Memory's Edge: Part One (11 page)

Chapter Twenty

Accidental Bruises

Letting go
of Gretchen was harder than keeping himself from falling over, which was
getting more difficult by the second. Her body pressed against his felt more
right than anything he had experienced since waking up. John pulled away from
her reluctantly, ready to get out of the restaurant, but a sharp pain behind
his eyes stopped him.

Muffled voices
played in his mind. Flashes of color jumped back and forth. For a moment he
thought he saw a woman’s face, but it was gone too quickly to identify. John
tried to push the voices and colors away. They lasted a few more seconds before
everything disappeared. The pain, the colors, and the voices all vanished.

“John?
John, what’s wrong?”

Shaking his
head, he looked at Gretchen. She grimaced in pain and worry. Pain? Searching
her to see what was wrong, John saw his own hands clamped on her arms. Her skin
dimpled under the pressure, turning white around his fingers from the harsh
grip. Gasping, John dropped his hands, stumbling at the lack of support.

Gretchen
reached forward to grab him, but John pushed her hands back. Limping away from
her, he rushed to their table, grabbing his cane and racing to the door. John
needed to get away from her before he hurt her again. He tried to warn her
about this. He told her he didn’t know what he might do.

But John
didn’t stop her from staying near him.

The cool,
spring air hit him as he burst through the doors. He could hear Gretchen
calling for him to wait, but pushed ahead anyway. He didn’t even know what had
happened. What were those colors and voices? Did he see something in them? The
pain he felt beforehand was awful. It came on so suddenly, he had no chance to
do anything about it. What if it came back? What if he hurt Gretchen again?

John
started walking, but he only made it a few steps before remembering he had
nowhere to go. He didn’t even have a way to leave the parking lot aside from
his own two feet. That wasn’t going to get him very far. John didn’t have the
chance to come up with another plan.

“John,
wait! What are you doing?” Gretchen called out as she ran up to him.

John turned
away, not wanting to look at her.

“John, what
happened?” she asked. “Your face went all white and you just stood there like
you were in a trance. And why did you run out like that?”

In her rush
to get out of the building she hadn’t gotten her sweater back on. John could
see the splotches of finger-sized bruises beginning to form around her arms.
“Gretchen, I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“Sorry for
what?” she asked, and then she seemed to realize what he was staring at. She
lifted her arm to inspect the damage. John expected her to cry or be angry, but
she just shook her head. “Forget about that. It’s nothing. You need to tell me
what happened. Do we need to call Dr. Sanchez?”

“Nothing?”
he asked in disbelief. “How can you say that’s nothing? I hurt you, Gretchen.
Look at the bruises!”

“For God’s
sake, John. You squeezed my arms a little too hard. It’s not that big of a
deal. What
is
a big deal is that something obviously just happened to
you,” she said. “You looked like you were in pain, and if you don’t tell me
what happened I’m calling Dr. Sanchez right now.”

“It was
nothing,” John said, repeating her words.

She looked
as though she were about to throttle John if he didn’t give her a real answer.
He should have known she wouldn’t let this slide. She was so protective of him.
So careful. John’s shoulders slumped. There was no getting away from her now.
Not that he really wanted to. He could never actually leave her.

“There was
this sharp pain in my head,” John said. “Then lights and sounds.” That was all
they were, right? Just some random flashes. He wasn’t even sure if the sounds
had been part of the experience, or just the restaurant noise amplified by the
pain in his head. For a moment, John thought there had been a face, but he was
almost positive it had just been someone passing by them in the restaurant.

“Lights and
sounds? What do you mean?”

She must
have thought he was hallucinating. Was he? Was there still something wrong with
his? His last MRI had been clear, but could they really be sure? Gretchen
grabbed her phone from her purse, and John had no doubt she was searching her
contacts for Dr. Sanchez’s phone number. Maybe she would know what was going
on, but John was done with doctors for the day. John quickly grabbed her hand,
forcing the phone down.

