Don't Look Back(92)

My heart cracked straight down the middle. “I’m so sorry. I’m just confused. I only remembered—”

“And you automatically assumed that I was capable of those things? Why? Because I seem likely to bribe, cheat, and murder someone? Then hang around you and sleep with you after I tried to kill you?” Pain lanced his words, as if I’d cut open a fresh wound. “Because the old Sammy would have believed those things, but I thought she was gone. Obviously, I was wrong.”

“Carson—”

“No.” He kept backing up, his jaw clenched tight. “No. You’re still the same old Sammy. Just not as mean as you used to be, but she’s still there. Stupid me to think any different.”

Apologizing felt stupid and pointless. What I’d accused him of was terrible, but I couldn’t stop. I needed him to know how awful I felt. Hurrying forward, my foot caught on the gown and I stumbled forward.

Carson caught me by the arms before I could crash face-first into the hard ground. “Jesus, Sam,” he said through clenched teeth.

I pressed my forehead against his bare chest, barely able to breathe past the tears. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m just so confused.”

His hands fluttered around my arms and a second later, he wrapped me against him, burying his face in my hair. His embrace only lasted a few moments at most, and then he let go and stepped back.

“Go home, Sam.” His voice was tight, choked. “Just go home.”

Standing there, I watched him turn and jog away, disappearing into the shadows. An ache opened in my chest, rushing through me. I could’ve gone after him again, but I knew... I knew I’d lost him before I really even had him.

When I woke up the following morning, every part of my body ached for different reasons. Some of it was good. Most of it was bad. I didn’t want to open my eyes or get out of bed, but I became aware of the fact that I wasn’t alone.

My brother sat at the head of my bed, legs crossed at the ankles and the morning newspaper in his lap—the sports section.

Rubbing my hand over my swollen eyes, I scowled. “What are you doing in here?”

“Hmm... questions, questions. I have some of my own.” He folded the newspaper and dropped it on the floor. “What happened last night?”

I stared at him, in no mood for brotherly caring-and-sharing time.

He raised his hand. “I’m curious. You left prom after only being there an hour. Carson took you home, apparently. Del looked like I’d punched him again, but I didn’t.” He paused, ticking each one off his finger. The ring finger was next. “I went running with Carson this morning, and all he would say is that you had some memories come back and then he wouldn’t talk at all. Aaaaand...”

“There’s more,” I groaned, shoving my face into the pillow. Hearing Carson’s name had my heart aching in a way I knew I’d never get over.

“And even though you and Carson left way before I did, you snuck back into the house way after I got home. Care to explain?”

“No.” My voice was muffled by the pillow.

Scott stretched out beside me. “I don’t want the dirty details. I’d like to keep my breakfast in my stomach, but as long as Carson has been secretly in love with you—”

I popped up, rising to my knees. Thick curls still left over from last night fell in my face. “Oh god.” I covered my face with my hands. “Kill me now.”

“What happened?” He pulled my hands away from my face. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It is. It really is.” I flopped onto my back. “I was terrible before I lost my memory and I’m terrible afterward. I accused Carson of being the one who hurt Cassie and me.”

“Oh, jeez, Sam, you’re going to have to give me a better explanation than that.”

I did, starting with the memory I had at prom and the one later that night, leaving out most of what had happened with Carson. According to my version of events, I fell asleep talking to him.

When I finished, Scott shook his head. “He’ll get over it, Sam.”

“No, he won’t.” Because seriously, who gets over being accused of murder?

“Yeah, he will. He understands you’ve been through a lot. You’ve just got to give him some time.”

I raised my arms helplessly. “I’m such an idiot.”

“I’m going to have to agree with that.” Scott stood. “Look, go take a shower. Julie and I are going to see a movie. You should come with us.”

A little bit of interest stirred, but I shook my head. I needed more time to wallow in my lameness. Scott left, and I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling. How could I be so stupid? It was a talent, I decided.

By the time I got up, it was late in the afternoon. Scott was still at the movies with Julie, Mom had left to attend a charity fund-raising meeting or something, and I had no idea where Dad was or whether he was even home. I dragged myself into the shower. At some point, the tears mingled with the water, and even after I’d dried off and changed, my face was still damp.

I had to make it up to Carson, but I wasn’t sure I could. No one could blame him for not getting over this.

Sitting down on my bed, I glanced at the music box. The tingling, burning sensation shot up my spine, and I was tossed headfirst into a memory.