Help Me Remember (Rose Canyon, #1)(60)

“Does it matter?” she asks. No, I guess it really doesn’t. I’m glad I’ve lost every last one as of late. “You realize we have issues in this group with gambling.”

“It’s always in good fun.”

Her fingers slide against the gold chain on her neck. “Some of them are. Others are much more . . . personal.”

“Like kisses and dates?”

“Like kisses and dates.” Brielle sighs, her blonde hair falling back as she looks up at the starry sky. “I did appreciate that you wrote that paper for me in English. That was definitely worth it.”

“I forgot about that.”

“I got an A,” she tells me.

“Of course you did—or, should I say, I did.”

Brie grins and stares back at the inky water. “You know, I had my first kiss here. It was so horrible.”

“Isaac punched the guy.”

Brie’s jaw drops. “That’s why he stopped talking to me?”

“Most likely. He was talking to a bunch of other kids at the movies about how he stuck his tongue down your throat and you cried. I walked over, grabbed him by the jacket, and threatened him. Before I could punch him, Isaac stole the honors.”

I remember being pissed I didn’t get to. Those punks all deserved a beating for the shit they were saying about her and her friends.

“I never knew it was you!”

“See, some things I can tell you.”

“That doesn’t count as the memory you’re supposed to give me.”

“I know, since it’s not one of your memories. It’s just a reminder of your bad choices with men.”

Brie turns to me. “Do you include yourself in this?”

“Am I now one of your men?”

She shrugs. “You could be.”

“And what does one need to do to be considered for the position?”

“First, I’ll need an application, a list of references, and maybe an essay on why you should be considered for it.”

I lean in. “I have one very good reason that you’ll want to hear.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Our faces are close, so close that her breath warms my lips. “I am very, very good in bed.”

“That is a good one,” she concedes. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

I pull away, feeling the cool air push between us. “You do that.”

She smiles and inhales, wrapping my jacket around her tighter. Then her eyes widen in shock as her lips tremble.

“What’s wrong?”

“The cigar smell . . .”

Fuck. Fuck. I am a goddamn idiot. I smoked a cigar with Emmett when I got here. The one we always smoke on special occasions. The one that she remembers tasting and has the ring of in that box. I should’ve thought about that. I should’ve known it would trigger her. Or maybe Emmett is right, and all I want is for this nightmare to be over, so I keep doing things to push her. I’m being selfish because I miss my Brielle. I miss her love and touch and everything we have.

She brings the lapels to her nose, sniffing it again. Her eyes find mine, waiting for the answer.

I steady my voice and pretend to have no idea what she’s saying. “Emmett and I had one when we arrived. Why?”

“It smells the same.” She steps closer. “The same scent and . . .”

I can see the confliction in her eyes, the warring emotions between wanting to ask for more and knowing I can’t give it to her.

“The cigar?” I ask.

Brie nods. “Yes, the same one I tasted on my tongue. Why?”

I shrug, as though it’s not a big deal when it is. “We got them from the store in town. They only have two brands.”

That’s another lie. These are from Cuba and definitely not sold in Oregon. I have a friend who gave me a box when he came back from Havana. The last time they were touched was the night Elodie was born, which was the first night Brielle and I made love.

“Right. That makes sense . . . of course. I just thought that maybe . . .”

“You thought maybe the memory was of me?”

Brielle looks out at the lake, her body tight as she lets out a heavy sigh. The tension is building between us, and I don’t know what is going to finally tip us over.

Whatever she was thinking through, she finds her resolve and her blue eyes meet mine, not wavering. “I hoped. I keep hoping and wondering, and I need to ask this . . . could that engagement ring be from you?”





Chapter Twenty





BRIELLE





I feel so stupid. So absolutely ridiculous, but yes. I want it to be true. I want to believe, for just a minute, that this ugly duckling grew into a swan and got the prince. He has always been the light that I’ve reached for in the darkness.

I chose my words carefully, making sure that I phrased it in a way that would hopefully get him to answer the question I really needed answered. I can’t keep hoping that what I want now is what I had in the past. That the way I feel around him is because my heart is his. It’s crazy, and I need to know the truth, which is why I’m so grateful that Spencer won’t lie.

Steeling my nerves to whatever the answer is.

He smiles and shakes his head. “No, it’s not mine.”