“Gretchen,
wait,” John pleaded, “I don’t think it was anything serious. I don’t know, but
I think the pain just made me really sensitive to light and sound for a moment.
I was just seeing and hearing the room more than I should have. It’s not worth
calling Dr. Sanchez about.”

Gretchen
stared at him in frustration. “This is more important than your fears of going
back to the hospital. There might be something wrong.”

“I’m fine,”
John said, surprised by the heat in his voice. “It was just a side effect from
the injury. Dr. Sanchez said I might experience something like this as I’m
healing.”

“But, why
now? You haven’t had anything like this before. Why would your head suddenly
start hurting almost two months later? That doesn’t make sense,” she said.

“It has
happened before,” he said quietly.

“What?
When? Why didn’t you tell me?” She was absolutely stunned he’d kept something
from her.

“It was
just once, and it was even quicker than what happened tonight,” he said. “It
was that night you made Swiss steak. You where pounding the steaks and the same
thing happened. I think it was just the loud noise, last time and this time.”

At least,
he was pretty sure that had been the cause.

Frowning,
Gretchen struggled to agree that what he was saying made sense. Dr. Sanchez had
said he might be more sensitive to noise, especially for the first few months.
It had been a month and a half since the accident, but the last MRI showed
parts of his brain still healing. It was a slow process. A headache and some
sensitivity to light and sound really weren’t worth dragging him back to the
hospital. And she would literally have to drag him.

Gretchen
sighed. She seemed to realize John was right. Slipping her phone back into her
purse, she turned to him. “Fine, I won’t call Dr. Sanchez, but will you please
tell me if anything like this happens again?”

John
hesitated. Was she going to react the same way every time something weird
happened? She was so good to make sure he got to all his appointments and took
the right medications and got enough rest. He loved how caring she was, but he
didn’t want her freaking out every time he got a headache.

“I’m
serious, John. I don’t want anything to happen to you,” she said.  She
smiled and stepped a little closer to him. Her flirting calmed his panic
somewhat. “I’m getting kind of attached to you, you know.”

 “Is
that so?” John pulled her closer and started to wrap his arms around her. When
his hands touched her arms, his eyes drifted down to the tiny bruises and his
playfully seductive smile faded.

Gretchen
groaned. John wanted to put his arms around her. He wanted to get back to the
kiss that had ended all too quickly. The finger-shaped bruises stole his focus.
Gretchen suddenly pushed back from John and punched him in the shoulder. Hard.

“Ow!” he
said. His confused expression made her smile.

“See? I can
give you bruises, too,” she said.

Scowling
back at her, John said, “It’s not the same.”

“No,” she
said, “it’s not. I punched you on purpose.”

John wanted
to respond to that, but Gretchen didn’t give him a chance.

“You’re
being an idiot about this,” she said. “You pinched my arms in a moment of pain.
It was an accident. If you’re going to act like such a baby about things like
this, you’re going to end up with a lot of bruises on your shoulder.”

“Gretchen
…”

She shook
her head. “Now, if you don’t mind, I would really like you to kiss me again. I
wasn't quite finished before.”

That
succeeded in taking John’s frown away when he didn’t think anything could. She
let him pull her back into his arms, feeling the sweet sensation of his heart
racing as his lips lowered to hers. Guilt and worry drifted away in that
moment. John’s hand moved from the side of her face up into her hair, pressing
her closer, kissing her more deeply. His whole body burned, cleansing him of
every fear that had been lingering in his mind.

Feeling her
body against his, their hearts racing in anticipation, it was alluringly close
to perfection. John could believe in those precious minutes that there was
nothing capable of taking them away from each other. The feeling lasted until
their lips finally parted and Gretchen laid her head on his chest. Pleasure
washed over John, but it didn’t cover him completely.

He couldn’t
keep Carl’s warning from slipping back into his mind.

It was only
accidental bruises this time, but what if he really hurt Gretchen? Could he
live with himself after that?

Chapter Twenty-One

Blueberry Pancakes

Gretchen
woke to the smell of blueberry pancakes the next morning. Mornings had never
been her best time of day, but they had improved since John moved in. Even on
school days, she now woke to the smell of breakfast. Gone were the days of
munching on toast, if she was lucky, as she ran out the door. Now Gretchen was
happy to wake up, but only a small part of that had to do with the food.

