The Hour of Dreams (18 page)

“Definitely,” I said, feeling excited that his crazy plan of doing this to himself actually seemed to be working.

I helped him gather some clean clothes that I’d brought for him, and then I helped him toward the lounge. He was walking much better, but still used my shoulder for some support, because he had experienced a couple of dizzy spells. Closing the door, I turned on the water, and then realized that he was looking at me with a raised brow.

“You okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” he said, standing still.

In all of my excitement, I’d completely forgotten that I was supposed to only be a helper. One that he had a crush on, but that’s all. And there I was, hovering in the bathroom when he was about to strip down.

“Oops,” I said, embarrassed. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Um…” He glanced at the shower and then back to me. Then his gaze traveled to my ring finger. “Well, not really, but you don’t have to stay. I can handle—”

“Okay, listen,” I murmured, putting my palms out, realizing enough was enough. I didn’t want to keep up the façade anymore. I was just too excited about his progress, and he appeared to be handling everything well. So what if I shocked him with the news. I was ready to move on and get my Wes back. Healthy and strong.

“This may come as a shock to you,” I continued, looking him in the eye, “and I really didn’t want to make you feel obligated to feel a certain way, but here it goes. This ring…” I pointed to it. “You gave it to me. It’s a wedding ring. We’re married. You and me. I’ve loved you forever, and there you have it. So, no, I’m not leaving. I’ll turn around to give you privacy, but don’t feel obligated to shield my virtue, by all means.”

His lips parted, but nothing came out. Shocked by my own words, I instinctively turned and faced the wall, my eyes squeezed shut. What did I just do? It was too soon. Crap.

The air was tense, and the sound of the water hitting the shower floor was deafening against the silence in the room. That’s all I heard. Pounding water drops that muffled Wes’ footsteps as he stepped forward. The electricity of his proximity was so strong, I felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. There he was, right behind me. If I breathed deeply enough, I was sure my back would touch his chest. But we both stood there.

What was he doing? I was afraid to look. Afraid to say anything else. But his closeness screamed to me like it always did. He was right there. If he didn’t want me near him, he wouldn’t be standing so close. Accepting the invite, I just relaxed and leaned back.

It felt unbelievably good and natural. My whole body was leaning into him, and he hadn’t moved an inch. It had seemed like forever since he’d truly held me, and in that moment that’s all I wanted.

As if reading my mind, he wrapped his arms around me and placed his cheek right against my ear. His breath was warm, and it enveloped my face, my neck, my everything. I gave in and started crying, not even knowing why. I was so confused.

“Shh, don’t cry,” he whispered, holding me tighter.

The sound of his voice made it worse. What was the matter with me? At that moment, he turned me around and looked at me.

“Is it that bad?”

“What?” I asked, sucking in a sob.

“Being married to me.”

The absurdity of the assumption stopped me still for a moment. But he was dead serious. So serious, it made me laugh. I shoved him with my forearms, as they were pressed against his chest.

“Of course not,” I retorted, trying to figure out what had happened in the last five minutes.

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because you don’t remember me,” I admitted. No longer able to look him in the eye, I buried my face in his chest. Ugh. I had done it. Managed to turn this back around to me. I truly hated myself for doing it so quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he answered. “I wish it were different. It must be hard, but all I can tell you is that, every day since I woke up, it’s felt like I’ve been missing a big piece of the puzzle. I’ve been trying to reason out what’s happening to me and reconcile with what I feared your ring meant. And to know now? I don’t think I could possibly feel more relieved.”

Taking slow, deep breaths, I managed to settle down, but somehow couldn’t stop myself from plowing on.

“The relief you feel is for Amelia,” I countered. “Not Sophie. I haven’t lived in the same body and mind like you have. We’re soul mates, but I’m a different person. You don’t even know me at all.”

He pulled his head back and stared at the ceiling for a long moment. “Yes, I do,” he said.

“No, you don’t.”

“Really? Then why am I having memories of skiing with you, right now. And of needing a hot shower to warm up? I’ve never been skiing with Amelia.”

My head jerked up. “What?”

He looked at me and shrugged. “I don’t really know, but this shower is making this room hot, and I keep seeing myself with you, in the snow.”

“What?”

“Stop saying that.”

“But—” I shut my mouth, not wanting to push it.

“Did we not go skiing?” he asked.

I nodded, dumbfounded.

He smiled. “See, I don’t remember a lot right now, but I will. And I want you to help me.”

I nodded again, taking a step back and smiling to show that was okay.

“So,” he said, pulling off his shirt. “Since I don’t have to protect your virtue, I’m going to take my shower now. You can turn around if you want to.”

And with that, he turned his back to me—revealing still highly defined muscles—dropped his pants, and stepped into the shower, giving me a devious smile before closing the curtain. I wouldn’t have missed that for the world.

A
fter Wes showered and dressed, he seemed to have more energy, but still wrapped his arm around me for support as we walked down the hall. Somehow, it felt like he was just doing that to encourage me in some way. It was working.

When we got back to Wes’ room, Dr. Carter was waiting. After answering a few questions about how he felt, Wes asked when he could go home. Surprisingly, Dr. Carter’s eyes grew wide before he regained his composure.

“Not yet,” he said.

“Why not?” Wes asked, sounding disappointed.

“Because we’re still monitoring your recovery.”

“I’m fine. Besides a little memory loss and joint soreness, I’m perfectly fine. And I don’t intend on staying around here for long.” He stole a glance in my direction. “I have a life to live.”

Dr. Carter quickly glanced my way. “I’m sure you do, but you must be stable first.”

“I can heal at home with Sophie,” he countered.

“True,” the doctor said. “Well, let’s give it twenty-four more hours. If all seems well, we’ll look into having you released.” His voice was heavy with reluctance.

