The Goodbye Bride (3 page)

If she really had a head injury, it could be bad. She could even have bleeding on the brain or something.

He sighed hard, knowing he sounded put out and not caring. He really was a sucker. “Where are you?”

“I—I don't know. Hold on. Don't hang up.”

A shuffling noise sounded in the phone. He strained to hear over the clamor of voices and clanging of silverware.

On Lucy's end a woman rattled out a street address.

“Wait,” Lucy said, her voice muffled. “Summer Harbor?”

“No, honey. Portland.”

“Portland . . .?” Lucy asked. “Portland,
Oregon
?”

“What? No.
Maine
. Portland, Maine.”

Ah, for the love of—
Zac poked his fingers into his eye sockets. “Lucy.” More shuffling. “
Lucy
.”

“I'm right here. Zac, I'm in—”

“I heard.” He gave a quiet growl. He shouldn't even be thinking about doing this. She was gone from his life. He was finally over her.

Sure you are. That's why you're going to rush to her rescue.

He'd always been so weak where Lucy was concerned. She'd had him in the palm of her hand since the day she'd walked into the Roadhouse. Right up until she stomped all over his heart with her fancy pointy-toed heels.

“This better not be some trick, Lucy.”

“Why would I even do that?” Her voice was a mixture of outrage and hurt.

He huffed. Like he'd ever been able to figure her out.

“Please, Zac. I'm truly desperate.”

His resolve crumbled at the sound of tears in her voice.
Aw, dang it
. He'd never be able to live with himself if something happened to her. He ran his palm over his face as resolve settled over him.

“Sit tight. I'll be there in a few hours.”

Chapter 2

L
ucy stared out at the bustling harbor. Her backside was numb from the wooden bench she'd been sitting on since her call to Zac. After she'd hung up she'd been eager to escape the glowering manager, curious patrons, and nauseating smells coming from the kitchen. She'd hiked up her skirts and crossed the street, relieved to find an out-of-the-way bench where she could ruminate in private.

She'd had hours to think, or so it seemed, and she'd reached a disturbing conclusion. She'd definitely lost a month of her life. There was no getting around it. She wasn't sure why she was in Portland or why Zac was in Summer Harbor, but she had to face it—her brain wasn't operating at optimum capacity.

She felt mildly dizzy, and her vision was slightly blurred no matter how hard she tried to blink it away. The sunlight glinting off the water felt like knife blades jabbing her in the eyes. She closed them against the pain and focused on breathing.

While the headache and dizziness were disorienting, the anxiety roiling in her gut was even worse. What was wrong with her? Were the memories of the past month gone forever? Did she
have a serious injury? How long would this befuddled state last? What if it never went away?

She watched a lobster boat coming in off the water, the men quitting for the day. What time was it? What was taking Zac so long?

What if he didn't come?

Ridiculous. Of course he'd come. He loved her.

She thought back to their phone call. The sound of his voice, his Mainer accent, had been so reassuring, the dropped
r
's as familiar as the sound of waves rolling ashore.
Lobstah. Satahday. Chowdah.

She frowned, the memory of the call digging in deeper. The conversation was fuzzy. He'd seemed out of sorts, but she couldn't remember exactly what he'd said.

What if she had a brain injury? She was going to have to go to the hospital, she just knew it. Anxiety swelled inside. She was suddenly eight years old and sitting alone by her mother's hospital bed. A machine beeped quietly, keeping track of her heartbeats.

Until it stopped altogether.

Lucy's heart pounded at the memory, making her headache worse. The hospital felt like death. Smelled like death. But she would have to go
.

You won't die, Lucy. What is the matter with you?

She didn't have the time or mental capacity to answer that question. And why could she remember something that happened sixteen years ago when she couldn't remember putting on her wedding gown only hours ago?

“Lucy?”

She turned at the deep timbre of Zac's voice. Her heart soared at the sight of his familiar face. His strong, masculine features, the sharp turn of his jaw. She knew every curve and angle by
heart. She frowned at the sight of his short beard. His black hair was longer than she remembered too, a thick curl falling over his forehead.

Shaking the confusion, she jumped up and took a step toward him, eager for the safety of his arms. But the world tilted, and she stumbled sideways on the walkway.

Zac sped to her side, catching her by the elbows. “What are you doing?”

She winced at the gruffness in his voice. Her grip tightened on his forearms. She blinked away the dizziness and stared into his gray eyes, wishing she could see more clearly. He felt stiff and sounded cold. Not at all like her Zac.

“Zac . . . I'm so glad to see you. Will you take me home? Please?”

“Just sit down for now.” He eased her back until she hit the bench, letting go as soon as she was seated.

She looked down at the dress, clutching the frothy material. Their wedding day was ruined. Completely ruined. After all that work.

Sudden tears clogged her throat, filled her eyes. “You weren't supposed to see me yet.”

Not until she came down the aisle. There was supposed to be awestruck wonder on his face. It was a bride's right, for gosh sakes. She'd wanted the altar lights on just to be sure she caught a glimpse of his expression.

She frowned at the thought. The chapel was in Summer Harbor, and she was in Portland. It was all so confusing. She rubbed her temple. “I'm afraid I'm a bit befuddled.”

“Where'd you hit your head?”

“In the ladies' room.” She gestured over her shoulder. “At the diner. The floor was wet, and I guess I just . . . slipped.”

“I mean where on your head?”

“Oh. Here.” She took his hand and placed it gently on the lump.

He pressed his lips together. “You've got a good-sized lump going. Were you knocked unconscious?”