What really
had her bouncing out of bed every morning was the knowledge that John would be
waiting for her in the kitchen. After their kiss the night before, part of her wanted
to wake up to him lying beside her, but she knew neither of them were anywhere
near ready for that. She was still too afraid that the closer she got to John,
the more inevitable his leaving would be, and John seemed too scared of hurting
her to allow himself to really let go.

Remembering
the bruises, Gretchen rolled her eyes when she thought about him freaking out.
Gretchen looked in the mirror as she brushed her teeth, seeing the faint dots
of purple on her arms. It was so minor, so inconsequential, but he had looked
at them like he’d just stabbed her in the heart. It was just an accident.

As she
rinsed out her mouth, Gretchen knew she might never understand. She didn’t want
to repeat the argument, though, so she grabbed a sweater that was lying on the
end of her bed and pulled it on over her tank top to keep them hidden. The
shirt fell halfway down her thighs and she blinked in surprise. It wasn't hers.

Gretchen’s
lips curled into a smile. It was early May, but still chilly in the mornings.
She had shivered the night before while she and John were watching a movie. He
immediately took off his sweater and pulled it over her head. Gretchen’s
protests had been feeble. She had reluctantly taken it off before bed to keep
from getting twisted up in the extra fabric while she slept.  

Another
wave of blueberry scent hit Gretchen as she opened the door and hurried to the
kitchen. John didn’t look up when she came in. He knew Gretchen was there, but
let her sneak up behind him and put her arms around his waist. Only then did he
look over his shoulder at her, smiling and kissing her forehead. Sighing
happily, Gretchen leaned against him and ignored her grumbling stomach.

“Good
morning, beautiful,” John said. “Are you ready for some breakfast?”

“You spoil
me way too much. Do you know that?” she asked.

“Spoil you?
I couldn’t spoil you if I tried,” he said. “You deserve more than I could ever
give you, Gretchen Gesner.”

He was
oddly serious as he said it. Gretchen knew he honestly meant what he said. She
felt tears springing to her eyes and laughed to cover them up. “You’re so full
of it,” she joked. She had to turn away to hide how flustered he made her. John
seemed to take the hint and went back to flipping pancakes.

“You look
amazing this morning, by the way,” he said without turning around.

Gretchen
laughed. “I bet. I’m pretty sure I still have mascara under my eyes and my hair
is standing up in at least three places.” Actually, she had made sure to wash
her face and run a quick brush through her hair before she came out. But still,
Gretchen knew she was definitely not one of those girls who woke up every
morning looking like they just stepped out of the salon.

“I’m
serious,” John said, looking back at her this time, “you look hot wearing my
clothes. I think you should wear them all the time.”

She
seriously doubted he meant the part about her wearing men’s clothing, but his
grin made her believe the rest. She didn’t even blush. She just grinned back.

“Well, good
luck getting this back,” Gretchen teased. “I think I’ll keep it.”

Carrying
over two plates of blueberry pancakes, John set one in front of Gretchen with a
flourish then set his down as well. “I might be willing to trade,” he said, one
eyebrow raising conspiratorially.

“Trade?”
she asked. “What do you want?”

His
expression turned thoughtful, but Gretchen wasn't fooled. “I haven’t decided
yet,” he said. “You can have the sweater, but I get to have something of yours
at a later date.”

“At a later
date? That sounds fishy,” she said. What was he planning?

“That’s the
deal. Take it or leave. Although if you leave it, you have to give me my
sweater back, right now.” John smiled, knowing he had her trapped. Either way,
he would get something. If she refused the deal she would have to strip off her
shirt in front of him. Yes, she had a tank top on, but that was it. No bra
underneath. Or she could take the second option, and John would get to name the
other half of their trade whenever he wanted. Oh, he was good.

“I’ll take
it,” Gretchen said. There was no way she was taking the sweatshirt off.

