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A Husband She Couldn't Forget
Christine Rimmer
Can losing her memory… Help her find her future? When Alyssa Santangelo, is involved in an accident she wakes to find she has no memory of the last seven years, and the fact she is divorced from the only man she’s ever loved! Refusing to accept the end of her marriage she must prove she has not given up on Connor… especially when a night of passion leads to an unexpected surprise…


The career she couldn’t remember...
The marriage she couldn’t forget
Aly Santangelo’s car accident left her with no memory of the past seven years—not her move to New York, nor her divorce from Connor Bravo. Connor reminds the vulnerable beauty that they’re no longer together, even as he lets her into his home—and his bed. But when unchecked passion leads to an unplanned pregnancy, Aly vows to play for keeps!
CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. She tried everything from acting to teach-ing to telephone sales. Now she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly. She insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine lives with her family in Oregon. Visit her at christinerimmer.com (http://www.christinerimmer.com)
Also by Christine Rimmer (#uda936b70-bc73-518b-a035-2bc1ed3ab8b8)
The Nanny’s Double Trouble
Almost a Bravo
Same Time, Next Christmas
Switched at Birth
Not Quite Married
The Good Girl’s Second Chance
Carter Bravo’s Christmas Bride
James Bravo’s Shotgun Bride
Ms. Bravo and the Boss
A Bravo for Christmas
Holiday Royale
A Maverick to (Re)Marry
Her Favourite Maverick
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
A Husband She Couldn’t Forget
Christine Rimmer


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09164-0
A HUSBAND SHE COULDN’T FORGET
© 2019 Christine Rimmer
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Note to Readers (#uda936b70-bc73-518b-a035-2bc1ed3ab8b8)
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For MSR, always.
Contents
Cover (#u9ff141f2-a0e0-5ae0-b3ec-98fe0d7024b0)
Back Cover Text (#ub406b347-743c-52c7-b3ce-9ec8ce202f9e)
About the Author (#u7b75580c-39a1-56ce-9b65-4c5c6e9d00a2)
Booklist (#ufecf580f-86a5-5cd8-b7d9-8dd36aa6e9a8)
Title Page (#ue158c458-3e99-5760-9c3e-9b68fe7e0eca)
Copyright (#u28a45bd4-afc6-5d41-a272-5667c8f3e93d)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#uba9d6be6-5f4c-5392-96b4-1ddfdd4019e7)
Chapter One (#u9150e841-93c2-5b58-9ce4-0def851d6d65)
Chapter Two (#u3fe89a81-982a-538e-a670-69746715b567)
Chapter Three (#u22b70df5-11de-58e1-9bd3-a88c26a26f5d)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#uda936b70-bc73-518b-a035-2bc1ed3ab8b8)
The accident never should have happened. And it wouldn’t have happened if Alyssa Santangelo hadn’t let herself get distracted by thoughts of the past.
With a long stay in her hometown ahead of her, Aly had promised herself that this time, she would not try to keep a low profile. This time, she wouldn’t be slinking around town like a heartsick fool, trying to avoid any chance she might run into the guy who’d lied and broken her heart and had her served with divorce papers after making zero effort to work things out.
And there. She’d just done it. Let her mind stray into dangerous territory. She wasn’t going to do that. She would not think about him.
And she wasn’t thinking about him. Not really.
She was only reassuring herself as to how this visit would go, only bolstering her resolution to stand tall and be strong. With a deep breath and a determined smile, she focused on the road ahead of her.
The drive from Portland International to Valentine Bay was a beautiful one. They called this section of US Route 26 the Sunset Highway. It wound in and out of the national forest, working its way west toward the setting sun.
It was just twilight on a warm Saturday evening in July. Aly had the windows down in her rental car and the air smelled of spruce and fir. Of Oregon.
Of home.
And her thoughts...
Her thoughts just wouldn’t behave. They kept drifting, wandering, pretending to stay in the present, and then circling back again.
To her ex, to Connor Bravo.
Really, she hardly thought of the guy anymore—or if she did, she reminded herself firmly to stop thinking of him, to count her blessings instead.
And her blessings were many. She had a job she loved at Strategic Image. The ad agency had hired her as an assistant to an assistant straight out of the University of Oregon. She’d started at the bottom of the ladder, but she’d moved up fast. She’d made friends, good friends, the kind a woman can count on. Her current apartment in Tribeca was perfect, a small space, but with a huge closet for her fabulous wardrobe. She was living her dream in New York, New York.
Only one thing was missing—the right man to share her life with.
It wasn’t as though she hadn’t tried to find him. She put herself out there, dating guys her friends had introduced her to and guys she met via Match and Coffee Meets Bagel. Somehow, though, that special something was always missing. Her relationships never lasted that long. The most recent of those had ended a couple weeks ago. Kyle Santos was a great guy. He just wasn’t the right guy. It had seemed wrong to drag things out, so she’d broken it off with him.
And seriously, what was she brooding about? She was only twenty-nine and mostly focused on her job. She would find the man for her, eventually. And she would get it right the second time around.
Coming home, though...
Well, it was tough. The memories were everywhere she turned. She and Connor used to drive this stretch of highway together several times a year, going back and forth from OU in Eugene. They would stop at rustic, logging-themed Camp 18 for burgers and to give their phones a workout snapping pictures of each other, mugging it up with the chainsaw sculpture of Big Foot at the entrance to the gift shop.
Those were the good times. The best times.
Too bad Connor had screwed everything up, lying to keep her and then refusing to even try the life he’d sworn he was eager to live with her.
She blinked and refocused and reminded herself yet again to cut it out.
Didn’t work.
Seven years since he’d divorced her, and still it took only an hour on the Sunset Highway for the memories to come flooding back.
Did he ever think of her?
Oh, I don’t think so...
During one brief visit home five years ago, she’d seen him down on Beach Street with a blonde. They’d looked like a Ralph Lauren ad, Connor and the blonde, both of them all tawny, tanned and fit. Aly had ducked into a leather goods store before he could spot her, but the damage was done. The sight of him with another woman had cut her to the quick.
Aly clutched the steering wheel more tightly. She swallowed hard and blinked against the hot pressure of rising tears.
Seriously. What was the matter with her?
Seven years since her marriage ended. She hadn’t spoken to the man once in all that time and she never would. She really was over him, definitely.
“You’re doing it. Again,” she whispered at the windshield, her voice disgustingly breathy, weighted with despair. She flexed her fingers to relax them. It was years ago. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t coming home for him.
“Woman up,” she muttered to the empty car.
If she saw him, she saw him. Get over it. He has.
Up ahead, headlights gleamed. It was weird, in the fading light. The oncoming vehicle almost looked as though it had swerved into her lane.
Scant seconds later she realized the horrible truth. The headlights were in her lane.
With a sharp cry, she jerked the wheel hard to the right to avoid impact—too hard, she realized too late. The thick trunk of a Douglas fir reared up beyond the windshield.
A split second later, the world went black.


