This One Moment (10 page)

I snapped out of the memory, the one that until now I had locked away. I knew there was more, and refused to go there.

I stepped away from Hailey. She flipped the hallway light on. Her gentle gaze searched my face as she tried to piece together what was going on. I'd just gone from hot to cold in a matter of seconds, and I could see the confusion on her face.

What I really wanted to do was run—run hard and run fast, and keep running until I was back in L.A. But a small part of me refused to do that while Hailey's life was in danger. I had let my mother and sister down. I had let so many people down. I couldn't do that to Hailey. Not again.

Instead I turned away from my best friend. “I'm sorry. But I can't.” All I could think about was the last memory I had of my sister smiling. It was not from the night I was trying to keep locked away. It was from a happier time with Sarah and Hailey, when we'd gone out for ice cream. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Without a single word to Hailey, I walked to the bathroom and locked the door. I slumped against it, the darkness closing in on me. But it wasn't enough to shut out the memory. Nothing would be enough.

I turned the bathroom light on. The bright light glared at me from above the mirror like an interrogation lamp. It wanted to know the truth as much as everyone else did. Everyone but me.

The lower corner of the mirror was chipped, something I hadn't noticed before. My gaze continued up the smudged surface and caught sight of my reflection. I was a mess. I mean, appearance-wise I looked fine. My shirt and jeans were clean and wrinkle free. But the guy who'd gone to the nightclub with his girl and best friend was not the same one staring back at me in the mirror. This guy looked exhausted, beaten. Forever scarred.

With my clothes still on, I climbed into the shower and turned the cold water on. I stood in the stream of water, doing my best to hold back the building sobs. Once I was soaked through, my body shivering to the point where I couldn't remain standing if I tried, I slid down the shower wall.

I wrapped my arms around my bent knees, rested my head against them, and silently cried. For my mom. For my sister. For the guy I used to be.

Through the hammering of water against the tub, I was vaguely aware of banging on the door.

“Nolan.” Hailey's sweet voice broke through the fog in my head. “Are you okay?”

I turned the water off. “Yes.” The word came out as a harsh croak.

She must not have believed me, because she was standing outside the door when I opened it a minute later.

“Oh, God, Nolan…” Several emotions I couldn't get a firm grip on filled her beautiful, warm brown eyes.

I used to be able to get lost in those eyes and nothing could bother me. But that had been a lifetime ago. I dropped my gaze from hers, not wanting her to see into the deepest recesses of my soul. I wanted to make some smart-ass comment, like how I'd forgotten to remove my clothes before getting into the shower. Anything to keep her from guessing the truth. But what I wanted to do and what I did were in opposite hemispheres.

Besides, this was Hailey. This wasn't a random chick I'd screwed around with after a show. Hailey knew me. She knew the real me. Even as kids, she'd had a knack for understanding what I was thinking and feeling.

Except for the part where I was in love with her. She'd never figured that out.

Hailey was the first to recover from the shock of what I'd done. She grabbed a towel from the towel rack and wrapped it around my shoulders. Then she led me to my room. Water dripped from my clothing onto the carpet, marking a damp trail down the hall.

In my room, she peeled the clothes off my body. A few minutes ago I would've been more than thrilled to have her do this while I removed her clothes. Now I could only stand there like a helpless child, too exhausted to stop her, too drained to care.

If this was how it would be with a sliver of the memory, what would I be like if I remembered everything? I couldn't afford that. I suspected it would destroy what little was left of me. That'd be great if I wanted to spend my musical career writing nothing but angst-filled songs. But that wasn't what Pushing Limits was. That wasn't what the fans wanted.

My boxer briefs clung to my body like a wet rag. I was still shivering. I wasn't even sure anymore if it had anything to do with the impromptu cold shower, the temperature of the room, or something deeper. Or some combination of all three.

She took hold of my hand and led me to my bed. The warmth of her hand cut through the chill claiming my body for its own. Icy water dripped from my wet hair and down my face and back. Hailey picked up the towel from the ground and towel-dried my hair. Then she pulled back the bedcovers and indicated for me to climb under them. But they weren't enough to warm me up.

I closed my eyes. That was all I had the energy to do.

The mattress dipped under Hailey's weight as she climbed onto the bed. She wrapped her almost naked but toasty body around me and kissed my forehead and my cheek. Then her lips pressed gently against mine.

