If I Break THE COMPLETE SERIES Bundle (80 page)

“Onions?” I ask.

She nods giving me the okay.

“So, you’re basically going to take the meat and pat it into a circle, like what a burger looks like. I’ll show you with mine,” and I start to shape the meat as she watches intently.

“Now you try.” She picks up the meat and starts to shape it.

“Mine doesn’t look as neat as yours.” She pouts. Her patty is cracked on all sides.

“Instead of just smashing it, press down in the middle and in from the sides,” I clarify. She takes another handful of beef, starts to mold it and it looks exactly the same as her last one did.

“I told you, I suck at this,” she says disappointed. I take a hunk of my ground beef and show her again how I did it, this time more slowly. She tilts her head watching me again and after a minute she picks up her oddly-shaped hamburger, adding more meat to it and tries again.

It’s way too much meat. I finally take her hands and show her. She pauses when I do, we both do, but her laugh breaks the tension that’s mounting between us.

That’s definitely a friend laugh.

She finally manages to make two pretty perfect patties.

“Spectacular,” I say, and she takes a small bow.

“So the only thing next is to season them,” and she nods. “It really only takes a few pinches of salt and pepper on each side.” I demonstrate on mine. She grabs the bowl of salt and pepper I measured out earlier and does the same, mimicking the number of pinches I used. I can’t help but grin.

“Now you can fry these on the stove or cook them in the oven. I think baking’s probably easier for you to start off,” I say, grabbing the baking pan.

“You put foil down on the pan.” I grab a can of cooking spray. “Spray it so it doesn’t stick, you could use butter if you don’t have this.” She nods. I put the burgers on the sheet and in the oven. “You set it for 350 degrees and you’re done,”

“What’s the second pan for?” she asks. I hand her the pan and foil.

“Do that just the way I did. You can tear off eight pieces and lay them on the pan.”

She lines the pan with the foil and I hand her the block of bacon. When she starts to tear off the bacon she makes a grossed-out face and I laugh.

“Okay,” she says when she’s done. I take the tray and pop it in the oven.

“Depending on how thin the bacon is, you’d have to keep a closer eye on it so it doesn’t burn but since this bacon’s pretty thick it can cook for about the same amount of time as the burgers.” She nods and then smiles.

“That wasn’t bad,” she says excitedly.

“You’re a natural,” I joke.

“I wouldn’t go that far, and I had your help,” she says modestly.

“We’re not done yet. You have to actually taste it,” I remind her. We both sit down at the kitchen table and wait for the food to finish cooking.

“I appreciate this. I know you work with your dad early in the mornings. You should be asleep now,” she says, fidgeting with the strings on her pajama pants.

“I’m used to getting up early. I don’t mind,” I tell her as my eyes gradually drift down to her chest. I immediately look away. She’s not dressed in anything revealing but this is the least amount of clothes I’ve seen her in. Well, right in front of me. I’m reminded of the memories I’ve been having. I’m trying to think of the best way to bring it up, which one to start with, and how much to leave out.

“I wanted to ask you something,” I say, trying to hide the nervousness in my voice. Her focus shifts from her pajama pants to me.

“Actually, I wanted to tell you something and ask you something,” I say, clearing my throat, my nerves winning out.

“I—I think I might have remembered something—one of Cal’s memories.” Her eyes widen, she immediately seems more vibrant and alert.

The sound of
his
name does that to her. I rethink the idea of telling her. At first it was that I didn’t want her to hold on to something that’s long gone, to fan flames that need to be put out, but this time I feel, well I think I’m irritated, but that wouldn’t make sense. I have no reason to be irritated…unless I’m
jealous.

“What did you remember?” she asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. I look in her eyes and see the hope in them. There’s a difference in her.

“Not a lot. Just me or Cal talking to Dexter,” I say, and I see the hope drain from her expression. She looks down at her lap and back up at me, apparently trying to hide her disappointment. A part of me feels like a jerk, the other part of me is relieved.

“That’s great,” she says, a small smile on her face.

“What happened?” she asks.

“They had an argument.” I know her next question is going to make me tell the truth. Should I give her a little of her hope back or leave things out and possibly ruin her night?

I don’t want to ruin her night but I don’t want to see her eyes light up like that again.

Well, I do, just not for him.

Now there’s no question about it. I’m jealous and that is one of the worst things I’ve ever felt.

“About what?”

Do I tell the truth or a white lie? I try to weigh the benefits of both, but it’s hard to think clearly when her hazel eyes are looking into mine, trying to read them, possibly searching, still looking for
him.

“About you.” The truth wins out. I can’t lie to her when she’s looking at me like that. I’m already hiding things. If she asks me something directly, I’ll tell her the truth. I wouldn’t want her to lie to me so I won’t do it to her. Lying and omission is what got us into this and it’s scary how easy it’s becoming for me to want to do the same.

She looks taken aback.

“Why were they arguing about me?” she asks, a little puzzled. I might as well just get it out.

“Dexter didn’t want him to marry you.” She’s quiet after I say that. She laughs to herself and rests her head in her hand.

“That’s not surprising. It seems most people didn’t,” she says sadly.

