Lisa knew all sorts of things that were entirely useless when it came to remembering the things that came “BA.” Before Accident. Like why Adam Fortune’s handsome face plucked a visceral chord inside her.
The porcelain sink felt cool against her fingers where she gripped it hard. She closed her eyes against her reflection.
It took no effort to conjure his image.
He had deep, dark brown hair. Short, but thick. And it sprang with a slight wave away from his forehead. He had the kind of slashing, masculine brows and a squared off, faintly clefted chin that graced some movie actors with timeless appeal.
She’d filled an entire sketchbook with his face before she’d ever seen him on the news.
Was it serious?
He’d shrugged off her question about their past relationship. His eyes—such a dark brown that the pupils were indistinguishable from the irises—had met hers head-on. She hadn’t had the sense that he’d been lying.
And yet—
She opened her eyes and looked at herself again. It didn’t matter if he’d been lying or not. Because of him, she knew who she really was. That was what she needed to focus on.
“You’re not Lisa Jane Doe,” she reminded herself firmly. “You’re Laurel Hudson. Get used to it.”
Then she turned away from the mirror. She rubbed the center of her chest as if she could rub away the hollow sensation inside. Because it was easy to tell herself not to be distracted by Adam Fortune. And another matter entirely to actually succeed at it.
Adam was the epitome of tall, dark and broad-shouldered. He had a face that was definitely memorable.
Surely no more memorable than the faces of her own parents, though.
So why would she remember him? Someone from nearly ten years past? Why couldn’t she remember why she’d been driving in a snowstorm in upstate Washington? Why couldn’t she remember the fiancé that Adam had said she had? Was this Eric person the devil she ran from in her nightmares?
She thumped her fists none too lightly against the sides of her head as she padded through the dark room to the bed. She threw the tangled bedclothes back so they hit the floor and the thin pillow followed. Then she lay down and stared blindly up at the ceiling.
The plain sheet covering the mattress beneath her felt vaguely scratchy against her arms and legs.
Mother would never have approved. Nothing but one hundred percent Egyptian cotton would do.
Her mother was dead. Laurel felt certain of it.
But, like the whole bath thing, perhaps it was simply an idea that she’d adopted as truth.
She exhaled deeply, working through the relaxation exercises that her physical therapist had taught her to help combat the sleeplessness she suffered most nights. It was either master the techniques or resort to the prescription drugs she’d been refusing for the last month.
And she had no intention of going back to those.
So she breathed in and counted. She breathed out and counted. She flexed muscles and released and flexed again. Working up and down her body, one muscle at a time, until she thought she’d go mad.
And, like most nights, she didn’t begin to doze off again until thin light shined around the edges of the faded window curtains.
Only when her mind was in that infinitesimally narrow space between sleep and wakefulness, did the thought slip inside.
He’d been the first boy she’d ever loved.
Chapter Three
He brought donuts.
Not just for Laurel but for everyone. Patients, staff and even the security guard who sat next to the front door to make sure that everyone who came calling had a proper reason to do so.
Personally, Laurel believed the guards were really there to make sure none of the patients got out when they weren’t supposed to.
At the sight—and smell—of fresh donuts, everyone from guard to Grabinski gathered around the two boxes that Adam set out on the table in the common room.
“Like watching a shark attack,” Laurel said, standing to one side as everyone else swarmed around the boxes. She looked up at Adam, who was standing by her side.
Even with her shoes on—white canvas sneakers with yellow smiley faces provided by a local women’s shelter—Adam stood at least a half foot taller. He wore blue jeans—the same as the evening before—and another button-down shirt. This one was Prussian blue. Yesterday’s had been slate.
And he hadn’t shaved. The dark whiskers didn’t manage at all to blur his perfectly sculpted square jaw.
“People like donuts,” he said easily. His deep brown eyes skimmed over her face. “You always did.”
Pleasure flowed through her, swift and sweet. “I did?”
His smile was very faint. “Why do you think I brought them? Deep-fried puffs of heaven, I think you called them.” He gestured toward the swarm. “Are you going to get in there or not? There was a maple bar with your name on it when I walked in the door but now I’m not so sure.”
She realized she was tugging at the sleeve of her long-sleeved blouse and made herself stop as she worked her way to the table and the heavenly puffs.
One box was totally empty. But there was, indeed, an oblong donut glistening with a caramel-colored glaze still remaining in the second.
She snatched it from the box only moments before Mr. Grabinski did. Considering he already had a pink-frosted donut dangling on one finger and a chocolate-frosted one on another, she didn’t feel particularly guilty.
Feeling more than a little triumphant, she took a napkin and moved back to Adam’s side.
“Cheers.” She lifted the donut in a little toast before she sank her teeth into the end of it.
The sweetness exploded on her taste buds, the maple flavor strong and pure. “Almost as good as Howie’s Food Truck in Larkin Square.”
She felt Adam tense. “You remember Larkin Square?”
“Not really. The name just came to me.” She ducked her head, sucking maple icing off the side of her thumb. “Sorry.”
He stepped in front of her and, when she didn’t look up at him, tucked a long finger beneath her chin.
Her breath
