Mind Lies (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

“Does the scar on my hip bother you that badly?” I ask him.

Whenever we’re in bed, his hand always gravitates to my scar. I’m thankful I don’t see it every day, resting on the back of my hip, but each and every time we have been in bed together lately, it seems like it’s all he sees.

“It feels like I’ve failed,” he grudgingly answers.

I look over my shoulder at his crestfallen face. This man carries so much on his shoulders.

Pain.

Loss.

I’ve tried to make it better. But no matter what I do, no matter how many times I go over what happened that night, no matter how many times I reassure him that the outcome could have been worse had he not been there, he still takes the blame. He still struggles to carry the weight of it, as though he were a prisoner dragging a ball and chain.

“Then fix it for us,” I tell him.

He sighs. “I’m trying, Lass.”

I shake my head. “No, I had a different idea.”

I pass him my camera, which is filled with beautiful shots from the lake we’re currently staying at. He eyes me with confusion. Once he takes it, I say, “No pictures together. No real names. No phone calls from traceable phones.”

He nods. “Our rules.”

“That’s right. But so long as our heads aren’t in the picture, I don’t see any issues with this.”

“Issue’s with what?” he asks.

Laying on my stomach, his left hand still possessively placed on my hip, I say, “Your hands, Locklin. They can heal and can cause pain. Use them to heal.”

He looks from the camera to my naked hip. “I’m not sure what you want me to do, Lass. How will a picture help?”

I give him a small smile. “I’ll never forget what you look like, feel like, or even taste like, Locklin. But sometimes, I miss how good it is to be together. Give me this: something of us together.”

His thumb moves in soothing circles on my hip. “Us, together. No faces,” he confirms, and I nod.

No faces.

Just his hand claiming me.

Owning a part of me that was almost stolen.

Protecting.

And soon, hopefully, loving.

* * *

“How you doing, Babe?” Portia asks from the doorway to my bedroom. I’m frozen solid as I stare at the portrait above my bed, the same one that captivated me from the moment I stepped foot in this room.

The portrait with Locklin’s strong hand placed possessively over the scar on my hip.

A scar that now reminds me of a frightful time in my past, a time when I learned evil truly existed.

A time when, had Locklin not been there, I would have been raped.

Just like
her.

Worse, I could have been killed. But that’s something I try not to think about.

Abandoning the picture, I return to my duffle bag. I don’t plan on taking much since most of my clothes have become too tight to wear. I’ll need to buy everything new.

Zipping the bag shut, I turn and tell her, “I will be. I just need to get out of here for a while.”

She squints, confused. “Is this because you remember him, Jer? He’ll still be in the hospital for another few days.”

I shake my head sadly then walk to her. I don’t waste time in hugging her fiercely, not because I don’t think I’ll see her again but because she is truly the best woman a girl could ask for in a best friend.

“It’s not just remembering him,” I breathe out. “It’s remembering everything.”

“When did it all come back exactly? Did it happen all at once?”

I smile sadly and nod. “When the shots went off.”

She wipes a few tears escaping her eyes and says, “Thank god. At least you have your answers, and for that I’m happy for you, Babe.” Shaking her head, she continues. “I still can’t believe what happened. And how unfortunate is it that you and Scarlett look similar? Jesus, Jer. I almost had a heart attack when they locked down the theater.”

I nod in agreement. The sick, twisted man who waited at the back of the theater for a glimpse of Scarlett is indeed a psychopath. His plan had been to take out the bodyguard and kidnap Scarlett. I don’t know all the details. All I know is he was waiting in a delivery van, and when he saw someone who looked like her, he started shooting.

“You and me both,” I tell her. “I thought he was coming to finish me off.”

She smacks my arm. “I told you not to say shit like that.”

I side-hug her and then grab my bag from the bed. “Sorry.”

She sighs. “So if you remember everything . . .” She trails off, and I look at her with a raised brow.

I cut in. “It means that I remember you still have my Gucci boots and you have yet to clean the shop like you promised.”

She laughs, not as boisterous as usual. But it offers a little light on this semi-dark day none the less.

Sobering, she asks, “You sure you wanna do this, Jer?”

Nodding toward my bag on the bed as I pick it up, I answer, “Yes. I’m sure.”

I can tell she’s upset, but her stubborn pride won’t let her tell me that. Linking my arm with hers, I walk with her out of the bedroom. “I feel like I have to, Portia. Now that I remember him, I know he won’t stop coming here. He’s ruthless, stubborn, and definitely doesn’t like being told no. He’ll show up the minute he gets out of the hospital, and honestly,” I pause, breathing deeply through tears still wanting to come when I think of him, “it hurts too bad. If I see him, if I give in to him like I always do, well, let’s just say my body can’t take anymore hurt at the moment.”

She leans her head on my shoulder for a moment before adding, “Speaking of hurt, O’Shaunessey is downstairs.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, sorry to be the bearer of bad news. You really that pissed at him too?” she asks.

I nod. “Yes, I am.”

Reaching the bottom of the steps, I square my shoulders before opening the door to the back alley. Brian stands next to his suburban, hands tucked into his pockets, head down.

