Pretending She's Mine

He sat on the bed and crossed his arms. I knew then he was unmovable. “That’s not going to happen until I know you’re all right. I can get Agnes if you’d rather have her monitor you.”

“I don’t need to be monitored!” I was angry enough to throw my arms in the air, but stopped when I felt the shooting pain against my shoulder.

“You’re not going to remember anything like this. I’m not trying to scare you.”

I closed my eyes. “Just leave, Ashe. Go.”

“Not yet.”

I felt his eyes on me, watching me. Observing every breath I took. Every sound I made. Every gesture. Every blink.

“Staring at me isn’t going to help get my memory back.”

“What will?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” I walked to the other side of the room. Maybe it would be easier to think with more distance between us. I curled up in an oversized chair near the window.

“Is there anything that’s coming back to you? Anything at all? Even something that seems unimportant to you could be a lead,” he pressed. “Any memories? Anything in there?”

I swallowed. I wanted to tell him I was drowning in memories. They had flooded every sense I had. Every thought. I remembered the way he used to kiss me. I remembered the sound of his voice against my throat. How his palm squeezed mine when we walked on the beach. How he was ticklish under his ribs, and how he was allergic to pineapple. I remembered the stories he told

me about Afghanistan and the missions he carried out. I wasn’t short on memories of Asher Westbrook.

“No.” My voice was flat. I stared out the window.

He sighed. “I’m not going to rush you. It will happen. You need more rest. You need to heal.”

“Can you stop telling me what I need to do? You don’t know what I need.”

Asher’s dark head moved from side to side. “I guess I deserve that.”

“How long do I have to stay?” I didn’t know if I had the kind of strength it was going to take to guard myself from the emotional avalanche starting down the mountain. I could already feel it happening.

He leaned forward, digging his elbows into his knees. I remembered that look. The seriousness in his eyes. The way his jaw clenched when he was worried about something.

“First, let’s focus on you feeling better.”

“How long?” I pushed. “I want to know how long you intend to keep me locked up in Big Bear.”

“You’re not locked up, Journey. You’re safe. There’s a big difference.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“If I gave you the option to go back to Malibu right now, would you take it? Would you risk your life just to spite me?”

My eyes blazed as I faced him. I wanted the answer to be that I would run out of here as fast as I could, but it wasn’t that simple. I didn’t know who I could trust. I couldn’t remember how I had been shot. I didn’t particularly want to test out my safety at the beach house. I was left with only one solution, and I hated him.

“No.”

“Good.” He pushed off the bed.

“Where are you going?” I squeaked.

“It looks like the shock has passed. I don’t think you’re in danger of passing out. I’m going to let you get some rest. If you remember anything, come find me. My room is down the hall.”

Of course he wanted me to find his bedroom. I wasn’t going there. I’d never go there again.

“Good night, Journey.”