“I—I don't know. I think so. Maybe?” She couldn't even remember that!

He withdrew his hand, and she immediately missed the comfort of his fingers. Why wasn't he touching her? Holding her? She needed comfort, daggonit!

“Lucy . . . you were unconscious, you're dizzy, and you've got some time gaps. You need to get looked at.”

She looked at him pleadingly, tears welling up in her eyes. “No . . .”

“I'll go with you. There's no choice. We need to see what's going on.”

Where was his warm voice? His tender touch?

“What about the wedding? We need to call people. I can't believe this is happening.” Her breaths were coming hard and shallow, like her lungs couldn't keep up.

“Slow down, you're going to hyperventilate. Think you can make it to my truck?”

She didn't want to go to the hospital!
God, please. Don't do this to me.
She just wanted to go home and curl up in her bed. She wanted Zac to tuck her in like he did some nights when she was really bushed. And she was really bushed just now.

“Lucy, can you walk?” The impatience in his voice was like a dagger in her chest.

“I don't want to go to the hospital.” She couldn't control the tremble of her voice.

“Well, that's where I'm taking you.”

She rocked back and forth, soothing herself. Only it wasn't working. It wasn't working at all. She knew he was right. Something was terribly wrong. She could get by if Zac stayed with her. Couldn't she?

“Will you take me home afterward?”

“Yes.”

She tried to block the thoughts, but the memories surfaced anyway. The antiseptic smell, the beeping of machines, the cold, sterile floor. And her mama, what was left of her, still and pale in the bed.

“Maybe you can get someone to come look me over,” she said. “That nice EMT from before.” She looked at him hopefully.

“We're in Portland, Lucy. I don't know anyone here.”

He-uh.

“Oh . . . right.”

“That's exactly why you need to get checked out. You don't even know where you are, for heaven's sake.”

She winced at his harsh tone, her eyes burning. He sounded put out. Like he didn't give a flying fig about what was happening to her. That she might have bleeding on the brain or drop dead in two minutes!

He stood. “Come on now. There's no choice. Let's go.” He scooped her up into his arms, frothy skirt and all. His grip was gentle enough, but he held her stiffly, carried her mechanically. She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Maybe when she woke up, this nightmare would be over.

Chapter 3

Z
ac settled his elbows on his knees, watching as the nurse finished with Lucy's IV. They'd given her something to settle her stomach, something for her headache, and a little something to take the edge off. Her eyes were closed, her brows losing that pinched look as the medication took effect.

The nurse left, and Zac let his gaze wander over Lucy's face. Her delicately arching brows, her creamy skin, her pink kiss-me lips. She hadn't changed at all. She still had those vulnerable blue eyes that tugged at him. Reeled him right in. She'd taken the pins out of her long dark hair, and now it cascaded over her shoulders in waves, covering a portion of the ugly hospital gown. He'd been so glad to see her lose that wedding dress.

Wedding dress. He'd about turned around and left when he saw her at the harbor. It had only been seven months since she'd left. How had she managed to fall in love and get engaged so quickly? Or maybe she'd been in love for longer than that. Maybe that's why she'd left him in the first place. The thought was a punch in the gut.

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms, frowning.
What the heck was he doing here? She had a groom somewhere, a groom she loved, and a church full of people wondering what had happened to her.

It didn't add up though. What had she been doing alone in a diner bathroom right before her wedding?

Lucy wasn't the only one with questions.

But he'd have to put his aside for now. The doctor would be in soon with another set of questions. Lucy had filled out her own forms in the busy waiting room, and her pen hadn't even paused over the address line. She'd jotted down the address of her Summer Harbor apartment, only pausing when she'd reached the insurance information.

Lucy had no idea of the extent of her memory loss, and regardless of how she'd left things with him, he still felt protective. He'd have to break it to her easy.

Lucy's eyes fluttered open. She felt ever so much better. Thank God for medication. She was floating a little, but that was just fine. Better that than the horrible anxiety that had sent panic racing through her veins.

Her eyes drifted to Zac, hunched over in the bedside chair. Thank God he was still there. But even with her blurry vision she could see the scowl on his face. It hurt. He'd always been so tender toward her. So protective and sweet.

“Why are you mad at me?” she whispered.

His eyes darted to hers, his face softening. “Feeling better?”

“Much.”

“Good.” He stood and paced the length of the room.

He was so tall. So broad shouldered. He towered over her five-foot-four-inch frame, and when he took her in his arms, she felt safe and loved in a way she hadn't since she was a young girl. His confident presence just took over a room, and right now his long-legged stride was making quick work of the space.

He turned and faced her. “Lucy . . . there are some things you need to be aware of.”

She pulled the sheet up against her chest. “What is it?”

“This . . . wedding.” He gestured toward her gown hanging in the small wardrobe with the door ajar. “It wasn't ours.”

She blinked, trying to see him. Trying to make sense of what he was saying. “Whatever are you talking about?”

He drew a breath and blew it out. “We're not together anymore, Lucy.”

Why was he saying this? A burn started behind her eyes. She shook her head as a knot hardened in her throat.

“We were over months ago. I'm sorry to break it to you like this, but the doctor is going to have questions, and you need to know—you're missing a lot of time.”

Her heart was an aching hole in the center of her chest. It couldn't be true. They couldn't have parted ways. Zac loved her, and she loved him. So much.

She shook her head. “No.”

He neared the bed, stopping just shy of the rail, his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. “It's true. You've lost a good seven months at least.” He kept on in that matter-of-fact voice she was growing to hate.