Page 60 of Unbreakable Thread

Hector clears his throat. “You know what I once said to my wife? This was before Max was born. Marabel was jealous of this woman. ‘That woman might be beautiful, but she doesn’t get my heart racing as you do.’ I told her, and it was true; no woman compared to her. I’d never remarry because I would never find what I had with her. One thing I do know is, he’s my blood and comes from a mother who had a heart of gold, and he would be a dumbass to let you go and be with Annette. My son might be stubborn, but dumb? No. That possessive ass will be knocking your doors down soon.”

A gentle female voice announces that allotted time for the call has ended. “Hector, can you please keep what Carlos said private?” I would rather tell Max myself. When I’m ready. If Carlos is the reason we aren’t together, Max deserves to know. But right now, I don’t even know what we are. His face is all over the papers with another woman.

Eight missed calls doesn’t erase that photo. I can’t. Not yet.

He grumbles under his breath. “Fine, but you need to tell Max about that scheming son of a bitch. I met him, and I didn’t like him. There was something off about Carlos. At first, I thought it was because I was drunk, but even then, I could see it. When you pick me up, bring my son with you.”

Wait, what? Bring Max with me on a two-hour drive? Hell no. “I⁠—”

“Rainey, I asked for an extra week, so pick me up in two weeks with Max. Maybe by then you two will be in a better place. Take care of yourself and my grandbaby. I can’t wait to meet him or her.”

“What if—” Dammit, he cuts me off again.

“Everything will be fine,” he says, then the line clicks.

I groan. I don’t even want to be in the same space as Max. How am I going to tell him about his dad? And get him in the car for a two-hour drive?

I knock on the professor’s door after school for tutoring. Being out of college for five years has been hard; I can’t remember anything, especially when my mind is elsewhere half the time. It’s not the same when you’re fresh out of high school. “Come in,” Professor Mills calls from the other side of the door.

The door creaks when I open it. “Hi.” I wave at him when he peers up from a textbook on his desk.

“Hola, Sol.” He laughs. “It feels a little strange calling you Sol. Maybe you can tell me the story behind it sometime.”

“Yes, maybe.” I glance around his office. He has a large mahogany desk, polished to a gleam that catches the afternoon light from the window, and a worn leather sofa with indentations that hint at years of visitors sinking into its cushions. On the walls, motivation posters, a bookshelf filled with textbooks, and family photos on his desk. “Is this your family?” I ask, lifting the frame.

He grins. “Yes, this is my crazy family.” He points. “This is my mom. Next to her, my dad and my brothers, whom you met that one night at the cabin when I had that party.”

My cheeks steam with embarrassment at the remembrance of that night. What was I thinking, going dressed the way I did? “You have a lovely family.” I don’t see any photos of a woman; surely he should be married by now or have kids. I never glanced at his hands until now. No wedding ring.

Mills pulls out a chair for me to sit in, then pulls out another for him next to me. “Let’s get started.”

“Anyone else coming?” I ask, pulling out my laptop from my bag and my notebook.

“No, you’re the only one who signed up.”

Honestly, I’m okay with that. He’s never been disrespectful toward me, and he’s my teacher. It’s not like Max and I are together. I shake my head. Why should I care what he thinks? He’s probably with Annette.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

We go over today’s assignment on the human brain, his textbooks splayed open to reveal glossy diagrams of neural pathways and synaptic connections.

His knuckles tap on the desk. “Did you get that?”

I’ve been taking notes.

“Is there anything I need to repeat?”

I shake my head. “I got it. There is one thing I would like to ask you.”

“Lay it on me.”

I had been meaning to ask him about this. “What can you tell me about amnesia and regaining memory years later? How does it all work? I’ve heard it’s rare to regain it, but what about you losing every bit and piece of your memory?”

His phone dings, and he doesn’t even spare it a glance. His gaze is on me when he scoots it to the side. “You have my undivided attention. I love talking about the human mind. It’s fascinating. But before we get started, is there any particular reason why? Let me know if I’m prying.”

I knew he would ask. As much as I don’t like talking about it to others, I will tell him parts of it, and of course, nothing too private. He’s basically the only one I can ask; it’s not like my therapist is going to sit and talk to me about how the human mind works. Although I did a lot of Google research, it’s best to talk to someone who’s studied it.

“I found out months ago I was adopted at the age of eleven, and I didn’t recall my past because when my parents adopted me, I was in an accident, and well, that’s how I got amnesia. I regained it months ago when I was in another accident.”