Help Me Remember (Rose Canyon, #1)(81)

Out of nowhere.

No forewarning. Not even a hint that it was coming.

I nearly choke on my Lo Mein as I say, “What?”

“I love you.”

I place the chopsticks down carefully, swallow, and try again. “You love me?”

“I do. A lot, actually. I love you more than I even knew you could love someone.”

I wonder if someone can go into shock from a declaration of love. Because, if so, I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening.

Not that I don’t think he means it. It’s been six months and he has been pushing harder for us to become a couple, a real one that goes on real dates and doesn’t sneak around as though we are doing something wrong.

Which we aren’t.

But I like this. I like the intimacy of it. I like no one knowing or caring what we are doing. I like having Spencer all to myself.

He leans in, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Say something, Brielle.”

Right. I need to . . . speak.

“You know I love you.”

“I do.”

I smile. “Good.”

Spencer laughs. “Good.”

Something starts to niggle at the back of my mind. A curiousness that isn’t mine to have but is there regardless. “How many women have you said that to?” I ask, hoping he will answer just as much as I hope he doesn’t.

It isn’t my business. I have loved one other man in my life, but what I felt for Henry doesn’t hold a candle to my love for Spencer. With him, I have no fear. He knows me, loves me, and accepts me—flaws and all.

“None.”

I drop the chopstick again. “None?”

“I have never loved a woman before you. I have never allowed myself to love another because no one was worth that level of trust. But you are. You are worth it all, and I love you, Brielle Davis. I love you, and God help me because you are a handful.”

Spencer is thirty-eight years old. He has dated legions of women, and I am absolutely speechless. How could he have never loved anyone else? But the one thing Spencer and I don’t do is lie. We built our entire relationship on that foundation, and if he tells me he’s never loved anyone else, then it’s true.

And I feel bad for every woman who had this man and never found out what it feels like to be loved by him. Because . . . it’s magnificent.

I push the food to the side, crawl over to him, and then take his beautiful face in my hands. “I have loved you since before I knew what love was. I have dreamed of you since I knew what dreams were. You are the air I breathe. The beat of my heart. I love you so much that even the idea of losing this is too much for me to think about.”

“You won’t lose me, Brielle. Even if you walk away, I will always be here. I’m warning you now, I am going to marry you. You are going to be mine in every damn way.”

Yes! I want to scream. I want that more than anything, but I think I’ve always been his anyway. I have just been waiting for him to want to be mine.

Our lips touch in the sweetest, purest kiss that has ever happened. “I think maybe you’re right.”

“About what?” he asks, brushing my hair back.

“I think it’s time we talk about telling everyone. I don’t want to love you in the dark anymore.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that never happened with us. You are the light, I just held you in the shadow.”

I rest my forehead to his. “So, we make a plan to tell Isaac and Addy?”

“Yes, but not now. Right now, I want to make love”—he kisses me—“all. Night. Long.”



Tears leak from my eyes as my heart feels all of that moment again. I love him. I have always loved him and he loves me. Enough that he was willing to do anything to help me, even at his own pain.

And now he’s gone.

What have I done?





Chapter Thirty





BRIELLE





After a night full of regrets, I came to the one place that has always been soothing to me—the beach.

It was a hike, but Quinn never complained. Now I’m walking along the shoreline, the water lapping over my toes before retreating back into the sea.

Sometimes I feel as though this is how my memory is. It comes ashore, ready to meet the land, and then runs back.

I called Dr. Girardo this morning and our session was very hard for me. I am grappling with fragments of reality mixing with dreams, and I keep having these flashbacks that feel so real. We discussed how to tell them apart. He helped me realize that when all my senses are engaged, then the memory is that—a memory. When I can only see from the outside or I can’t feel anything, then it’s most likely a mixture or fragment.

That means that what I remembered last night was real.

What I saw that day I was standing in Spencer’s bedroom was real.

I stop, tilt my face toward the sun, and close my eyes. It’s so peaceful here, and for a moment, I can believe that everything will work out. The sun will rise, the tides will ebb, and anything that I’ve broken can be repaired.

As I turn, a loud bang rings out, and I drop to the sand, my hands over my head as I struggle to breathe.



“I guess we’re getting coffee?” I ask my brother as he pulls into RosieBeans.