Help Me Remember (Rose Canyon, #1)(5)

I was informed she’s here and will be in any minute.

Nerves hit me, but I hold them back.

There’s a knock on the door, but instead of the district attorney, Cora, entering, it’s Emmett and Spencer. I want to rail at them and demand they tell me what they know. Only, I’m already aware that they won’t, and I can’t handle another session of try-to-make-Brielle-remember-something.

“I don’t know anything, and I won’t do this again,” I say in a detached voice.

“We’re not here for that,” Emmett says.

“No?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here?” I ask.

Spencer shrugs. “Because we like you, and your brother would want us here.”

I turn my head away at the statement. Growing up, Isaac let me tag along with them, and I was the annoying sister they all tortured but also protected. I cross my arms, hating that these guys, who have always been like brothers, are here without the one person I want to see most—my brother.

“The attorney will be here soon so you should just go.”

Emmett pulls his chair closer to the side of the bed. “We are staying because you could use some friends.”

“I could use my brother.”

I miss him so much. If he were here, he’d tell me everything. He wouldn’t care about some stupid plan to help me regain my memory. He would never let me suffer like this.

Emmett releases a breath through his nose. “We all could. Isaac was the best of us.”

I wipe away the errant tear. “He was.”

“He wouldn’t like this,” Emmett says. “Watching you suffer.”

No, he wouldn’t. Isaac would fix it. He always did.

“Brie,” Spencer says, “all of us care about you. You matter, okay? We want to be here for you the way Isaac would be because we love you.”

His green eyes are on mine, causing my heart to sputter.

God, the stupid girl in me wants to make that into something more. I have longed to hear something like that from Spencer Cross’s lips since I was thirteen years old, but my head knows better than to let that run wild.

But even now, looking like a ghost of the boy I fell in love with, he’s stunning. His jaw is covered in a beard, masking the strong jawline I know is beneath. As much as he looks the same, there is a very big difference in his body. He is broad, strong, and the way his shirt clings to him tells me there is a lot of muscle underneath. But his eyes, those are the same, still that emerald green that I could paint in my sleep.

I push that silly part of myself aside because I have a boyfriend who loves me.

I can’t do this again. I can’t go down the rabbit hole that’s impossible to get out of.

Then another knock comes and Cora and Holden walk in.

“Hello, Brielle,” Jenna’s sister, Cora, says with a smile on her lips.

Cora is the district attorney and three years older than me. We played on the same softball team in high school, and she has always scared the shit out of me.

Not that she’s done anything. She’s just one of those women who exudes power, and it makes her come across as intimidating.

However, the way she’s looking at me right now doesn’t scare me so much as it makes me sad. Gone is the warrior who would tell me to do my job as catcher while she pitched, now there’s pity and empathy—I don’t like it.

My mother and Addison are the next to walk in. After they both give me brief hugs, they take up spots by the windows.

“Hi, Cora.”

She smiles. “You look well, I’m glad to see that.”

Holden comes closer. “Have you had any changes in the last hour?”

“No, nothing since the last time you stopped in.”

Holden looks around. “I wanted to give you time and hoped the visit you had would help jog your memory before we really settled on the gap. Are the last memories you described still the same?”

“Yes, I need to understand how bad this is.”

“Of course. Would you like me to clear the room?”

I look at Emmett and Spencer and shake my head. “No, they’re fine.”

“I know this is incredibly frustrating for you, Brielle,” Cora says. “I want to explain why we are handling things the way we are. At this time, we have no information on the person responsible for your brother’s death and the attempt on your life. There was a call about a gunshot, and when the responding officer got to the scene, he found you unconscious. Of course, our hope was that once you woke, you would be able to identify the assailant, but your memory issue poses a new complication.”

I nod, listening to the first person to give me any freaking information. “Okay, and how does that lead to where we are now?”

“It is my job as the prosecutor to argue, beyond a reasonable doubt, that the case I have proves guilt. Now, we”—her gaze moves to Emmett—“are all working diligently to establish a case where we may not need your testimony. At that point, it’s in the best interest of whatever case we build if we withhold information from you.”

“How does it matter now?”

She sighs heavily. “My thought process is more in line of what, if I were a defense attorney, I would be able to use to sew doubt during a trial. Having a key eyewitness who experienced a large memory gap would be easy to spin as a key eyewitness also having unreliable testimony or testimony that has been influenced. What I’m suggesting, Brielle, is that we keep you in the dark about your current life and see if your memories return on their own without the influence of others recounting your life.”