The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(72)

“What if he does?” I whispered.

“He won—” Rory started to reassure me.

But Rose cut her off. “What if he does?” she asked.

“Rose. Stop,” Rory said, tossing her book aside and sitting up straight. “You’re not helping.”

“What if I am helping? What if preparing your heart for the worst is the best idea? So let’s do it … let’s imagine the worst. Fisher has sex with Angie in Costa Rica. And maybe they fall back in love. Or maybe it brings back more memories and he remembers really loving her. Then what?”

I captured my tears with the arm of my sleeve before they fully escaped. “I don’t know,” I whispered.

“You do,” Rose said. “You know. You know you’ll be heartbroken. You know it will take time to get over him, and maybe you’ll never get completely over him. But you’ll go on to pursue your career. You’ll go on to find new love. You’ll survive. You’ll live. So there you have it. That’s your worst-case scenario. Once you accept it, then every other scenario won’t seem as bad.”

“Rose …” Rory frowned. “It’s not that easy and you know it. And honestly, that’s not necessarily the worst-case scenario. If Fisher has sex with Angie, but then comes home and tries to say it meant nothing, that’s a pretty bad scenario. Because Reese won’t be able to trust him. It would be easier to know that it’s just over. Done. But trying to move on and rebuild trust would feel torturous. I don’t know how anyone truly gets past that. I mean … Fisher fell in love with Reese and they …well…” she grimaced “… had an affair or cheated or whatever you want to call it, but he didn’t know or feel his love for Angie. I’m not sure that makes it right, but it at least makes it different. And even taking his memory into consideration, I don’t know how Angie will ever be able to forgive and forget, even if he does decide he wants to be with her.”

My tears were gone. All I could do was sit idle in the chair and slowly blink at them. “You two are the worst. I want to go on record saying you are the worst.”

They shot me shocked expressions.

“I feel zero percent better and one hundred percent worse. I … I … I can’t believe you just said all those terrible things. How am I supposed to sleep? How am I supposed to function or even breathe for the next two days with images of Fisher and Angie having sex?”

“Sweetie, we were just trying to …” Rory shook her head frantically as if she could take it all back, as if there was a rewind button.

“Yeah, Reese, I wanted you to prepare yourself just in case. I’m not saying I think that’s what’s going to happen,” Rose said with a lot more concern in her words.

“I told you he would never do anything. And I mostly meant it. Is that what you want? Do you need us to sugarcoat it, to possibly lie to you? Do you want us to tell you that Fisher is above every other man and that no amount of anger, alcohol, or temptation would ever lead him to do something he shouldn’t do?”

“Yes! That’s exactly what I want you to tell me.”

Their eyebrows shot up their foreheads, lips parted.

I sighed, dropping my head into my hands. “I should have told him everything. Me and my stupid fantasy about him falling in love with me a second time without remembering or knowing anything about the first time. I did this … this one is on me.” My head lifted to look at them. “He might have sex with her.” A new round of tears burned my eyes, but I kept them at bay. “I’m not stupid. He’s human. Even the best humans make mistakes. Maybe by not telling Angie, sneaking around, pretending that time would make things less painful for her and his family, we were really just setting ourselves up to implode.”

After a few silent moments, Rory murmured, “Maybe he thinks about it, tells Angie everything, and comes home to the woman he loves.”

That made me cry.





I wasn’t friends with Angie on Instagram, but her account wasn’t private, so I had the opportunity to drive myself fucking insane for the next two days.

Rory and Reese attended some family fun event at the school. So on Saturday, I spent the day stalking Angie hard on Instagram. Looking at every picture she’d ever posted and reading every caption. Had I known about it or looked for her account earlier, I’m not sure things would have progressed as far between Fisher and me.

I mean … I knew social media rarely portrayed the real stories of people’s lives, but it was easy to get caught in the trap of believing it. A picture was worth a thousand words, right? Take that times another thousand because I swear Angie had nearly a thousand pictures on her page.

A lot before the accident.

Some since his accident.

All of them said she and Fisher were in love.

My Saturday would have been less destructive and less tragic had I spent it overdosing on pills or slitting my wrists. Seriously, Angie’s Instagram page was a dark hole of death for me.

Kissing.

Laughing.

Big smiles.

Photos in the mountains.

A ton of photos of Fisher with his shirt off. MY naked fisherman.

His family.

Some outing on a boat.

Kiss. Kiss. Smile. Smile.

She even posted photos of them in bed! Not porn, but definitely a little racy. Him sleeping with the sheets low, obviously naked beneath the sheets. A weird-angled photo of his arms around her waist and his legs scissored with hers. The sheets covered the right areas, and she captioned it: soul mates.