Page 17 of From Square One

The proposition makes me want to kick at his excessively long shins. He’s not wrong, though. The reason I briefly remember him kissing me is because I smelled peppermint while I was in the hospital bed. By rooting myself in my past actions, maybe I can unearth missing pieces. Even if it means…ugh. Following the physical progression of our relationship, too.

“Fine,” I say, trying not to sound as rattled as I feel. I’m not blind. Aaron is attractive, even beyond his snow-prince appearance. It’s the confident gait, the cocky smile, the way he stands. But he comes with several qualities that make me shudder. So the fact that I’ve kissed him, slept with him, is still something I can’t comprehend.

“I draw the line at sex,” I say sternly.

I figure Aaron will make a snide or flirty comment like We’ll see about that, but there’s warmth in his next smile. “No sex,” he agrees. “Unless you initiate it.”

“I won’t,” I assure him.

“But if you do.” He sprawls a hand over his chest. “I will allow it.”

“How selfless.”

Aaron snickers and wanders off the porch. “Tonight, we’ll re-create the night I asked you out. I came over around midnight, so be ready.” He saunters toward his car. “Keep your window unlocked. Oh, and avoid mentioning our plans to Logan.”

“I didn’t say we should start immediately!” I cry out. “It hasn’t even been a week since the accident. Maybe my memories will start coming back in the next few days, and then we won’t have to do this ridiculous plan—”

“Too late. It’s already been added to my mental calendar: Midnight—rile Riley.”

I think I’m about to tell him off, but then I remember why he came here in the first place. I call, “Wait—you forgot your snacks.”

Aaron is circling around the driver’s side of his truck when he pauses. “Keep them,” he says. “You get cranky when you don’t have snacks.”

I can’t muster a response before he’s closing the door and driving off. My shoulders slump, and I say, “You didn’t have to do that.”

I shouldn’t feel guilty—I’m going to reimburse him for the grocery list later, so he’s basically making my parents pay for unnecessary snacks. Yet the fact that it was on his mind…

I knead my temple, the pulsing lump in my head becoming a familiar pain. Now that he’s gone, it’s coming back. The frailness in my legs, the soreness of my bones, the relentless fatigue. Aaron kept me so distracted, I nearly forgot that I’m falling apart.

I push inside to put away the remaining groceries. As soon as I’m through the frame, Logan has my wrist in a viselike grip, so tight that it causes a pang to shoot through my forearm. “Ow,” I choke out, but he’s already talking over me.

“Why did you let him in?”

I look up at Logan, astonished. The apples of his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are frenzied, like he’s seconds from detonating. “I didn’t ask him to come,” I say, to which his nostrils flare.

“But you let him inside,” he growls.

“He’s been following me around like a lapdog,” I say defensively, mirroring his aggravated tea-green gaze with mine. “And he doesn’t listen when I tell him to leave.”

“Right, no, of course.” Logan nods with a vehement smile. “How could I forget that the whole reason this bullshit started in the first place is because you’re a fucking doormat who can’t put your foot down or stand up for yourself? Silly me.”

His words are shivs to my chest. Water glasses my eyes. I don’t recognize this person. Logan has never been aggressive with me, has never shouted at me. Even as children, we rarely fought—our temperaments were mild, so when we were upset, the flames rising between us quickly sputtered out. I’ve never seen him succumb to emotions like this, especially not toward me.

“Do you hate me?” I whisper.

Logan’s attention flits to his unforgiving grip on my arm, and he snaps his hand to his side, his eyes widening with horror. He staggers several steps backward. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I didn’t mean…Shit, Riley. I’m sorry. It’s just…knowing what he’s done…I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

Of course he did. My entire arm is throbbing. My chest is on fire. “No,” I mumble.

Logan groans, dropping his face into his palms. “I’m sorry. I watched him poison your mind for a year, so seeing him near you makes me want to scream. Given the chance, he’ll do it again. Because he hates me.”

I can’t even defend myself, and that makes the sinking sensation even worse. He’s right. I could’ve put my foot down and not acknowledged Aaron. But my half-hearted attempts to keep him at bay only encouraged him to pursue me. Because of that, I’m now wrapped up in a foolish plan to regain my memories—one that involves me putting myself in the exact same scenarios that presumably ruined my life. And my family’s. Logan has every right to be accusatory.

It still hurts, though.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’ll try not to be such a doormat.”

Logan’s face twists with regret. “I didn’t mean that,” he says, reaching for me, but I dodge his grip because it’s not as kind as the other one. Seeking distraction, I work on putting the remaining groceries away, then search for the labels so I can mark my gluten-free food and put it somewhere separate. The usual cabinet I keep my items stored in has been stuffed with regular pantry products, so I have to clean it out. I fumble around for gloves and a mask—there’s flour on the top shelf—then crawl onto the counter and start scrubbing, my knees shivering with strain.