Six Months Later Part 11

Blake pulls back with a little humming sound. "Tomorrow. Breakfast. I'll pick you up, and this time, I want to go somewhere and eat at a table. Thirty whole minutes with my girlfriend. Not too much to ask, is it?"

He c.o.c.ks his head, giving me a million-dollar smile. I remind myself he is the guy I've always wanted. And if I don't resolve my crazy memory stuff, I'm going to push him away right about the time I realize how and why we ended up together.

I squeeze his hand. "No, it's not. Breakfast sounds perfect."

"Seven thirty."

"I'll be ready. Promise."

He nods and steps away, saluting me before he heads past me and out the doors. I see Adam leaning against the lockers, watching him go. Watching maybe everything that just happened.

I try to leave, but I feel frozen to the floor. Adam's eyes find mine across the hall, and there's a name for the look he's wearing. I'd call it jealous as h.e.l.l.

It wasn't easy finding Adam Reed's address. I don't know what I expected, but whatever the image I dreamed up in my head was, it wasn't this. I once told Mags that Adam was probably a spoiled little rich boy, playing the bad kid to get daddy's attention. Looking at the sad, cramped town house in front of me makes me feel cruel and stupid for saying that.

This isn't one of those sw.a.n.ky apartments you see on CW dramas-slick, modern lofts with community pools and weekly scandals. We don't have those kinds of complexes in Ridgeview. We hardly have apartments at all, and the ones we do have are the kind n.o.body wants to think about.

This row of town houses sits behind the abandoned strip mall two blocks from Maggie's house. There are no welcome mats or fitness centers. Or gra.s.s, for that matter. The entire place looks tired, from the peeling paint on the identical front doors to the rusting Buick in the corner of the parking lot.

I put my keys in my pocket and step over the cracks in the pavement on my way to his front door. I hate this place already. It pulls at the fabric of my comfort, tearing the seams until I can see slivers of a life I didn't think was possible in my cute little town.

I square my shoulders and lift my fist, knocking three times. Inside, someone hollers Adam's name. I hear a cough next, a horrible, wet rattle. Two doors down, a young mother heads for her car with a crying baby in tow.

I glance down at the cigarette b.u.t.ts on the edge of the sidewalk because I don't want to look. I feel like a spoiled, ungrateful brat who doesn't belong here.

The door swings open, and there he is, this darkly beautiful and apparently tragic boy. He doesn't look happy to see me.

"What do you want, Chloe?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Talk to Blake," he says.

Holy c.r.a.p, he was jealous. And I don't get it. I just don't. But I like it. Some very twisted part of me wants him to be jealous.

I want him to want me. Because some part of me clearly wants him.

"Can I come in?" I ask, my voice too high and small.

"In here?" he asks, like I'm completely crazy for asking.

"Or we could walk," I say, though my voice trails off when I glance around at the broken bottles and total absence of pretty.

"It's cold, Chloe."

"I know. I know that, but I really need to talk to you."

And I do. I've got questions burning up in my throat. I can feel them wanting to bubble out of me. Questions about the list. About the study group. About me and him and this thing that is so obviously happening between us.

He slides out of the doorway, close enough that I'm forced to look up to keep my eyes on his face. He's wearing a guarded look now, tilting his head at me.

"You think Blake would really want you here, Chloe?"

I feel breathless. Like something's squeezing hard around my ribs. He looks so angry. And even guilty in a way.

I can't take seeing him like this. I have to do something.

Adam scoffs at my silence and backs up. I s.n.a.t.c.h his sleeve, pulling on him.

"Adam-"

"Let go, Chloe."

He's shaking me off and moving back, and I feel a little frantic as his sleeve slips out of my grasp. I need him to stay here with me because I feel right with him. And I remember things with him. And I need to know why. But I don't say any of those things as he steps back into his house.

It's like my tongue is paralyzed.

"Go home," he says, and the door shuts in my face.

"I can't remember anything!" I shout.

My breath steams in the darkness as I wait one heartbeat. Then another. And then Adam opens the door.

I feel my shoulders sag with relief. He might as well have taken a thousand pounds off me. Whoever is inside his apartment coughs again, breaking the spell, reminding me that I'm still outside. Unwelcome.

Adam closes the door behind himself when he comes out again, his dark gray sweatshirt unzipped over an old T-shirt. He hasn't shaved. It lends a cold edge to his features, but he still looks like a slice of heaven to me-safe and warm and true.

"What are you talking about?" he asks.

I hesitate because I know I can't come back from this. I can't unsay these words once they're out.

"Chloe," he says, pressing me to go on.

"I can't remember," I say. "I can't remember anything since May. And I know it sounds crazy, and it is crazy, but I'm not insane. Something happened to me. I fell asleep in study hall. I drifted off for a second, and then it was winter and my entire universe was different."

My words are tumbling out so fast, I can barely catch my breath. "Now, I'm this perfect person with these perfect grades and Blake and-and then you and me and I don't know what any of it means and how any of it happened or how I lost Maggie-"

"Slow down," he says, cutting me off midsentence.

"I can't slow down, Adam! I'm six freaking months behind, okay? I can't remember anything that happened to me! That night in the school? When you said I called you? I don't remember calling you. I don't ever remember speaking with you until that moment."

"You don't remember calling me," he says, brow furrowed. "That night at the school-you don't remember that?"