Before I could open my mouth and taste her, she pulled away. “I'll stay here, Nolan,” she whispered, “for as long as you need.” She snuggled against my body, her arm keeping me close.

That was the last thing I remembered before exhaustion dragged me down.

When Nolan and I were eleven years old, his family had owned the cutest little golden retriever puppy. For years he'd asked his parents for a dog. That and a guitar were all he ever wanted. His parents had eventually given in and gave him the puppy for his birthday. The dog meant the world to him.

He was Nolan's first and only pet.

Then one day after school we returned to his house to take the puppy for a walk together. Normally Lucky would bound to the front door as soon as he heard Nolan unlock it. Not so this time. We searched the place, becoming more worried as the seconds ticked by. After what had felt like an eternity, we found Lucky in the backyard. Lying on the ground. Not breathing.

For the longest time after Nolan fell asleep, I watched him. He looked so fragile, like he had the day we'd found his puppy dead. My heart broke seeing him this way.

I knew his tour had been grueling. Who wouldn't be exhausted after all the touring the band had done during the past year? Now that it was over and he had time to recover, he should've looked different. Refreshed. But instead he looked as though he still wasn't sleeping much.

I slipped out from under the covers. He didn't so much as stir. I picked up my clothing and returned to my room.

When I woke up several hours later, sunlight was streaming in through the blinds, and the smell of coffee perked me up a little. I grabbed an old sweatshirt that used to belong to Nolan. He'd left it at my house shortly before he disappeared to L.A. I also slipped on my yoga pants and trudged into the hallway in search of the beverage of the gods.

Nolan was in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter. Or rather, his body was in the kitchen but otherwise he looked to be a billion miles away. Next to him was the box of my favorite sugar-loaded cereal. The true breakfast of champions.

“Hey.” I walked to the coffeemaker and filled my favorite mug, the one that said
I'M SORRY FOR WHAT I SAID BEFORE I HAD MY COFFEE.

Nolan remained silent, the corners of his lips slightly curved down. I sipped my coffee, then placed the mug on the counter.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my head on his shoulder. This was no different than in the past, when we used to be close. I would do this whenever something was bothering him. “Talk to me.”

It took a few seconds before he finally enveloped me in his arms and kissed the top of my head. He still didn't say anything. I shifted in his arms and stroked his jaw with my thumb. The rough feel of his facial growth excited me, and I reached up and kissed the spot I'd touched. I couldn't help it. The constant craving to touch him was almost unbearable, like a chocolate addiction. But like with most addictions, I'd eventually have to walk away from it by going cold turkey.

Nolan turned his head ever so slightly and my mouth accidentally brushed against his. My lips parted, a silent invitation for him to deepen our kiss. His warm, coffee-scented breath caressed my face.

My cellphone played the song I'd programmed for general calls. If Nolan had planned to kiss me, I would never know. He pulled away. His rejection stung worse than a bee sting to someone allergic to them.

I avoided looking at him and answered my phone.

“Hello, is this Hailey Wilkins?” a male voice asked.

“Yes.”

“This is Detective Mathews.”

I straightened at his name. “Hi. Did he say anything? Was he the one who attacked me?” The words came out in an unstoppable gush.

“I'm sorry, but it doesn't look like it. He has a strong alibi for that night. He did see you Friday morning where you work, getting into the passenger seat of a black car around eleven-fifteen a.m. That was the last he saw of you until you showed up at Trysting last night.”

I had a billion questions based on what the detective had just told me. “Who was the driver?”

“Unfortunately, he couldn't see the person. He couldn't even tell me if it was a male or female. And he wasn't able to tell us the make of car, other than it was a sedan.”

My throat clogged up at what he was telling me. “Has…has he been stalking me?” I could feel Nolan's gaze on me. I refused to acknowledge it.

“There isn't enough evidence to suggest he has been. Other than when he saw you regularly at Trysting a few months ago and then the day you were attacked, he hasn't seen you between those two times.”

“But why was he watching me get into the vehicle if he wasn't stalking me?”

“He was meeting a friend at the sports center. They had a squash court booked. It checked out.”

My mind stumbled over that statement. Something still didn't seem right. “What about how he watched me all those times when I hung out at Trysting?”

“He claimed he was worried about you. Every time he saw you there, you left with a different guy. He was upset you were leaving with guys he felt you didn't know very well and putting yourself at risk.”