John looked
mildly disappointed she wasn't going to undress at the breakfast table, but
winning the deal left him pleased. Suspicion made her curious. He wasn't
getting his sweatshirt back, but she would be on the lookout. John shoved a
forkful of pancakes into his mouth looking as if he’d won something, but
Gretchen was pretty sure she had come out on top.

John’s
sweater had his scent and reminded her every minute she wore it of how much her
life had changed for the better since finding him in the middle of the road.
The last time she had worn a man’s clothing was when she’d dated Steve. It had
only happened once.

 “Gretchen,”
John said, thankfully breaking her out of her thoughts, “what’s wrong?”

Startled by
his voice, she looked up. John reached across the table and took her hand.
Gretchen didn’t realize she’d let her emotions slip through her thoughts.
Flushing in embarrassment, she shook her head. John didn’t fall for it.

“Hey,” he
said softly, “what were you thinking about?”

“Nothing
you want to hear about,” she promised.

“Aren’t you
supposed to be able to tell your boyfriend anything?” he asked.

Gretchen
choked on her pancakes. “Boyfriend?”

John’s honest
concern slipped into a smile for a second. “Don’t try to change the subject,
Gretchen. What were you thinking about?”

“My last
boyfriend
,”
she mumbled. She wasn’t completely distracted. She would be coming back to that
boyfriend comment.

John cocked
an eyebrow up. “While you’re sitting at breakfast with me, wearing my
sweatshirt? That’s not exactly flattering.” He didn’t look angry, just
concerned. “What made you think about your ex?”

Gretchen
had dripped catsup all over her shirt one day while over at Steve’s apartment.
She didn’t have anything to change into, so she’d grabbed a shirt out of his
bedroom and threw it on. Steve saw her and told her she looked ridiculous in
his t-shirt and demanded she put something on that didn’t make her look like a
tramp. She wore her stained t-shirt home.

“It was the
sweatshirt, actually.” John didn’t understand what Gretchen meant by that, so
she continued. “The last time I wore a guy’s shirt was when I was dating my
last boyfriend. He said I looked horrible and told me to take it off.”

Closing his
eyes, John shook his head in disbelief. “Well, obviously, your last boyfriend
was an ass,” he said. “Although, I would have assumed that anyway.”

“What?”
Gretchen asked. Something about that sounded a little off. Her last boyfriend
would obviously be awful? Why? For dating her?

“Well, you
aren’t with him anymore, thankfully, so either he was stupid enough to break up
with you, or he did something stupid enough to make you break up with him.
Either way, he’s obviously not good enough.” John finished by stuffing another
bite of blueberry pancakes into his mouth.

That made
more sense, and Gretchen agreed completely. Steve never would have, but what
did he matter anymore?

“Which one
was it?” John asked.

“Huh?”
Gretchen had lost track of what he was asking her.

“Why did
you two break up?”

Steve was
her least favorite subject, but she couldn’t ignore the question. It was her
fault for even letting Steve slip into her thoughts. Why had she ever dated him
in the first place?

Unfortunately,
that was a question Gretchen still didn’t have an answer to. At least not one
she wanted to admit. When she was perfectly honest, she knew she’d dated him
because he was handsome and charming and bowled her over with his rush of
attention and gifts those first few weeks. It took Gretchen way too long to
realize he only wanted her around because she was pretty enough for him to
parade around at his wealthy
family’s
and friends’
parties without being embarrassed, and because she was dumb enough not to
realize he was cheating on her pretty much the whole time.

The day
Gretchen walked in on him and one of her classmates in bed together, she lost
so much more than just a worthless boyfriend. Most the people she’d thought
were her friends sided with Steve, saying she should have known what kind of
guy he was, how she deserved it if she wasn't smart enough to figure it out
before. Gretchen spent the last two weeks before graduation sleeping on the
couch at one of the few friends she’d had left, and ran home to Denver as soon
as her last final was over.

“I broke up
with him. He’d been cheating on me,” Gretchen said simply. Then shaking away
anymore thoughts of Steve and signaling an end to that part of the
conversation, she faced John.

“Now what
was that about you being my boyfriend?”