Page 20 of Feel Me

She looks at me for a minute and does her best to give me a small smile. It doesn’t entirely reach her pretty eyes, but it’s something. I feel the tension surrounding us lessen—at least a little.

We sit in the quiet for a while. I enjoy it. After the emotional outpouring from her earlier, I figure she needs it too. So, without so much as a moment of small talk, we continue eating the sandwiches and chips—washing it down with the bottles of water I brought.

When I bring the container of chunked watermelon from the cooler, she finally speaks. “Have you ever been in love?”

The question is out of the blue, and I admit, not a topic I really wanted to discuss. There’s a million ways to answer it honestly—not because I want to open that can of worms, but more along the lines that she was horrifically honest with me, and I can only be the same.

“I don’t know.”

She stares at me as if waiting for me to go on, but I don’t. It’s not really a topic I want to continue talking about.

“How can you not know? Haven’t you had a woman in your life that you let in, confided to?”

“I don’t know,” I repeat, making her frown deepen. She’s clearly not happy with me, and I let out a deep breath, wishing I’d just kept my mouth shut. “I was in a bad accident, and when I woke up, I had no memory of my past.”

“None?”

“I don’t even know my name. I had severe injuries, so much so that my fingerprints were ruined. I was told that they eventually grow back, but my injuries were inflicted, and the doctors said I showed signs of prolonged torture. Plus, who even knows if they are on record somewhere? So, I decided not to try to find out who I was and asked Carson and the others to abide by it. I figured it was just better to let whoever it was to continue to think I was dead.”

“What if someone out there, like a family or wife, loved you? Someone who you loved?”

“Then me being alive would be a danger to them. It was better this way all around. Plus, I have no memory of them. It has been over two years and I still don’t have any memories. The chance of it coming back now is very improbable.”

“You sound so matter of fact about it all. You could have kids, Lake.”

“Then, I’m keeping them safe,” I answer quietly.

She studies me for a moment, and then finally takes a breath and nods. “I get it. If I could go back and do everything over, I would have done everything in my power to stay far away from Bear. It’s my brother who killed him, and the guilt of that alone has nearly destroyed me. You’re an amazing man,” she says, and something fills my chest that I can’t quite name. I just know it’s not bad.

“Well, I should tell you that not only am I amazing,” I begin tongue-in-cheek, “but I’m also on what is essentially my first date.”

She blinks wide-eyed, staring at me like I’ve grown three heads. Then she burst out laughing. “I hate to break it to you, Lake, but this doesn’t qualify as a date.”

Now it’s my turn to frown. “What would make it qualify?”

“Well, there’s nothing romantic here and we’re just friends. It’s more like a brother or sister having dinner together,” she explains.

I should be satisfied with her answer. I mean, after all, it is true. I don’t like it, though. In fact, I hate it. “Well, I’ve never been on a date to know the difference,” I point out. “So, what would make it romantic?”

“Well, I mean, I’m not sure I’m a good person to ask,” she laughs. “I’m pretty sure, though, that a person must want to be closer physically to the other. There has to be handholding or some kind of connection.” She stops talking and looks at me. Her cheeks are a cute, bright pink, betraying her embarrassment. I have no idea why I enjoy it so much, but I do. “I’m making a mess of this,” she says. “I don’t know how to describe it because I don’t have experience. With Bear and I, it came naturally, because we were both just trying to survive when we met. We bonded easily.”

“So, you’re saying we’re both new at this kind of thing,” I suggest.

“What kind of thing?” she asks, and I know she’s putting her guard up. I need to stop that. I don’t want her to see me as a threat.

“Two strangers getting to know one another and becoming close⁠—”

“Lake—”

I hold her hand gently on the table. “Close friends,” I say, which is all I’ve been trying to do, but the words sit wrong in my head.

“Oh,” she says again, her cheeks deepening once more in color.

“I don’t have anyone, Livy. I’m tired of having no one who cares how I feel—no one that understands. It seems to me that you have the same issue.”

“I have my therapist,” she responds at once.

“So, you have some suit that has studied books on how things make you feel, but you don’t have someone who knows what it means to have the world stolen from them, to survive when you wish you hadn’t.” I can tell my words hit their mark because Olivia just stares at me before nodding her head in acceptance. “When I talk with you, Livy, I feel more alive than I have since I woke up in that damn hospital bed. If I manage to give you just a small sliver of that feeling, I don’t want either of us to lose it.”