You Will Remember Me by Hannah McKinnon (best sales books of all time txt) 📕

lights were on, and when I got close enough to see in through the windows, I spotted Maya pacing the living room. As soon as I opened the front door, her hands went to her hips.

“Where the hell were you?” she shouted.

“I went for a drive. There’s a note in—”

“I saw. What the hell, Ash? I thought you’d crashed the car, or—”

“Obviously, I didn’t. I saw Lily and we had a chat.”

Her mouth was still open, but her words seemed to have dried up. She walked over, yanked the car keys from my hand and said, “And what did you two chat about?”

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” I said, about to brush past her and go upstairs but she grabbed hold of my arm.

“Of course it is. I want to make sure you’re safe.”

Once again, Maya had pushed that invisible button, making all my anger rush up my throat in one go. “Jesus Christ, stop treating me like a child, would you?” I shouted, removing her hand as my voice bounced off the walls. “Stop breathing down my neck all the time. Just back off, will you?”

“But—”

“No. That’s enough.” I forced my rage back inside myself, moved toward the stairs before I said or did something I might regret. I threw a glance at her over my shoulder, expecting to see a look of hurt and confusion on her face, and which I’d apologize for in the morning. Except there was none. Her expression was one of outright fury far greater than mine. She stood in the middle of the hallway, car keys clutched tight to her chest, knuckles white, her eyes like daggers, piercing my skin all the way to the bone.

23

LILY

I’d been in my motel room for two hours, walking back and forth, left to right, right to left, wearing down the carpet as I went over the events of the evening. My visit with Maya had made me question if my leaving town would be better for Ash, and myself, but Dr. Adler had said it might help, and Ash wanted me to stay. As I thought about how Maya hadn’t told him I’d called, two details hit me, and made me stop pacing. First, during our initial conversation I’d told Maya I was looking for a man called Jack Smith, and second, despite his amnesia, Ash had known he’d traveled up from Maryland. Surely, he’d have told Maya that when he’d arrived here the day after he went missing, which would mean she’d have known before I’d called and asked about the photo.

I pulled out my phone, plugged in Jack Smith Maryland and hit Search. The first six results were the articles about him going missing off the coast, the next two detailing how the search had been abandoned. Not only did the links include the video of me pleading for help on the beach, but also photos of him. How could Maya not have seen them? How had she not made the connection? Hadn’t she been curious after I’d called? Ash was right, she must have been overwhelmed by his return, I decided, because otherwise it would imply she didn’t want me to find him and that made no sense at all. She clearly cared for him. She wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. There had to be another reason, although whatever it was, nothing yet explained why Ash had never mentioned Maya once in eighteen months. Hadn’t he been in touch with her at all while he’d lived in Brookmount? That seemed so odd—then again, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spoken to my brother, and Quentin seemed to prefer pretending I didn’t exist.

A tingle crept down my spine as I wondered again why he’d been living his life as Jack Smith—such a common name—off the radar, quite possibly without a bank account and definitely without a credit card or a car, and with a fake ID. He had cash stowed away in his apartment, and the place had been ransacked. Heron and Stevens thought he was involved in gambling trouble, and while they suspected he’d been playing for a while, I wondered if it was a more recent thing and had something to do with the engagement ring brochure I’d found. All that aside, could it be he hadn’t wanted to be found by Maya? Had he been hiding from her all this time? I grimaced at the ridiculousness of it, but the thought kept bugging me, and as I was about to go around in circles again, someone knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” I called out, wondering if I’d disturbed the people in the next room with my incessant pacing, until I heard a familiar voice.

“It’s Ash.”

I almost tripped over the corner of the bed in my haste to get to the door, which I tried to yank open only to find I’d put on the chain. “Crap,” I muttered, my heart speeding up as I fumbled with the lock, my fingers refusing to do as they were told. When I finally got the damn door open, Ash stood in front of me, his face pale.

“Can I come in?” he said, the remaining color sliding from his face. “Please?”

I took a step closer and put my arms around him, pulling him toward me and inside the room at the same time. With the length of his body pressed against mine, and his arms wrapped around me tight, I took in the scent and heat of his skin. It was almost too much—an emotional tsunami I’d fought hard to keep back, all of it spilling forth now, no matter how hard I tried to stop it.

“I have to ask you something,” he murmured as he put his hands on my shoulders, gently creating a little distance between us, which I immediately wanted to close again.

“Anything. Whatever you need.” I watched him hesitate, run a hand through his hair as he turned away, shaking his head. “What’s wrong?