Because You're Mine(71)

When he cross-referenced their names, he discovered they lived at the same address. They must be a couple. And they didn’t live very far from here. He strode back to the car and drove to the apartment complex. Since it was Saturday, they might be home. After pressing the doorbell, he heard footsteps.

The door opened, and an attractive brunette with her hair up in a ponytail smiled at him. She wore short-shorts and a skimpy tube top. “Jesse, what a surprise! Come on in.” She stood away from the door to allow him entry. “Mark, you’ll never guess who’s here.”

Jesse followed her toward the sound of a baseball game that blared from the TV. A man about his age, early thirties, removed his feet from the coffee table and leaped up, knocking off a stack of magazines perched on the end of the table.

“Jesse! Man, it’s good to see you.” Mark pumped Jesse’s hand and studied his face. “You’re getting your memory back?”

Jesse shrugged. “Bits and pieces.”

“Great to hear.” Mark pointed to the chair. “Have a seat. Bring me up to speed on what’s going on with you.”

Jesse forced a smile and perched on the edge of the armchair. “I’m still trying to put it all together. Could you tell me how long we’ve been friends, how we met?”

Mark exchanged a glance with Ginny, who had joined him on the sofa. “Man, you don’t remember? We met at a strip club when I yanked you off a dancer. It took two of us to pin you down. You were totally trashed.”

Jesse pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t imagine ever doing something like that. He must have had an issue with respecting women. Did that side of him still lurk somewhere? “Di-did we do that kind of thing a lot?”

Mark grinned. “Every weekend. That’s where we met Ginny. She’s an exotic dancer. The best!”

Ginny gave him a sultry smile and leaned against Mark. Her smile faded when she glanced at Jesse. “I thought you said you were getting your memory back, Jesse. You don’t remember any of this?”

“Not really, no.” And he didn’t care if he never remembered this type of behavior.

“Want some she-crab soup? Ginny just finished making it.”

Jesse smelled it then. “No thanks, I’m allergic to shellfish.”

“Since when? Man, you can eat your weight in shellfish. Lobster, shrimp, crab. That’s all you ever eat.”

Jesse inhaled. Why had that initial reaction come out? He had no memory of being allergic to shellfish, but he knew it was true. Or was it? “I’ll have a little,” he said. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

Ginny frowned. “Shellfish allergy can kill you. Do you have an EpiPen on you?”

“What’s that?” He shook his head. “Whatever it is, I don’t have it.”

Mark’s stare intensified. “Man, what is with you? You don’t even talk the same.”

“The fire damaged my vocal chords,” Jesse said. “My voice is huskier.”

“It’s not that. It’s the way you string your sentences together. The head injury maybe? I’ve heard that kind of thing can change your personality.”

“Maybe.” Jesse hadn’t been aware he spoke any differently. Was Liam taking over his speech too?

He rose. “I’d better be going. It was good to see you.”

“Hey, man, what about the soup?” Mark asked, following him to the door.

“No thanks.” He shook Mark’s hand. “See you later.” He waved good-bye to Ginny and escaped into the sunshine.

Jesse didn’t want an exorcism anymore. Not if it meant he would turn back into the Jesse he used to be.





Thirty


Jesse hadn’t left too soon for Alanna. She didn’t want to see signs of Liam in his speech, his actions. And last night’s kiss didn’t bear thinking about. She’d been dreaming that she was kissing Liam. The dream was so real that she’d been unable to distinguish fantasy from reality when she woke up and realized it was Jesse. And even worse, she feared she was coming to care for this Jesse, the blend of Jesse Hawthorne and her Liam.

She was a married woman, even if in name only, and she’d been kissing him back. She sat at the dressing table and stared at herself. What kind of woman was she? A Christian woman, one who honored her vows? Or a woman who flung herself at any man who reminded her of her lost love?

She’d been a poor Christian lately, no denying that. Her anger toward God had made her tune out his leading. Self-hatred twisted her mouth. The fix was simple enough—all she had to do was let go of her bitterness. Easier said than done. She moved across the room and found her nearly forgotten Bible in the closet. Smoothing her hand over the cover, she inhaled the aroma of good leather and remembered how she used to look forward to her devotions every day. She and Liam read together every morning and discussed the passage.

It hurt to remember. Her hand touched her belly. She owed a Christian upbringing to her baby. “I’m sorry, God,” she whispered. “Help me get past the bitterness.” Being willing was the first step. God could take it the rest of the way.

She flipped open the Bible at random, and her gaze fell on the opening verses of Psalm 139.


O Lord, You have searched me and known me. You know my sitting down and my rising up; You understand my thought afar off. You comprehend my path and my lying down, And are acquainted with all my ways.