That’s right. Feel guilty, you bastard.

Hearing the door slam shut behind us, he looks up, blue eyes filled with remorse.

“Jerri . . .”

I shake my head at him in disgust. “Save your breath, Brian.”

Taking a few steps toward me, he says, “It wasn’t my call, Jerri. It was his.”

I scoff. “And you always do exactly as cousin Locklin says—don’t you?—even though he’s technically your informant and you’re the detective. Tell me, does your superior know that your informant,
your family
, is a lying bastard posing as a cop?” He goes to speak, but I keep on. “Better yet, are you able to sleep well at night, knowing you lied just to please him? You lied so that I could remain lost in my head. You knew the whole time who I was, and you damn well know exactly who’s trying to kill me. So tell me, Brian, while I tossed and turned all night, desperately trying to figure out who I am, how did you fucking sleep?”

He swallows heavily. Then he replies, voice rasping, “I’m truly sorry, Jerri.”

I look to the sky, clearing my head of his remorseful face before telling him, “I’m sorry is an admission of guilt, not an apology. You lied about Locklin, neglecting to tell me he wasn’t your partner. You knew all along who was out to kill me when I asked, and you lied when you looked me in the eye and told me you were working hard to find out who it was.”

He curls his lip around his teeth and says, “You lied too, Jerri. You told me you had no memories; you remembered Lock the whole time.”

I shake my head at him. “I remembered a man, not who he was. I also remembered someone trying to kill me, but I wasn’t sure who I could trust. Apparently, my instincts were right when I chose not to tell you.” His face falls at the jab, and I add, “I once respected you, Brian, but that ship has long since sailed. Because now? Now you’re nothing but a liar, just like your cousin.”

Opening the back door to Portia’s car, I toss my bag in the back seat, ready to leave this place behind for a little while. I love my friends. I love my shop, and my home has been comforting to me these past few days. But I feel antsy, knowing Locklin could show up at any time. For the first time in my life, I can truly say I want nothing to do with him.

How does a woman say that about the father of her unborn child?

I’ve asked myself that question many times over the last twenty-four hours, and the simple answer is that it’s easy when said father is a lying bastard.

I’ll never keep him from his child. If he chooses to leave the danger in the background and wants a life with his child, he will have it.

A life with me, however, is not in the cards.

He solidified that when he left me, lost and broken.

He chose that future, or lack thereof, when he chose vengeance over what we had together.

“He’s hurting, Jerri.” Brian solemnly says before I sit down in the car and close the door. The window is open, so he hears me when I reply, “Not as badly as I am.”

I can tell he wants to say more, but I ignore him and the pain that comes with speaking to a man who now reminds me so much of Locklin.

Cousins.

Brian was raised in the States, whereas Locklin was raised in Ireland. Their fathers were brothers; Brian’s father was a kind man who was unfortunately killed in the line of duty, and Locklin’s father was a gambler, a man made of lies who lived off the thrill of the bet and the rush of the money. Fortunately, the bet and the money both caught up to him. He died of a severe heart attack at the age of fifty-three.

Bryan was the first person Locklin introduced me to when I arrived back in the States. I hardly saw him. Maybe a few times a year. But I always knew, as per Locklin’s promise, that if anything were to happen, or if I were ever in danger and he weren’t around, I was to contact Bryan.

I won’t say he was a close friend. We never hung out enough for that to happen. But I respected him and his job with Boston PD. I also respected him for the simple fact that he was a relative of Lock’s and truly a good, honest man.

Honest.

Another kick in the teeth, considering he has done nothing but lie to me for over four months.

It seems at the moment that’s what my life has been built upon.

Lies.

I laid it all out for Portia and Cooper last night. Absolutely everything. From the moment I took the job overseas to the attack and the past ten years of lying through my teeth to them about everything from my family to my past.

There were tears.

Cooper did a lot of pacing.

And I, well, I felt like a piece of shit.

I understood why I lied to them for so long. I truly did. Whether it was the amnesia, the pregnancy, or learning the truth about my past that called for me to lie, I’m not sure. But what I do know is that it is time for a clean slate with the people who have been nothing but supportive and one hundred percent honest.

How could I go on, feeling equal in our friendship,
our family
, if I didn’t return the favor? There’s no way I could continue to leave them in the dark; not because it wasn’t fair, but because I owe them that much.

“We’re here, Jer.” Portia softly says from beside me.

Looking out the window, I take in various boats and ships resting at the docks. The smell of the ocean bringing back memories of the first time I was here.

Ten years ago.

How things have changed since the last time. Yet I’m still here, back where my old life was left behind, where a new one is ready to take its place.

Grabbing my bag, I get out and meet Portia at the front of the car. This is the end of the road for her and the beginning of the unknown for me. All I know is I need time, space, and a familiar old family to make me feel partially whole again.

Wrapping my arms around my best friend, I hold her close. I am grateful my memories have come back, and I am grateful for her.

“I love you, P.” I whisper.

She sniffles. “Love you too, Jer. Call me soon, okay?”