Lost In Me (Here and Now 1)

For Adrienne. Here’s to writing dates, laughter, and dreams brought to life.

Lost in Me is the first book in the Here and Now series, a spin-off of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Hope series.

The last thing I remember is having drinks at Brady’s and trying to avoid eye-contact with my life-long crush—the gorgeous, unattainable Maximilian Hallowell. They tell me that was a year ago, but I have no memories of anything since then. What I do have is this ring on my finger that Max says he gave me, and this much-thinner body I’ve dreamed of most of my life. Aside from a case of retrograde amnesia, everything seems almost...perfect.

But the deeper I immerse myself into this new world of mine—planning a wedding to a man I don't remember dating, attempting to run a business I don't remember starting—the clearer it becomes that nothing is as it seems. Do I have the life I’ve always wanted or is it a facade propped up by secrets I don't even know I have?

I need answers before I marry Max, and the only person who seems to have them is the angry, tatted, sexy-as-sin rocker Nate Crane. And Nate wants me for himself.

Warning: Lost in Me is a sexy amnesia love triangle an is intended for mature readers.

September—Eleven Months Before Accident

WHEN MAXIMILIAN Hallowell winks at me, my heart somersaults like an overzealous toddler at her first gymnastics class. Because, yes, when it comes to this guy, I am so over-the-top awkward that even the metaphorical tumbling of my internal organs is cringe-worthy.

I force myself to return his smile, but his attention has already shifted to my twin. My so-obviously-not-identical-it’s-laughable twin.

“Go finish your drinks,” Lizzy says, shooing the guys toward their table. “We need some time for girl talk.”

I wish she wouldn’t do that. Even if he hardly knows I exist, I want to be close to Max. When he’s near, I forget how to breathe, yet I feel more alive than ever.

Lizzy slides into our booth and tugs me in beside her as Cally takes a seat across from us.

“What’s that about?” Cally asks me, concern pulling on her features.

I shake my head. I should be glad Lizzy sent Max away. I’m so transparent. I probably would’ve made a fool of myself.

“She’s got a crush on Max,” Lizzy explains.

I jab my elbow into Lizzy’s side—my crush on the unattainable Maximilian Hallowell is not for public consumption.

Lizzy ignores me. “Can’t say as I blame her. You could bounce quarters off the boy’s ass.”

“He has no idea I exist,” I whisper to Cally. “He’s only had eyes for Lizzy since he came back to town and opened that gym.”

Lizzy frowns, and I feel guilty for bringing it up. “I never would have gone on that date with him if I’d known Hanna liked him. I dropped him the minute I found out.”

“Does he know how you feel?” Cally asks me.

“God, no!” Lizzy says before I can reply. “Are you kidding? Hanna doesn’t tell guys when she’s interested. She’d rather hide and believe she doesn’t stand a chance. Which is stupid and a lie.”

I shoot a conspicuous glance toward the guys’ table just to make sure Max isn’t listening in on this conversation. Like he cares. “What would he want to do with me anyway?” I mutter. “He’s an athletic trainer who runs his own health club, and I’m a fat girl.”

“Hanna!” Lizzy and Cally screech in unison.

I regret the F-word as soon as it leaves my lips. There are unspoken rules to being the chubby chick in a group of friends, and numero uno is that you never use the F-word. I can’t do anything but shrug. The rule can’t be unbroken. The ugly truth is out there. “Sorry.”

“You’re fucking gorgeous, and any guy would be lucky to have you.” Lizzy gets so pissed off when I dare suggest her long, lithe limbs are more desirable than my size sixteen-to-eighteen “curves” (“curves” being the PC word for “extra layers of fat”). Reality doesn’t even enter into her perception of the situation. Reality is that I’ve had a handful of dates that were terrible and two boyfriends who were even worse. Lizzy, on the other hand, has her pick of the lot. Including Max Hallowell.

There’s honestly not enough beer in that pitcher for me to deal with this conversation tonight. “Time to change the subject, please.”

Lizzy presses a kiss to my forehead and whispers so only I can hear, “My Hanna wants Max, my Hanna’s gonna get Max.”

STORIES AREN’T supposed to start with the main character waking up. It’s a rule I learned in my creative writing class in college. Something about boring the reader or being a cliché or… Actually, I don’t remember the reason.

But dreams? A lot of my dreams start with me waking up, and this is too surreal to be anything but a dream. Opening my eyes, I find myself in the hospital, not knowing how or why, the nurse telling me that I’ve been here for over twenty-four hours.

“Mother’s maiden name?” a nurse is asking me. She’s been quizzing me for several minutes now. My name, my birthday, the freaking president of the United States.

I blink against the fluorescent overhead lights and supply, “Crossen.” My head hurts like a thousand drunken clowns have been dancing on it. In cleats.

“Do you know the date?”

I grimace as I shift on the hospital mattress, and the movement sends pain ricocheting through muscles I didn’t even know I had. I’m sure she has a good reason for these questions, but I’d like to ask some of my own, starting with, Why am I in the hospital? And, Who beat the shit out of me?

“September…twelfth, maybe? Thirteenth?” The words come out more like croaks than coherent syllables and they feel like a cheese grater against my throat.

“August,” someone squeaks behind her. “She means August. Don’t you, Hanna?”

Lizzy comes into my line of sight. Her blond curls bounce as she nods at me, as if it’s really important that I agree with her. Of course, she’s completely wrong. It’s not August. It’s September. We’re a month into the fall semester of our senior year at Sinclair.

I try to frown but it hurts. My hand flies to my face, where the pain radiates like a mini explosion. I touch my cheek gingerly and wince.

Machines beep around my head, and even though I know I just woke up, all I really want is to take some good drugs for this headache and have a nap. “Why am I in the hospital? What happened?”

“Do you know who this is, Hanna?” The nurse motions to her right.

I roll my head to the side so I can more easily focus on my sister. Her curly blond hair frames her face at awkward angles, as if she’s been sleeping on a park bench or something.

I’m trying not to panic, but again, I just woke up in a hospital, I don’t know how I got here, they say I’ve been here for over a day, and they’re asking if I know my name. My face feels like it’s been introduced to a set of brass knuckles, and my skull is threatening to explode. These are not generally signs of a quiet night in.

Lizzy’s eyes are red. She’s been crying. I keep thinking of that second pitcher of beer we ordered at Brady’s. Did we drink and drive? Lizzy looks well but really upset. Is someone hurt?

“Lizzy,” I ask, “what happened?”

“She kno

ws me, see?” Lizzy says. “She’s fine.”

“Can you tell me how Lizzy is related to you?” the nurse asks.