Chapter Two, Part Four of Forgotten by Marti York
While Peter orders the pizza, I’m in the bathroom splashing cold water on my face, trying to rinse away my moodiness. After a moment, I turn the water off and reach for a towel, careful to avoid my reflection in the mirror. The sight of the scars on my face always devastates me, and I’ve had enough devastation for one night. So much so that I feel like getting drunk.
I go back out into the main room, an open plan living room, dining room, and kitchen, and head straight to the refrigerator. Before I got home from the hospital, Benny stocked it with what he assured me were all my favorite things, including some fancy beers. I pull one out and turn to Peter, who is sitting on my couch.
“Want a beer?” I ask.
He looks up from his cell phone. “Sure. Pizza should be here in thirty.”
I grab another beer and make my way to the couch, plopping down next to him. I hand one of the bottles over to him as I prop my feet on the coffee table.
“Thanks,” he says, taking it. “Got a bottle opener?”
“Right.” I drop my feet to the floor. “Let me get it.” Setting my beer on the table, I head for the kitchen again. And panic sets in. Where would a bottle opener be? I start opening drawers and cabinets one by one, hoping I’ll come across it eventually. And voila, there it is in the same drawer as the silverware. I grab it and practically run back to the couch.
I hold it out to him. “Here you go.”
He takes it and pops the top on his bottle. “Your memory’s still shot, huh?”
I really want to be offended, but at least he’s not tiptoeing around my issues. I plop down on the couch again. “What makes you think that?”
He chuckles and offers me the bottle opener. I take it, pop my top, and swallow a huge gulp.
“Your memory’s going to come back. You know that, right?”
“That’s what the doctor tells me.”
He bumps his shoulder to mine. “It will.” Then he holds his bottle out, close to mine. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I say, tapping my beer to his. I take another sip. “Tell me about yourself?” It’s more of a question than a request. Maybe he doesn’t like talking about himself. All I really know about him is that he works security. And he’s super hot.
“Are you hitting on me?” he says, but his tone has a smirk in it.
Another sip for courage. “Nope. I was just trying to get to know you. It’d be nice to have a friend. Other than Benny, I don’t think I have any.”
“What about family?”
I lift my shoulders. “I have contacts in my phone for Mom and Dad, but from my call history, it looks like we only talk once a month. I don’t want to call when all I have to say is that I don’t remember them. I imagine they’d just worry.”
“They don’t know you were attacked?”
“I don’t think so. Unless Benny called them. But, since I haven’t heard from them, I’m guessing he didn’t.” I take another sip and then motion toward him with the bottle. “Now it’s your turn. What’s your story?”
This time, he’s the one who shrugs. “Not much to tell. I grew up upstate, stayed there through college, then tried to be a cop. It wasn’t for me, so I went into private security.”
“What about your family?”
“They’re normal. My life has been pretty normal.”
“Do you have a wife?”
He doesn’t answer.
I lift an eyebrow. “Husband?”
That gets a smile out of him. “I’m not gay. Not bi, either.”
“Then what? You seem aloof. If you don’t want to be friends, you can tell me. I’ll understand.”
“It’s not that.” He picks at the label on his beer with his thumb.
“What then?”
“It’s all normal stuff. I’ve dated, but not seriously until a few years ago. She was a client like you. A guy was stalking her, and she wanted a bodyguard. I was her bodyguard, and I eventually caught the guy breaking into her apartment. He was sentenced to a few years in jail. And, in the meantime, she and I got engaged. Then, one day, the guy just walked away from his work detail, waited outside of her job, and attacked her.”
“God, Peter.” I grab his forearm. “I’m so sorry. Did she...?” I can’t bring myself to ask, but then I don’t need to.
“She was okay, but she blamed me. Said I didn’t protect her. The guilt trip she took me on was brutal. She basically demanded I quit my job and be her full-time bodyguard. When I told her I couldn’t do that, she broke up with me.”
“She broke your heart.”
He sighs. “I suppose, but I should’ve known better than to get involved with a client.”
His confession is like a knife to my heart. Needing to move, I stand and say, “I’m gonna grab another beer.”
His brow bunches as if he’s confused. But before he can say anything, I walk into the kitchen, where I grab another bottle from the refrigerator. Then I realize the bottle opener is on the coffee table. I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to face him. Then I sense him next to me and open my eyes.
“You okay?” he says, offering me the bottle opener I left in the living room.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.”
Grabbing the opener, I pop the top on the beer and take a deep gulp. “I’m good. I promise. We don’t have to talk about it.”
I go to move around him, but he stops me with a brush of his hand against my arm. “What?” I say, looking up at him.
Without a word, he steps closer and palms the left side of my face. I shift away from his hand. “Don’t.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to touch you?”
I suck in a sharp breath but don’t dare move.
“Is that a no?”
“No, it’s not a no.” Even though I’m uncomfortable, I desperately want him to touch me.
His hand cups my cheek again, and he drags his thumb across my scars.
“They’re ugly,” I tell him.
“I wouldn’t call them ugly.”
That same thumb drags across my lips, and I shudder, finally opening my eyes. I look up into his dark, fierce gaze. “What would you call them?”
“Badass. Battle scars are always badass.”
Unbelievable as it is, I smile. “I’d hardly call them battle scars. Just a run-in with a China cabinet when I was a year old.”
“I know. Benny told me.” His hand is at the nape of my neck now.
I’m frozen. “What’s going on here?”
“I don’t know. I just know you’re really pretty, Molly.”
My eyes widen, but before I can say anything, his lips touch mine. The breath I suck in is as sharp as a knife. He moves closer, crowding me against the kitchen cabinets. My belly does an excited flip as he lifts me so I’m sitting on the countertop.
When our gazes meet again, I say, “So are you.” I don’t exactly know what I’m doing, but my body has a mind of its own. His belt buckle presses against my knees, and I relax enough to let my legs fall open. He steps between them.
“Thanks for letting me in.”
“Are you going to let me in?” I don’t know why I said that. Well, that’s not true. I said it because I don’t think he’s going to let himself fall for me after what happened with his ex-fiance.
When he rests his forehead against mine, I know I’m right. “As much as I’m able to.”
I inch back so I can see his face, and my stomach drops. “Which isn’t much at all,” I say.
His expression goes completely blank. I don’t even have to nudge him to get him to back off. He does it on his own, stepping away. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I hop off the countertop. “I understand.”
He won’t look at me, and I’m suddenly afraid he’ll quit the job too. “Peter, it’s fine. I don’t have a problem respecting your boundaries.”
He smiles, but he still won’t face me.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head as he says, “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“I’ve never met anyone like me either.” Then I scrunch up my face. “At least I don’t think I’ve met anyone like you. My lack of memory is tricky.”
A small laugh escapes him, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Will you be back tomorrow?” I ask him.
“Yeah, I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“I’m glad.”
“Me, too.”
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