“Well Cal was pretty adamant. He didn’t give a shit about what Dexter thought.” The words come out of my mouth so fast I don’t even realize what I said until afterwards, but they make Lauren smile. She looks like she feels better.

“He didn’t give a shit what most people thought,” she mutters.

She likes that about him. I sort of envy that; I’ve never been able to feel that way. I do care what people think, especially the people I love and care about, sometimes to a fault.

“The thing is, I still don’t know if what I saw was real or a dream,” I say, reminding myself of why I even brought this up to her in the first place.

“Of course, I mean, how could you?” she says, matter-of-factly.

“Their argument was at some type of event. I remember seeing a banner in the background. It said “Crestfield Cares.” There were grey and black balloons,” I say hesitantly.

She sits up and starts to think and shakes her head. “I don’t know, it could’ve been. We went to so many events for their company. Some I didn’t even go to,” she says apologetically. I guess I’m going to have to be more specific. I let out a sigh.

“You were there,” I admit, and she perks up a bit.

“The rest of everything was kind of hazy.” I
smudge
the truth. “But I remember you were wearing a grey dress and he drove you somewhere near water after the party.” After a few seconds her eyes light up in recognition and she grins. I can tell she’s fighting a wide smile.

“Yeah. I remember that night,” she says with a smirk. “It was a company party he took me to a couple of weeks before he proposed.” Her smirk turns into a full-on smile then she starts to blush.

Yup, she remembers that night.

“You don’t remember anything else?” she asks, looking at me, her expression a cross between suspicion and glee.

“It was all pretty hazy,” I say with a shrug. I get up from the table to check on the burgers. I open the oven and lean down so the heat can reach my face, an excuse for my blushing. The burgers and bacon are almost done. I motion for her to come look. She stands beside me, an accomplished smile on her face.

“It smells really good,” she says cheerfully. “High five,” she says lifting her hand, and I chuckle and slap hands with her.

Lauren and I are friends. There’s nothing friendlier than a high five.

Even after knowing that, I’m starting to remember, and I’m sure she has a suspicion that I remember more than I’m telling. She’s okay. She still knows our line. She doesn’t look at me longingly like she wishes I’d tell her I love her or I want to be with her.

I was wrong.

She doesn’t want to hear that from
me
at all.

I’m happy.

I should be happy.

I tell myself I’m happy.

It doesn’t bother me at all that maybe she’s starting to distinguish that Cal and I are different. It’s what I wanted after all.

It’s a good thing.

That’s what I tell myself.

Even though I feel like crap.

I don’t know why I’m at Jenna’s house. It seemed like a good idea at the time. After cooking with Lauren, I felt like I needed to see her. I know it’s late and she has to drive back to school in the morning. I need something to remind me why I
shouldn’t
be feeling the way I am now. Why I feel off-balance, empty, and confused. Jenna is the woman I’ve known for the past two years, who’s been there for me through some of the toughest times in my life, the woman I want to marry. Since all this happened, all we’ve done is argue or she tosses ultimatums at me. I need to feel what I know we have…to remember. So many thoughts are being pushed forward in my head, it’s like our memories are being pushed aside for everything else. I need them to come back to the forefront.

“I can go if you want me to. I know you have a lot to do tomorrow.” I’m sitting on the white and brown leather sofa in her living room. Jenna’s house was decorated right out of a home magazine, literally. The walls are beige and the furniture is brown leather. It’s modern/chic. That’s what Jenna tells me. It’s clean, just her books, notebooks, and laptop on the coffee table.

“No, I’m glad you’re here.” She covers her mouth, trying to keep a yawn from escaping.

“You’re tired, I can come back.” I say, getting off the couch and kissing her forehead.

She frowns. “No, it’s fine,” she pulls me back down. “What’s wrong?” She adjusts her sitting position so that she can look directly at me.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just miss you,” I say, pulling her on my lap. She smells good, like she always does. Her hair’s down but not perfectly straight and in place the way it usually is.

I like it like this.

I run my hand through her hair and she murmurs softly.

“That feels good,” she says as my fingers drag down her back.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” she purrs before shifting her position. She’s wearing a light blue robe that she starts to take off, revealing an oversized school t-shirt and boy shorts underneath.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something,” she says, her lips kissing my neck.

“What,” I ask while my hands creep under her shirt to take off her bra.

“I think you should move in here,” she whispers, and I go stiff. She leans back to see my face.

“I thought we’d agreed on waiting until after we were married and found a house,” I remind her.

“I know, but after everything that’s happened, it seems a little silly. I thought you coming over here showed you agreed with me about all of this waiting,” she says defensively.

“I don’t think this is the right time,” I say, and she slides off my lap.

“Why are we still waiting now, Chris?” she asks tying up her robe in a huff.

“Because that’s what we agreed to do.”

“That’s what we agreed to do before all of this came out. It makes no sense now!” she says sharply. I should have known this was going to come up.

“What Cal and Lauren did has nothing to do with me.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, Jenna’s eyes shoot daggers at me.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” her tone is low and venomous.

“We can’t even get married until
you
get divorced!” Now she’s shouting. “We’ve been waiting for everything. Waiting to move in together, waiting to have sex, waiting, waiting and waiting! And now you’re waiting to ask your wife for a fucking divorce!”