Had I not been so impressed with Wes’ miraculous recovery and take-charge attitude, I may have tried to decipher Dr. Carter’s resistance. But Wes
was
recovering. He was looking better by the hour, and, after another round of tests, the doctors left him all to me for the afternoon. He couldn’t have looked happier about it.

Once we were alone, he turned to me. “So, what was the surprise you had?”

“Well, it’s just my journal. I had written it thinking that one day you might need to give it to me to remember my past, but I never thought we would use it to help
you
remember yours.”

The corner of his mouth turned up into his signature grin. “I want to remember more,” he offered.

I smiled. “Okay. Let me get it.”

By the time I’d retrieved the journal from my bag, he had settled himself onto the sofa, in the middle, so that no matter which end I decided to sit on, I’d be close to him. That was comforting. Choosing a spot to his right, I settled in, and then became nervous. These were my thoughts. Everything I’d felt and held dear.

I’d written them with the intention of reading them
myself
again one day, not being around while someone else read them. I suddenly felt entirely exposed.

“You okay?” he asked.

I took a deep breath. “Yeah. Just nervous. When I wrote this, I didn’t really think I’d read it to you.”

“You don’t have to.”

I shook my head, knowing. “No, I want to. There are certain parts that will help you understand us, and me.”

“Okay,” he murmured, waiting.

I exhaled and started flipping through the pages. One entry stood out as a good one to start with. I asked him if he wanted me to read it out loud, and he nodded. I skimmed through it first to make sure there wasn’t anything embarrassing. There wasn’t, but I still took a nervous breath before starting.

I had known Wes for about a month before he told me his secret. That was the craziest day of my life. I had suspected something was different about him from the beginning. But it wasn’t until I found the newspaper articles—about his “father” dying in a time period totally different from when Wes said he had—that I began to question his honesty. No, not question. I knew he was lying, which is why I avoided him for several days.

When I could no longer stand not knowing Wes’ reason, I agreed to meet him at the pier. He wasn’t surprised by the discrepancy I’d discovered, but he didn’t come clean either. Instead, he was going to just let me walk away, until some reckless chick fell off the pier and disappeared into the bay.

We both ran after her, and I was about to jump in to help her, without a chance in the world, when Wes stopped me. He jumped in my place, saved her, and almost froze to death. Literally. He looked hypothermic when he came out of the water. Everyone wanted him to go to the hospital, but he refused, begging me to take him home.

Like a robot on autopilot, I did. But when we got there, he was still freezing and looked like death. Although hesitant, I helped him inside and removed his wet clothes, including his pants. I was so nervous, I almost died myself.

Once I had him dried off, I noticed his heart wasn’t beating. Panic took over again, and then I remembered that, in the car, he'd told me that his heartbeat would be so slow, I wouldn’t be able to feel it. He was right. After listening harder, a faint beat was there. It was a crazy, intense moment.

While he was asleep, I looked for something to read, and came across an old journal from 1915, written by a Dr. Thomas. The journal described a girl name Amelia, who had rescued a boy named Weston, and how the doctor had performed an insane, cold-blood experiment on Weston to keep him from bleeding to death.

Even crazier, when Wes woke up the next day, he told me that the boy in the journal was him. Not an ancestor, but him.

He had survived the procedure, but, because of the cold-blood transfusion, his cells were altered, causing him to age slowly—like, one year for every thirty. The idea freaked me out. Who was this crazy guy, talking all this crazy stuff? I didn’t want to know. I bolted out of his house so fast. I needed to think. To get away from him, the crazy guy. But my distance didn’t last long.

By that night, I realized that what he was saying might actually be true. And then I thought about every encounter I had had with him. He was always so gentle, kind, giving, and loving. Everything about him felt right, and something in me burned like I wanted to know more. Like I needed to know more. So, I called him and he came over that night.

Having him there was like an answer in itself. That was the night we first kissed. And that was the night I knew I wanted to be with him.

I learned so much more about him that amazed and intrigued me. For one, aging slowly wasn’t so wonderful. It was a curse and messed with his mind. Somehow it threw off the pace of time for him. But through it all, he told me that the day we met was a gift. Something he’d waited decades for. It was then that I knew I was falling for him, fast.

Reading my words, I felt like I was reliving the moment, and my heart softened at the memory. I loved him so much and hoped he would feel the same way. Taking a deep breath, I glanced up at him to find his gaze locked on mine. His eyes were more moist than usual, with possibly a hint of sadness to them. I couldn’t tell.

His silence was driving me crazy. “Do you remember anything?” I prodded.

“Keep reading, please,” was all he said.

I tried to decipher his expression, but couldn’t, so I cleared my throat and looked back down. Flipping through more pages, I tried to find another entry that was fitting. So far I’d given him a peek into his past and how we fell in love, so I moved along.

My fingers stopped at another entry. I began reading.

Things are pretty crazy. Ever since I was kidnapped by a jealous psycho ex-boyfriend from a previous life, who thought he'd figured out that Wes was the secret to immortality, life has been a rollercoaster. For one, Ms. Mary was murdered, and the police put Wes under the microscope, since he killed the crazy kidnapper in self-defense. And now another person I knew is dead.

I paused, taking a moment to look at Wes for any signs of recollection. “Ms. Mary was the older lady who helped out at the bookstore. Do you remember her?”

He looked around the room and nodded. “It’s coming back to me as you read.”

Really?
I smiled hopefully and kept reading.

Media publicity was the last thing he needed. He’d been trying to stay under the radar for a hundred years, fearing the world would break out in chaos if everyone thought they could live forever. And now we had to be careful. To make matters worse, Ms. Mary’s position at the bookstore was filled by a weirdo. Chase was always acting strange, and oddly reminded me of psycho kidnapper.