UNFORGETTABLE (Able Series Book 3)
Unforgettable
Copyright ©2015 by Gigi Aceves
All Rights Reserved
All Rights Reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in whole or in part by any means.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events portrayed in this book are the product of the author’s imagination or are either fictitious or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Editor: Angie Davis
Interior Design and Formatting:
Perfectly Publishable
Cover Design: Heather McNeal
Photographer: Kim Williams @
http://w2photography.net/
Cover Models: Brandon, Stacey & Kellan Ashley
“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to receive and a time to lose.”
~Ecclesiastes 3~
THEN
“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG?”
“I . . . I don’t know! Oh, God! You have to call my mom!”
“I’m calling 911, then I’ll call your mom.”
“God! Just hurry!”
“I need an ambulance at 1770 Red Cedar Drive! Hurry, please!”
Whimpers. . . . agonizingly awful to hear.
Blood . . . a lot of blood.
Screams. . . . gut wrenching screams.
“Mom! I need my mom!”
“I’m calling her right now.”
“I’m losing my baby. . . . oh God!”
After what seems like a lifetime of waiting, the EMT’s load her, and we’re heading to the hospital only to be told what we already knew, that we’ve lost our child. I hold her hand as she whimpers and cries. Her despair plus my own hit my heart with the greatest of intensity, forgetting is an impossibility. How can God allow this? How can this happen to me? Why would he bless me with something, then take it away? Why?
“The baby . . . lost . . . haven’t we. . . .”
“Miss, please calm down. We’re almost there.”
“I’m sorry . . . so sorry,” I finally find my voice, though shaky.
I sit here in a stark white, chemically clean room trying to comfort her while waiting for someone to comfort me, and the word that repeats itself reminds me how horribly traumatic this whole experience turned out to be.
U
nbearable. Losing my child leaves a huge hole in my heart. I don’t think there’s any amount of time that could possibly allow it to heal.
N
ever. Not again will I allow myself to feel this, ever.
F
orget. Is it even possible? I don’t think so, because this kind of loss is and never will be forgotten.
O
vercome. At times, I know I can be free of the pain. Allowing myself to be free of it is the problem.
R
egret. There’s no amount of explanation anyone can give me that will make me stop feeling this way.
G
uilt. I’m the cause of it. If only I hadn’t touch her that night. . . . if only.
E
xcuse. I wish I had one. I wish God could give me one. Maybe there is one, I just refuse to accept it.
T
ime. It heals all wounds, so they say.
T
orture. Not a day goes by that the thought of it won’t hurt.
A
nger. At whom, I don’t know . . . maybe, I should be angry at me.
B
roken. That’s how I feel right now. I pray that God blesses me with someone who’ll understand my past and my fears.
L
oss. I hate that word. I hate what it makes me feel. What it makes me think. What it has made me.
E
mpty. That’s exactly how I feel right now. Even after, I’ve made the decision not to feel this way ever again.
NOW
Déjà vu, I think that’s what I’m experiencing, right now. The same word that wrapped my young mind some eleven years ago now cloaks me again. Pain—unbearable pain squeezes my nonexistent heart, and I’m sure the heart of everyone in this room.
I realize quickly that what my young, angry, fearful mind thought of back then, is the opposite of what I’m thinking right now. At least, what I’m trying to tell myself, willing it into submission, not surrendering to the pull of negativity.
U
nyielding. Our love will survive anything . . . at least, that’s my hope.
N
ever-ending. Our love is, even after death.
F
orever. With no end, that’s our promise. A promise we intend to keep.
O
nly. Our love. That’s all we’ll ever need.
R
aw. That’s exactly how I feel right now because of my fears, not just my own, but for them. . . . for us.
G
lorious. Every waking moment . . . every shared kiss.
E
verything. My entire happiness centers on our love, and if God takes my love away from me, I’d soon follow.
T
otally. In this. Come hell or high waters.
T
rue. Our fears are . . . but so is our love.
A
ble. Our love is. I’m hoping it’ll survive the heartbreak facing us.
B
rave. In my weakness, my love became my strength.
L
ove. It’s what we’re so proud to have, and what we both fiercely protect.
E
nduring. Our faith . . . it’s what I would like it to be.
Until fate steps in and changes all of it.
But, I stand. . . . I stand for us.
TAMI
MY HEAD IS POUNDING AND
my whole body is hurting. I’m annoyed and upset that I’m here when all I want is to escape the reality of finding out the man I love, the man I see a future with, sees a different future for us. I slowly open my eyes and find my mother staring at me, a blanket of concern covering her face.
“Oh, thank God; you’re awake.”
Just then, a doctor comes into my room holding a clip board. My mother eyes him cautiously while I just want to get this over with, so I can be released.
The doctor gives me an encouraging smile then says, “You have a mild concussion from the accident. However, I want to keep you here for a few hours for observation since your blood pressure is a little elevated. Any headache, chest pains?”
“Slight headache. My neck’s bothering me right here,” I say pointing to the tender area around my neck.
With a quick arch of his eyebrows and flipping of a few papers, he gives his final verdict. “At least, we know your seatbelt works.” He smiles and his eyes crinkle at the sides. “Seatbelt burns will do that. Your headache is more than likely because of the concussion; however, your high BP reading could be contributing to that as well. If it doesn’t go down, I’ll keep you here overnight.”
Groaning loudly, “I’m sure it’s because of the accident.”
“It could very well be, but let’s wait and see, okay?”
Nodding my head, my mom pats my hand then stands up. “I’m gonna go tell your dad and the boys what’s going on, especially Brian. He’s going out of his mind wanting to see you.” Shaking her head, she says, “I swear, every single one of you kids will give me a heart attack one of these days. First Jake and Trish, then Roxy and Cody. Now, it’s you and Brian.”
Still blubbering about investing in aspirin, my mom walks out with the doctor. I’m now alone, trying to remember what happened before and during the wreck. What rings loudly in my brain is what I heard Brian say about not wanting kids. I’m not surprised since he has been avoiding my questions for the past few weeks now. My question is, what am I going to do about it?