"I'm trying to tell you I don't remember anything! I have pictures that I don't even understand, and before you even ask me, yes, I've been to a doctor and my brain is just fine. Which means that the doctors and my family think I'm totally unhinged, and they don't even know how-"

"h.e.l.l, Chloe," he says, voice gruff.

His arms lock around me, and he hauls me into an embrace, burying my face in his T-shirt. I promptly burst into tears, my arms going around him like they were grown on my body for this purpose. I feel the press of his strong hands on my shoulder blades as he whispers soft, hushing noises into my hair. I inhale a shuddery breath, taking in his warmth and feeling right for the first time since I can remember.

And just like that, I know.

This is how it should be with Blake. Tingly and warm and bigger than any words I can think of.

"You're not insane," he says. Plain as day. Like it's not even a possibility worth pursuing.

I nod against his chest and close my eyes. His hands are in my hair now, and every single part of my body is intensely aware of every part of his. It's wrong to want him this much.

He seems to realize it too, and we separate. I don't want to let go of him. The truth is harder, colder outside his arms.

I look up at him, and he thumbs my chin, narrowing his eyes at me. "You said you don't remember anything before that night. But you remember everything up to May?"

"Yeah."

He believes me. I thought it would be harder to convince him, but he doesn't even look shocked. It's like people tell him they've lost enormous chunks of their lives every day.

He palms my cheek with his hand, and I close my eyes, pretending to think. But I'm not thinking. I'm soaking in the feel of his skin against mine. The familiarity of his hug. The way he smells. I exhale slowly and a memory comes.

Pizza. A cheesy, gooey piece. And chemistry notes spread out all around my plate. I'm reciting something about sodium chloride, and Adam nods and flips to the next card in his stack.

I pull back, shaking myself from the past. Right now I need to be present.

"Okay, step me through it because I'm a little lost," he says.

"I don't remember anything that happened between May and that night. The whole summer and fall are just...missing." I pause and swallow hard before I admit the rest of it. "Except for a few things about you. When you...touch me, I sometimes get flashes of things that happened between us."

I open my eyes, knowing my cheeks are red. Adam doesn't seem to notice. There's a smile on his lips, like he loves hearing this. But there's something else too. A shadow of sadness in his eyes.

"When I touch you?" he asks softly, stepping a little closer.

And then I take a little half step toward him. We're going to run out of personal s.p.a.ce quick if we keep this up, but I don't care. No matter how much I should, I just don't.

"You've touched my hands," I say, and then I take his hand, sliding my palm against his.

I see flashes from before. Him looking up from a book. And then I hear his laughter. And then that pizza place. In my memory, he pushes a red, fizzy drink toward me with a smirk, and I scoot my chemistry notes out of the way.

"We ate at the Pizza Palace while we studied chemistry. You gave me something red to drink."

"Red pop," he says, nodding.

"It's just little things." I sigh, too embarra.s.sed to admit the scene with the leaves in my yard. I release his fingers with a laugh. "Pretty pathetic, right?"

He looks at me for a minute then. I wish I could read whatever's going on behind those beautiful eyes.

"All right, lead the way."

"Huh?" I can feel myself gaping at him, mouth moving open and closed goldfish-style. He finally nudges me with his shoulder.

"Your house, Einstein. Let's go figure this out."

Chapter Eleven.

It is 10:38 on a school night, and a juvenile delinquent is preparing to sneak into my house. This is not my life.

"I am bushed," I tell my parents as I hang up my coat.

Bushed? Seriously? I'm a much better liar than this. Haven't I proved as much with Blake?

But Mom and Dad are engrossed in some World War II doc.u.mentary they got from the library, so they don't seem to notice my decades-old slang or my long sigh.

"We can turn it down if you want, honey," Mom says, stealing popcorn from the bowl on my dad's stomach.

"No, that's okay."

We exchange good-nights, and then I slink up my stairs feeling like a criminal. I close my door and lock it. Not convinced it's safe enough, I move my desk chair over to the door, wedging it as quietly as I can under the door handle.

"Might want to look up paranoia while we're at it," Adam says, and I nearly jump out of my skin.

I clamp a hand over my mouth and spin to see him straddling my window frame, one denim-clad leg already inside my room.

I flip on the radio and cross the floor in two strides. "Are you insane? I was supposed to get the fire ladder. How did you even get up here?"

"I did use a ladder. Borrowed it from your shed out back."

"Oh. Well."

Adam slides the rest of the way in, and I stand there, crossing my arms over my chest as he moves quietly around my room.

Adam is tall. I mean, I've always known he's tall. But seeing him here somehow makes my whole room look so small.

"Cute bear," he says, picking up my rag teddy, Phillipe, from the dresser. I s.n.a.t.c.h him back and do everything short of wringing my hands while I watch Adam walk around my room, silently inspecting my posters and the miscellaneous earrings and perfume bottles on my dresser.

G.o.d, it's like that awful moment at the end of a first date. You're making painful small talk on the porch or in the car. Of course, you both know why you're stalling, but it's weird until someone moves-oh my G.o.d, this is not like that! We are not here to make out.

Are we?

I ignore the flutter in my belly and pull my laptop out of my nightstand. Research tools. Because we are here to research.

I tug two or three notebooks out of my backpack and dump at least ten pens and highlighters on top of them.