The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(29)

More laughter.

I told myself not to look, but I couldn’t help it, I had to do it. Lifting onto my toes, I glanced at Fisher and Angie standing at the top of the stairs. She looked up at him so adoringly.

“We know it’s only a matter of time. Angie’s the girl schmucks like me write sappy love songs for. The love you’ve shared for nearly three decades is once in a lifetime. And you lived, Fisher … so don’t screw this up. Marry the girl and count yourself one lucky bastard every single day.”

“Marry the girl!” Shayla lifted her glass.

Then Teena followed. Then another person. And another person. And it just went on and on like a herd of wild horses trampling relentlessly over my heart.

Then the clinking of silverware tapping glasses took over. “Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.”

Angie lifted onto her toes and slid her hands around Fisher’s neck. And he relinquished the last few inches and kissed her.

I turned away, in the wrong direction. Rose wasn’t looking at them like Rory was; she was looking at me. Not gloating. As much as I knew Rose didn’t understand Fisher and me, I knew she loved me. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. That “you’ll be okay” squeeze. I couldn’t blame Fisher. I thought of all the things I did to please my dad, to please my grandparents, to please God. There were so many times in life we did what was expected of us. A soldier putting their country before self. That room was Fisher’s country.

I couldn’t even hate Angie. Nope. She was kind. And she fell in love with Fisher when he was just a young boy. It seemed like the perfect example of fate and destiny. She’d lost her parents. She didn’t have siblings. Fisher and his family were her family.

Maybe … I thought just maybe … it really wasn’t our time. And that meant it would never be our time.

After Rose released my hand, I took slow steps in the direction of the front door, making sure no one was watching me, and I slipped outside into the crisp air. I hugged my arms to myself and walked toward the end of the drive to grab my jacket from Rory’s car, but she’d locked it.

“Ugh! Rory … no one’s going to steal your car,” I grumbled to myself. I gave the idea of going back inside a full three seconds of consideration before I headed down the gravel road, hoping my toes in my “cute” green suede boots wouldn’t freeze right off. I picked up my pace, trying to warm the rest of my body—it was at least twenty degrees colder than in Denver that day.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

I glanced behind me. “Don’t. Just leave me alone.” I started to jog.

“Slow down. I’m not a fan of jogging in a cast.”

“Then go back to your family, Fisher.”

“Slow … the … fuck … down …” He caught up to me and grabbed my arm.

I yanked it out of his grip, not because I was mad at him. I was just … mad at life. Mad at the timing thus far in my life.

“It’s cold.” He shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around me.

“I’m fine.”

“Your teeth are chattering.” He chuckled.

I threaded my arms through the sleeves while he zipped it. Maybe my arms were freakishly long, but his jacket was still an ocean on me.

“I’m mad too.”

I glanced up at him, but I didn’t say a word. He read my mind.

“I’m mad because the people who have known me the longest and should know me best don’t seem to know me at all right now.” He blew out a breath, a white cloud in the cold air. “And maybe it’s not their fault. Maybe I’m not the same. So I feel like it’s this cluster-fuck situation and no one is to blame. Yet no one knows how to navigate the way out.”

My gaze dropped to our feet.

“I don’t care if I remember these missing pieces or not. I really don’t. I just wish someone could tell me for sure. Yes, Fisher, you’re going to get your memory back in six weeks. Or no, Fisher, this is it. You will never remember. Because I can’t fall in love with photographs. I can’t fall in love with someone else’s memories. I just …” He shook his head. “Can’t.”

“What do you need, Fisher?” I lifted my gaze and looked into his lost eyes.

“Time. And space.”

I nodded. “You followed me,” I whispered.

“See, that’s the problem. The people I need time and space from just refuse to give it to me. And the one person I need more time with and much less space from is the one who keeps running or driving away from me.”

“I was running to keep warm. And the day I drove away, I had to help deliver a baby.”

Fisher grinned while easing his head side to side. “That’s your story?”

I shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

“My family thought I did a great job trimming my beard.”

“As they should have. I did an impeccable job. But it’s getting scruffy again.”

“I’ll make you dinner tonight if you come over and trim my beard.”

“You get your cast off in two days.”

“But I like it when you do it.”

“Well, that’s just lazy, Fisher.”

“I’ll let you help me finish the bookshelf in my shop.”

“What time is dinner?”