Remembering Yesterday

She knew it, and Patrick knew it. She doubted she’d ever be able to feel safe in a relationship until she was somehow whole. But she feared that if she was ever whole again, there would be no place for him in her life. Ava should feel some sympathy for Patrick, because no matter how much he wanted her to love him, he was losing her. He tried hard but she would not grieve if they parted.

Coming to a stop, she struggled out of the car and stepped into the bracing wind and freezing rain. The cold slapped at her, jarring and wicked. Slamming the van door shut, she hurried up the wide wrap-around front porch, clutching her coat closer as the howling wind tried to rip it from her body. She shivered as she walked up to the door and rang the bell, then strained to hear if anything chimed over the winds and the occasional bellow of thunder. Banging her fist on the door and pealing the doorbell once more, Ava belatedly realized she might have been reckless in her need for closure. It was after midnight and the house seemed so echoingly empty.

She hoped her mother would not try to check in on her back at home. In the event Mom did, Ava had left a note on her pillow saying she was visiting her best friend Willow. Ava had tried to tell Willow of her memories. Her friend had seemed so shocked, but Ava thought there was something else behind her reactions. Willow had said that it had seemed too much that one of the town’s bad boys and their princess had done the dirty at one point. Those had been Willow’s words: ‘Done the dirty.’ Not Ava’s.

Even though she thought Willow might be right. The memories were explicit, raw and so very dirty.

Heat crawled up her neck as she took rapid breaths to calm her nerves. It wouldn’t do for him to open the door and see her blushing. After she rang the doorbell for what felt like the hundredth time, the door was finally flung open.

“Wha—?” His growl was cut short when he spied her.

Ava swallowed as awareness jolted through her. He was wearing faded, torn jeans, and a half-buttoned blue chambray shirt with its sleeves rolled to his elbows. She could see the dark hair on his chest, and she knew that hair arrowed down all the way to his briefs.

Panic clawed at her throat. Oh God, I should not know that.

Her eyes focused on his bare toes before she squared her shoulders and tilted her head.

“Hello,” she said, with a wobbly smile.

He opened the door a little wider and stepped into the space. The fierce intensity with which those brilliant green eyes watched her had Ava’s tummy flipping.

“What are you doing here in this weather?” He glanced behind her. “Did you drive over alone?”

She froze. He did not demand to know who she was. He knew her. Her heart started up a painful thumping. She snatched in a shuddering breath to steady herself. “I needed to see you.”

Shadows shifted across his face, and his eyes hooded. “Why? All that needed to be said has been said.”

She lifted her chin. “I have more to say.”

“Do you?” he drawled coldly and so dismissively.

Before she could answer, the sky opened and icy rain started to thump down in earnest. Relief pummelled her as he stepped back and allowed her entry. She’d thought for a moment he would refuse to see her. Ava strode into the warm haven and froze. She took in the brightly coloured Mexican rug, the paintings on the wall, the blue and silver sectional sofa against the wall, the colors of the drapes, and the design of the room . . . everything was so familiar.

She glanced over her shoulder and met his unblinking regard. “Have I been here before?”

Silence throbbed in the room and tension spiked inside her. “Devlin, I—”

He slammed the door. “No.”

She nodded and shrugged out of her wet coat. He took it from her soundlessly and then padded away. She went after him, and her heart jerked even more when she saw the kitchen. This was her dream kitchen. The one she’d often spoke to Patrick and Willow about, the one she had always wanted fitted into the home she saw herself owning in the future. But Devlin had said she’d never been here before.

She choked back the sob that wanted to rip from her. What was going on?

Thunder rattled the window pane and she jumped. Suddenly she wanted to leave. The panic twisting inside of her felt too overwhelming. What was she thinking, confronting him at his home? “I made a mistake. I am so sorry. I need to leave.”

“Ava.”

The soft way he said her name, had her clenching her eyes in pain. There was a wealth of emotions in the words—need, interest, frustration.

“You do know me.”

“What?”

Her eyes flew open to meet his narrowed gaze. “I said, you do know me.”

He frowned and took a step toward her. She was unable to look away from his piercing gaze. He reached for her and she flinched from him. His expression blanked and he dropped his hand to his side. He moved around the kitchen island and sat on a stool. “Ava, what’s going on?”

How easily he said her name. With such familiarity.