comment.
"Nope, just in a coma-for a couple of years," I deadpanned.
"Oh, that's right-" he cleared his throat-maybe because of a lack of anything to say to that. "What can I do for you, son? Already got yourself in hot water?" There was that arrogant chuckle again.
"Had a bit of a fender bender. Need some representation."
"Not a problem-figured it was something to do with you and Trent, and I can't lie, you had me worried."
I had no idea what he was talking about, so I just made a noncommittal noise to move the conversation along. I was sick of telling people my sad story of loss-seeing their sympathetic looks, hearing their apologies. He obviously remembered my coma now that we were on the phone, but had no idea I was still suffering from the after-effects. To him, I was August Kincaid-whatever that meant.
For now, it was good enough.
He'd find out soon enough. But for now, I was just August and he was just my lawyer. No sappy eyes-no sad comments. Nothing.
We made an appointment to meet up later in the week to go over everything and he switched me over to his secretary to finalize everything. Within minutes, I was done with the call and back to the silence of the dark, barren room.
I looked down at the cell phone still in my hand and started searching through the contacts, looking for one specific name.
Trent.
There it was. No initials … no occupation. Just Trent.
Who are you and what missing piece are you to long lost puzzle of my past?
Chapter Fifteen
Everly
I'd done everything I could to go back-to create the life Ryan and I had lived before that fateful phone call had changed everything.
Like the personal poltergeist he'd become in my life, August had reentered our lives, and nothing since had been the same. We fought more, argued about trivial things, and there was this tension that had never been there before. But no matter how many movie nights, or passion-filled hours we spent in each other's arms, we couldn't find a way back to the way it had been. Things were just different and I didn't know how to fix it.
I'd said good-bye-I'd made up my mind. No more August. No more favors or late night trips to the ER. I was done. But deep down, I don't think my heart had agreed.
And wasn't that the ironic part of it all?
It was my heart that had chosen Ryan-my heart that had screamed yes when he'd presented me with the ring I now wore on my left hand, and it was this heart still that reached out for him in the middle of the night.
Each night. Every night.
Why would the same heart who loved a man so fiercely keep me from him at the same time?
When I'd asked Dr. Lawrence that day in the hospital how all this was possible-how August could remember how to tie his shoes but not remember his own name-he'd simply said, "The mind is a unique and powerful thing."
Perhaps the heart was as well.
As I opened the apartment door, home from another shift at work, I looked around the empty apartment and wondered what my heart was trying to tell me that I couldn't see for myself.
Blankets lay in a heap, left on the floor after our late-night television binge. Two coffee cups sat empty on the table nearby, and I remembered snuggling into Ryan's warmth as we clung to cups of decaf and watched the latest episode of our favorite show. I'd buried my head into his shoulder at the gory parts and laughed when something funny had happened, and never once had I thought about August or my muddled feeling about his return.
It had just been the two of us, and our simple life together.
And that was all this heart-all I'd ever wanted.
A knock pulled me out of my deep thoughts just as I was considering making a cup of coffee after my eight-hour shift. There was a reason I worked in a coffee shop: I had a serious addiction to the dark brew.
Quickly putting my coffee thoughts aside, I ran to the door to answer it. Outside stood a man I'd never seen before.
Shit-I really should have checked before throwing open the door.
Please don't be a burglar.
Or a rapist.
Or one of those people who hands out pamphlets.
"Hi, are you Everly Adams?" he asked, his voice calm and sweet-the exact opposite of what I would expect from a serial killer.