Help Me Remember (Rose Canyon, #1)(74)

“She’s got it all wrong,” I say, feeling the frustration growing. She pushed the fucking panic button. She was terrified of me. Me. The man who would do anything for her. I take a deep breath and try again. “Just let me talk to her. You can all be there.”

“Spencer, I get it. I have been where you are.”

“Really?” I could punch him for even trying to pretend he knows this absolute hell. “You’ve been here, needing to talk to the woman you love but she has lost her fucking mind and thinks you are the cause of her pain?”

He nods. “Yup. I sure have. My story with Ashton isn’t a cakewalk either. We had a lot of shit to work through, and none of it went smoothly. The one thing I will say is that, if a woman uses her panic button, it means she needs space. Let her have that.”

“Space is the last thing she needs. She’s convinced herself I could be the one who killed Isaac and tried to kill her.”

Quinn steps forward, forcing me back. “I’m sorry, brother. I know you want to talk to her and try to work it out, but you aren’t getting up there. If Brielle thinks she’s in danger, then the only thing she is trusting is her security team, and no matter what, we aren’t going to betray that.”

“I am who set up her team,” I say through gritted teeth.

“All the more reason for you to honor the terms of her protection. Think about what it would do if I let you go up there. It would show her that nothing promised is true, and from what you’re saying, she is already questioning it.”

This is unreal. The last thing I want to do is give her time to convince herself even more that any of what she just said is true. God, I fucked up so much in this. I should’ve told her the minute she opened her eyes. I should’ve given her the answers she needed when she asked for them.

I sink down, resting on my heels. “How do I fix this?” I ask him.

“You can do what I said and let her calm down enough to see that none of what she’s telling herself makes sense. Or you can do what I thought you should have been doing from the very start of this.”

I look up. “Which is?”

“Find the fucking killer. You’re Spencer Cross. You are the man who uncovered the whereabouts of Aaron when the entire world, including our own team, thought he was dead. You found that underground terrorist ring and exposed them. I don’t believe for one second that you haven’t been able to find a single clue that would lead you to the killer.”

If he doesn’t think I’ve tried, then he’s a fool. “I have found nothing.”

“Then maybe you aren’t looking with the right part of yourself.”

I shake my head. “I’m not even sure what that means.”

“It means you’re thinking with your heart. Look, I don’t have to be convinced it wasn’t you. There’s not a chance in hell that you did that to her brother. You’re not a stone-cold killer, and anyone can see you love that girl.”

“She can’t.”

“She can, she is just hurting, and when women hurt, they’re a little crazy. Trust me, I’m married to a Jersey girl who happens to be a redheaded Italian. She is as crazy as crazy gets. That woman would put Brielle to shame.”

My breath comes out hard. “Brielle is not this way. She’s rational and doesn’t fly off the handle.”

“That was before the life she had was taken from her. You’re trying to make sense of a situation that literally makes no sense. She doesn’t know her own mind. Imagine what that feels like. I’ve been there. When I was abducted and held, I didn’t know time. I couldn’t see light or dark. Everything was one day, but at least I knew my life. If that had been taken away, then I’m not sure what the outcome would have been.”

He’s right. I know that, but I still want to talk to her. “When can I see her?” I ask.

“The protocol says at least twelve hours, but if Charlie doesn’t think she’s ready, she can withhold any visitors for twenty-four hours.”

I can’t wait that long. I am going to lose my mind. “That doesn’t work.”

“That doesn’t matter to us. Go home, Spence. Or, better yet, go use the God-given talent you were gifted and investigate this—not as the man who almost lost the woman he loves, but as a reporter who is searching for what the police missed. You have twelve hours to prove something to her, don’t waste it.”





My house is a wreck. The papers are all over the place, and my front door is splintered and won’t close properly.

I don’t even care if someone robbed me blind at this point. They can have everything because I lost the only thing that matters.

I start to gather the papers but then get so frustrated I toss them back onto the ground.

Fuck this.

Fuck the person who took her from me and is doing it again.

Then I see the photo on the ground with a crack in the glass, right down the middle. I kept it safe, hidden in that drawer, and only took it out when I was alone and sure she wouldn’t see it.

I miss her already.

I miss her voice and smile. I miss the way she says my name or looks at me. I miss being close to her.

All of it is gone. She left.

No, she didn’t even leave. She was so scared of being near me that she was taken.