The Goodbye Bride (4 page)

“Why are you doing this?” Her voice cracked.

“I'm telling you the truth. You need to know, and the doctor needs to know so they can figure out what's—” His eyes stopped
on something. He reached over and grabbed the newspaper he'd brought from the lobby. “What day is it, Lucy?”

“It—it's . . . I don't know. Our wedding day. November seventeenth.” She stared into his eyes at the long pause, feeling more vulnerable than she remembered feeling in a long time.

“We were sitting outside on the harbor,” he said. “Did it feel like November to you?”

She blinked away, thinking. She couldn't remember what it felt like. Had she been chilled?

“It's not November, Lucy. It's June.”

She shook her head. No, it couldn't be summer. She'd just finished decorating her apartment for Thanksgiving. She'd put out the festive tablecloth and the brown pillar candles and the big stuffed turkey Zac had given her, the one that gobbled when you squeezed its belly. Just a couple nights ago she'd laughed herself silly at the ridiculous sound.

He held the paper in front of her, and her eyes worked hard to focus where he pointed. Today's date. June 15. And a year she didn't even remember ringing in.

Her head spun, and her skin felt hot. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on the back of her neck. She wished that nurse would come back and double her anxiety med because it wasn't working anymore. Not even close.

“Calm down now . . .”

“I've lost seven months?
Seven months?
” It all spun in her head. What had happened in those months?

Her chest tightened, and she palmed the spot. “We broke up?”

“Yes.”

He was the one thing she had going right in her life. The one thing she couldn't live without. Her gaze touched on the wedding dress.

“If we're not together anymore, why was I wearing a wedding gown, huh? Answer me that.”

His lips formed a tight line. “I don't know.”

“You're wrong. You're making this up!”

“Why would I do that?”

“We're engaged!”

“Are we, Lucy? Where's the ring I gave you?”

“Right here.” She held up her hand, noticing the ring for the first time. A diamond twinkled back. An awfully large one.

Not the one Zac had given her.

A whimper escaped her throat as panic crept in. “What's going on?”

An orderly slipped into the room. “Okay, time for pictures.” Working quickly, he verified Lucy's identity, took care of the IV, and set the bed in motion.

Lucy turned toward Zac as she was wheeled from the room, her gaze aligning with his guarded eyes. He stood immobile, his hands in his pockets, his jaw hard, his lips pressed into a tight line. He disappeared as quickly as her memory had.

Chapter 4

W
hat's the last thing you remember, Miss Lovett?”

It was midnight, and the doctor had been quizzing her for ten minutes. Her thoughts were so fuzzy. The CT was normal. Everything looked fine, he'd said. How could everything look fine when it clearly wasn't?

The doctor looked to be in his thirties with messy brown hair, blue eyes, and round glasses. He looked like Harry Potter. How could she remember Harry Potter when she couldn't remember losing the only man she'd ever loved? How could seven months of her life simply slip her mind? She had a man—a fiancé!—she didn't even remember. What had she been doing the last seven months? Where had she been living?

“Lucy . . .?” Zac said. “Your last memory.”

She cleared her throat and thought hard. “Um, we were walking home from the Roadhouse—Zac's restaurant. It was cold. We said goodbye at the door.”

She had a sudden flash of memory, and her eyes cut to Zac. “You picked up the pumpkin on my porch and pretended it was talking.”

She'd laughed at his antics, and she'd been relieved to see a glimpse of his old self. He'd been so blue since his daddy had passed. After he'd set the pumpkin down, he'd pulled her into his arms and told her he couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life with her.

She searched his eyes now and saw the glimmer of memory before he looked away.

“How long ago was that?” the doctor asked Zac, oblivious to the tension hovering in the room.

“The end of October,” Zac said.

The doctor closed his chart. “Well . . . you've obviously got a concussion and some retrograde amnesia. That means your injury caused a loss of memory.”

“Will she get it back?”

