Dirty, Reckless Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 3)

Her hand goes to her stomach again, and she nods. “Thanks, Levi.”

“For what?”

She shrugs. “For making this trip. For staying the night when I know you want to go home.” Her voice goes thick with tears, and she looks at the floor. “For believing in my brother when no one else does.”

It’s the last part that makes my gut twist. The way I see it, Colton is either guilty of something inconceivable and in hiding, or he’s innocent and dead. I don’t like either scenario, nor am I interested in discussing those possibilities with his protective big sister. “Rest,” I say. “I’ll bring you back some dinner.”

“Thanks.” She disappears into the bedroom, leaving her purse on the sofa.

I wait until the door closes before opening Ava’s purse and retrieving the envelope with Ellie’s name on the front. I wouldn’t trust Ellie’s family to give this to her, but I’ve dug through her old social media posts enough to know what places were her favorites when she visited home. If I can’t trust her family, I’ll have to give the invitation to the barista at her favorite coffee shop and hope she still goes there.

Ellie

“How are you sleeping?” Dr. Cummings asks with a gentle smile. She was my doctor in high school and took over my care when I was transferred home. Her office has lamps and couches in every patient room, making the space feel warmer than a typical beige office with fluorescent lighting.

“A little better,” I say. “Still not great.”

“The pain pills are there for a reason.”

I shake my head. “I don’t need them.” I’ve resisted medication since I was conscious enough to do so. At first I didn’t know why I was so against the idea of taking narcotics, but something in my gut told me they were dangerous. I had a visceral repulsion every time I saw the bottles they sent home with me. Now I think this was a little piece of my missing past that stayed with me. Colton was addicted to pain meds. Or that’s what they tell me.

“What about the nightmares?”

I wince. I don’t like to think about the nightmares. They’re violent, and random, and leave me feeling confused and helpless. “They’re not as bad.”

“You need to sleep, Ellie.” She taps on her keyboard, shaking her head. “I’m sending a script to your pharmacy for antianxiety meds and sleeping pills.” She holds up a hand before I can speak. “I know you don’t want to take them, but you’ve been through something terribly traumatic. If you use them for nothing else, use them to help you sleep.”

“I’ll think about it.” I pause a beat, fighting the shame I feel over the question I’ve been biting back since she walked in the room. “What about my memories? Is it normal that those haven’t come back?”

My mother and sister try to protect me from my other life and the years I don’t remember. Before that man showed up at Mom’s house, I was grateful for that. I had questions, but I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers. Since he drove away a few hours ago, I’ve felt like a flower in a glass dome—suffocated and trapped. I don’t have any explanation for what’s changed in me to make me suddenly want to find these missing pieces. Before, knowing about the life that almost got me killed seemed dangerous. Now, not knowing feels stifling.

“There is no normal in cases like these, Ellie. Everyone is different. Have you remembered anything new since we spoke last week?”

I look away. This is only my second appointment since I was released from the hospital, but I’m already beginning to hate them. It feels like a test I’m failing. I’m in pain. I can’t sleep. No memories. “Not yet.”

She hesitates a beat, and I hate the sympathy in her eyes. “It’s okay. These things take time. I still want to refer you to a psychiatrist. Would you prefer someone in the area, or will you be heading back to Jackson Harbor?”

I stiffen. “Why would I go back there?”

“Your job, your friends. Your whole life?” She studies me. “If you went back—maybe with someone you trust by your side—it might trigger some memories. That can happen sometimes.”

“Do I want to remember a life with an addict who knocked me up and almost killed me?” Before today, I didn’t. But now? Ignorance can’t protect me, and clinging to it out of fear is no way to live.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” She gives me the sympathetic head tilt everyone has used on me since I woke up. The one I’ve come to hate. “Abusers tend to hide their true colors until it’s too late.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want anything to do with that life. I want answers, but I don’t want to go back to find them.”

“That’s understandable.” She nods, then returns to her computer. “I’ll see about getting you in with a colleague in Chicago.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. Maybe I can talk my sister into going with me. Or I could brave it on my own. I went to college in Chicago, and it was my favorite place in the world. Going alone might help me prove to myself that I’m getting stronger. That’s why I insist on coming to my doctor’s appointments and PT visits without my mom, though she would prefer to be with me. Every day is an opportunity to prove to myself that I can function despite my fears. My sister brought my car home after I was released from the hospital, so there’s no reason for them to bus me around town like I’m some kid who can’t drive.

“In the meantime,” Dr. Cummings says, “be patient with yourself, and take your meds when you need them.” She wraps up my appointment, reminding me to pick up my prescriptions and telling me that her staff will call Mom’s with information about the referral.

When I leave her office, I stop by the pharmacy to pick up the prescriptions she ordered, but they’re not ready, so I walk across the street to the brewpub I used to frequent when home from college on semester breaks.

When I cross the street, I see a Mustang parked in the lot south of the bar. My feet stop moving. Is that the car that was in front of my house earlier today?

I almost turn around. I can wait in my car or just go home until my meds are ready.