Help Me Remember (Rose Canyon, #1)(18)

Spencer laughs. “How do you know I’m not married?”

My breath catches. “I don’t. Oh, God. Are you married?”

“No.”

I slap his arm. “Jerk.”

“Look around, see if anything sparks a memory. I’ll go wait for your mother to get off the phone so you aren’t bombarded. Just come out when you’re ready.”

I might never be ready. He squeezes my shoulder in reassurance before walking out, leaving me to my thoughts.

There must be something here to help me figure things out. A box of things I kept in a closet or clothing of his to tell me if we are together still.

I head there first and see nothing that would indicate that Henry spends any time here. I do find an old shirt, boxers, and a pair of jeans, but they’re not the brand he wore. They could be his, but the pants are a little slimmer than he is now. I keep searching, finally finding a black box on the bottom.

Heading to the bed with it, I open it, hopeful but also cautious. The box contains photos of the old days, so there shouldn’t be anything in it that I don’t already remember. My high school prom, which I went to with Jim Trevino. More of the four guys before a camping trip and another when we all went hiking. Lots of memories, things that I know already.

Then there’s one of me standing outside this apartment with my arms up in the air, a huge smile on my face as Isaac carries a box inside. That’s so him, he would be helping while I goofed off with Addy taking photos. I flip the picture over, finding it dated two and a half years ago.

I dig deeper and see something round on the bottom of the box. When I pull it out, I see a cigar band. Why the hell would I have a cigar band? Seriously, I’m starting to wonder if I don’t smoke them.

When I lift it to my nose, inhaling deep, I’m transported again. I close my eyes and that smell—oak, leather, pepper, coffee, and underlying nutty flavors—fills my senses. No longer is it just the taste, I can smell it on his skin. I can feel the heat of his mouth as our tongues moved. The memory grows stronger, and I sink into it, remembering my fingers pressed against the scruff on his cheeks. That taste, though, I wanted it so much. I was drunk on it.

It’s a good kiss—no, it’s more than that. It’s a kiss that I clearly can’t forget.

A part of me is clinging to it, willing the Brielle in the memory to open her eyes. I want to know the face of the man who kissed me as if he couldn’t breathe without my lips on his. I try to focus on something, anything else . . .

“Brielle?”

I leap off the bed and turn to face the doorway.

“Mom.” My heart is racing, and my breathing is just a little louder.

“Are you okay?”

I clear my throat. “I am. Are you?”

She lifts the phone. “Yes, but I need to get back to the hotel and handle this. There was an issue at the store, and I need some information off my laptop. Spencer said he can stay for a while and then bring you to Addy’s for dinner, is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Okay, we are planning to order food around six.”

“Sounds good.”

She pulls me in for a hug. “You’re doing so much better than you give yourself credit for.” Mom leans back, her lips in a tight line. “I would be on the floor and here you are, standing tall, all to try to help catch your brother’s killer.”

“Isaac would’ve done it for me,” I explain.

“Yes, he would’ve, but it doesn’t make it easy.”

That’s the understatement of the year. I nod, and she kisses my cheek and leaves. Spencer’s large frame fills the doorway. God, he looks so hot. I am totally digging the beard, which is starting to grow back again. He leans against the frame with his arms crossed and lifts his chin. “What’s that?”

“What?”

I look down at the cigar band wrapped around my finger. “I don’t know what it’s from or why I kept it, but it was in a box of photos and little things I’ve kept over the years. I remembered that kiss again,” I confess.

“What did you remember?”

I tell him most of it, leaving out the part that whoever is on the other end is a really freaking good kisser, and he nods.

“May I?” His hand is outstretched, and I gently lay it in his palm.

“Do you know the cigar?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m not much of a cigar guy.”

“Isaac was.”

“I forgot about that until you just said it. He was always trying to get us to smoke them. As though it made us distinguished or some shit.”

I laugh. “Which none of you are.”

“Holden is a doctor.”

“Yes, but he’s also the guy who shaved Emmett’s eyebrows before he left for a deployment.”

Spencer’s deep chuckle fills the space. “God, he was so mad.”

“No shit he was! He went out with his unit—browless.”

“He shouldn’t have fallen asleep first.”

I roll my eyes. “You guys are a mess.”

“That we are—or, we were. Now we’re a different kind of mess.”

“A mess is a mess is a mess. You are at least a hot mess.”

“You think I’m hot?” he asks with a grin.