The doctor shrugged. “She may or may not. It varies by person. Sometimes being around familiar things and people helps. Sometimes it doesn't. I'm inclined to check her in for the night to keep an—”

“No, sir,” Lucy said. She couldn't get out of this place quick enough. “I don't want to stay. I need to get home. You said my CT was just fine.”

“Perfectly normal. And I'm open to the option of sending you home, but only if someone stays with you for at least twenty-four hours.”

Her eyes darted to Zac, pleading. They couldn't give her enough drugs to keep her here.

His eyes tightened, and a shadow twitched in his jaw. “Fine.”

“You'll need to wake her every few hours tonight. She needs to take it easy until her symptoms are gone. I've prescribed a pain med for her headache and something for the nausea. The nurse
will get you some information on post-concussion care. She should schedule a checkup with her regular doctor.”

“What about my memory?” Lucy asked. “Will I get it back?”

The doctor's eyes shot to Zac's, then back to her. “We'll have to wait and see. Try not to worry too much about that. Just rest up and take care of yourself.”

After he left, Lucy pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “Try not to worry that I can't remember the last seven months of my life?”

“Being upset isn't going to help anything.”

“Easy for you to say! You're not the one with the huge, gaping hole in his life.” Or in love with someone who apparently hated her now.

Zac sank into a chair. “At least you don't have to stay. We'll get your prescriptions filled and find a nearby hotel. In the morning I'll start doing some research and see if I can't figure out where you live and get you connected with your—friends.”

Lucy came upright. “You said you'd take me home. You promised.”

Zac gave her a patient look. “I meant to your home
now
.”

“Well, I don't even remember that home! Or those people. I want to go back to Summer Harbor with you.”

“Lucy, that's not—”

“This isn't my home. I don't remember any of it.”

“Well, that could change. You could wake up tomorrow and everything could be different.”

“Or I could never remember any of it!”

Something flickered in Zac's eyes. Something she needed. He still had to care for her deep down, didn't he? After all they'd shared?

“Please, Zac. Take me home. It's where I belong.” Her eyes burned, and when she fought to hold back the tears, her feelings spilled out her lips instead. “You have to take me home. I love you.”

His eyes hardened. “Don't say that.”

“It's true.”

“You only think it's true. You've got a life here, Lucy. You've got a job, and a home, and a freaking fiancé.”

“Well, I don't remember any of it! I only remember Summer Harbor and my little apartment and you.” Her last words broke off.

Zac bolted to his feet and paced away, his hands laced behind his head. He wouldn't turn her down. Not the Zac she knew. Would he? He faced a blank wall, his shoulders rigid, his body stiff.

It seemed forever before he finally turned around. “Fine.”

She was glad she couldn't see the look in his eyes from across the room. Her imagination was filling in the blanks only too well.

“I'll take you back. But we're going to figure this out whether your memory comes back or not. Your life is here now, not in Summer Harbor.”

Not with me.

The unsaid words hung in the air between them, cutting off her breath. She couldn't imagine ever wanting to come back here or ever wanting to leave Zac.

But she knew enough to quit while she was ahead. “All right. Fair enough.”

She'd get back to Summer Harbor and figure out what went wrong. Then she'd fix it. Because she knew she'd never love anyone else the way she loved Zac Callahan.

Chapter 5

Z
ac turned onto Harbor Drive and followed the two-lane highway up the coastline. The headlights of his Silverado cut through the darkness, lighting the way, but he'd barely seen the road the entire drive back to Summer Harbor.

It was three thirty in the morning, and Lucy had succumbed to sleep long ago. She wore some ill-fitting clothes from the hospital's lost and found. He'd shoved her wedding dress into the backseat.

Her slight weight had fallen against him as they'd passed through Ellsworth, and now her head rested on his arm. The familiar apple scent of her shampoo or perfume or whatever made her smell so fresh wove around him. The fragrance drew him right back to when they'd been together.

She turned her face into his arm, cuddling closer, and gave a deep sigh.

Come on, God. I'm only a man. What are You doing? Why's she back in my life?