Even though he didn't say the words, the detective had indirectly judged and lectured me. Worse yet, now I looked like a slut because I liked sex and because I avoided relationships so as not to let a guy hurt me. Nothing wrong with that. The choice was mine. But it didn't mean I deserved to be attacked, and it didn't mean I'd been in Westgate because I was prostituting myself out.

“He promised he'd leave you alone and not watch you anymore,” the detective continued. “So unless he does something else and you can prove he's stalking you, there's nothing I can do about it right now.”

I nodded, forgetting he couldn't see me. “Okay.”

We spoke for a few more minutes about the case, but he had no new information about that night. Nor did he have any new information about the days leading up to it.

I ended the call and let out a long breath. Why couldn't I remember anything? Why did my brain insist on keeping the truth from me? I could understand it with Nolan. He didn't want to remember. But I did.

I picked up my mug, ready to hurl it across the room. And I would have if Kayla hadn't given me the mug as a birthday present and if it hadn't still been full of coffee, albeit lukewarm coffee.

“What did he say?” With his chin, Nolan indicated the phone in my hand.

I filled him in on the call and everything the detective had told me, then I left to shower. When I stepped out of the steamy bathroom after taking longer than I needed to, Nolan was leaning against the opposite wall.

He pushed away from it. “I'm making you dinner tonight.”

“I've never seen you cook before. I mean, other than macaroni and cheese.” Which was not my favorite food. Not even close.

He smirked, and everything south of the equator heated up. Damn sexy smirk. “I've learned a trick or two since I was nineteen.”

I didn't doubt it. “What are you making?”

He winked. “It's a surprise.”

I snorted, remembering what we had, or rather didn't have, in the fridge. As did Nolan. He suggested we hit the store for groceries. As much as I wanted to talk about why he'd been showering in his clothes last night, I knew he didn't. And I didn't want him to put up any walls between us because of it.

As we wandered around the store, a girl my age rushed over to Nolan. “You're Tyler Erickson! Can I have your autograph?”

I glanced around, half expecting a horde of other fans to come screaming at us from both ends of the aisle, trampling me in their haste to touch Nolan.

“Sure,” he said, “but I don't have a pen on me.”

Before I could say I probably had one, the girl whipped out a Sharpie from her back pocket and handed it to Nolan. Seriously? Did she normally walk around with a Sharpie in her back pocket in case she saw a celebrity? I guessed so.

She yanked down her low-cut T-shirt, exposing her lacy bra—her
transparent
lacy bra, which left nothing to the imagination when it came to her large breasts and nipples.

I rolled my eyes and looked away.

Without paying much attention to what I was doing, I snatched up a package of bran-loaded cereal—the kind that would make you regular for a month with just one spoonful. She didn't care about Nolan. She was only hoping to get laid. She didn't even notice how tired he looked.

But who was I to judge? How many of my one-night stands had I cared about? How many of them had I wanted to date after we screwed, and how many had I given fake phone numbers to when they asked for my number? The difference was I hadn't hooked up with any of them because of who they were. None were celebrities.

“Where are we going?” I'd asked, watching the passing scenery.

“It's a surprise,” a man said, his voice familiar, comforting.

“Since when did you start eating this stuff?” Nolan asked, grinning like he was pleased with himself. I blinked. The fan was gone, as was the memory.

Nolan was standing next to our shopping cart, holding the box of cereal I'd grabbed off the shelf. And it looked like it wasn't the only one I had grabbed. Five other boxes mocked me from the cart.

“I…I…” I didn't want to lie and say I'd decided to try the stuff, because then he'd expect me to actually eat it for breakfast. No thanks. “I don't.” I grabbed it from his hand, returned it and the rest of them to the shelf, and got the sugary brand I really wanted.

Without saying a word to him, I pushed the cart down the aisle, eager to escape him. The last thing I wanted was for him to see how much his groupies bothered me. They shouldn't have, but they did.

On the drive back to the apartment, I deliberated if I should mention the brief memory that had hit in the store. But really, what was there to tell? I didn't even know if it was related to the attack or if it had happened during one of the other days I didn't remember and so had nothing to do with what had left me in the coma.

Ahead of us, on the main road back to my apartment, a car was pulled over on the side, its hazard lights flashing. An old woman was staring at the rear tire, which was clearly flat.

Nolan pulled up behind her and parked the car. He didn't get out, though. He just stared at the tire, and I instantly knew why.