Twelve hours ago he'd been minding his own business, getting ready for a busy night at the Roadhouse. Now here he was, bringing his ex-fiancée home.

He rounded the last curve and applied the brakes as the Roadhouse came into view, his eyes swinging to his darkened second-floor apartment. He pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine.

Lucy didn't budge. In the sudden quiet he could hear her gentle breaths. Feel the expansion of her lungs against his elbow. He looked down at her. The golden glow of lights washed over her face. Her long lashes swept the tops of her cheeks, and her long hair cascaded over her shoulders.

Lucy used to say she'd never rise above “cute” because of her dimples and compact size. But she was wrong. She was beautiful. His fingers itched to brush her hair back, to linger on the softness of her cheek. To glide across her generous lips. To pretend, just for a few minutes, that everything was the way it had been.

He ground his teeth together.
Enough, Callahan
.

He nudged her with his shoulder and she awoke, lifting her head. She looked around, seemingly lost for a moment. And he wondered if she'd miraculously regained her memory.

Then her eyes met his, and her face fell. “What time is it?”

“After three.”

“I thought—what about my apartment?”

She was still loopy from the drugs or concussion, and she looked so vulnerable. He steeled himself against the need to comfort her. Reminded himself of the way she'd left. Of her groom back in Portland.

“Your apartment's long gone. You can use Riley's old room for tonight.”

He got out of the truck and came around to help her in case she was still dizzy. His baby brother had rented out the room for
a while. When Zac took over the Roadhouse, the room was full of storage. Riley fixed it up in exchange for cheap rent.

“He's not here anymore?” she asked when he opened her door.

“He joined the marines. Easy does it,” he said when she wobbled on her feet. “You should take your meds before you turn in.”

He unlocked the door and led her through the darkened restaurant and down the short hall past his office and private bathroom. Beyond that was a small room with the bare necessities. He couldn't remember the last time the sheets had been washed. The air was stale, so he cracked open the window.

He got her a glass of water and helped with her pills. Her eyes had that sleepy look, and her makeup was smudged underneath, making her look younger and helpless somehow. He'd fetched her a T-shirt from upstairs that would probably hang to her knees.

When she was settled, he turned at the door. “I'll wake you in a few hours.”

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, the T-shirt clutched to her chest. She stared at him with those wide blue eyes he'd once been a fool for. “Thank you, Zac.”

He gave her a tight smile before pulling the door. He walked around for a while, busying himself with a few things in the restaurant. His thoughts were spinning, his nerves jacked up like he'd had a full carafe of coffee.

Around four thirty he forced himself to lie down on his office couch. His legs hung off the end of the lumpy sofa. He set his phone alarm for six to check on Lucy, but he was still wide awake when it went off. It was fair to say he wasn't going to make it to church this morning.

He slipped into her room. Morning sounds filtered through
the cracked window. Dawn glimmered through the sheer curtain, washing over the form of her quilt-covered body. She slept on her side, facing the door, her knees drawn up in fetal position.

For a moment he imagined that the past seven months hadn't happened. That she'd never left Summer Harbor. That they'd married on November 17. She was lying in their bed, and she was
his.
His heart thrashed against his ribs.

Stop it. Just stop it. Jeez.

Zac crept over to the bed and touched her shoulder. “Lucy.” She didn't stir, so he nudged her again. “Lucy, wake up.”

He felt her go still.

“Zac?” Her voice was rough with sleep.

“You okay?”

“Mmmm.”

“All right. Just checking.” He turned to go.

She grabbed his hand. “Stay.”

She was killing him. He pulled his hand from hers. “I'm right next door in the office. Go back to sleep.”

Back in his office he set his alarm for nine, then lay awake, staring at the darkened ceiling, planning what he'd do. He'd start with a search for weddings in Portland. There'd be a church listed, and he'd call the pastor for contact numbers. Once he got in touch with her fiancé, he was home free. The thought made his chest feel hollow inside. But the sooner he got her back to Portland the better.