Voices.
They seemed to come from all around her. Voices and sirens and strange sounds—air escaping, metal creaking. Her chest felt like someone had whacked it with a hammer. And the skin of her face, which was buried in something that smelled like singed baby powder, burned as though she’d face-planted on asphalt.
She heard a groaning sound. It came from her own mouth.
A man’s voice near her left ear said, “She’s coming around.”
Another groan escaped her. Gritting her teeth, she willed her body into action and somehow managed to flop back away from the smelly thing that covered her face—an air bag! The smelly thing was an air bag.
With yet another groan, she put it together. Somehow, she’d been in an accident, and it looked pretty bad...
Carefully, she turned her head to meet the worried eyes of the state trooper staring at her through the wide-open driver’s-door window. Red light from a light bar reflected on his face in strobe-like flashes.
“It’s okay,” the trooper promised, in that tone people use when it really isn’t, but what else can you say? “We’re going to get you out of there. Can you talk to me?”
“I...yes. Of course.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Uh.” She tried to decide. “I think I’m all in one piece, at least.”
“Good girl. What else?”
“There’s...some pain. My chest aches. And my face...” It really did feel as though someone had taken a cheese grater to her cheeks and forehead.
“That’s from the air bag,” the trooper said.
Aly shut her eyes and dropped her head to the seat rest again. “Everything hurts, but I don’t think anything is broken...” Or maybe she was just in shock and didn’t even realize she was almost dead.
“Hold tight,” the trooper said. “I promise we’re going to get you out of there as quickly as we can...”
It took a while. They brought out the Jaws of Life and sawed her free of the ruined car, which had folded itself around her like a big metal pretzel.
The EMTs moved in. They talked about how lucky she was—her face a little scratched up, a big bruise forming like a beauty pageant banner diagonally across her chest from the seat belt. On her left knee, she had a cut that would need stitches.
And she’d sustained what they called a mild traumatic brain injury—seriously, who even knew you could use the words mild and traumatic brain injury in the same sentence? One of the EMTs said they estimated she’d been unconscious for less than ten minutes. Patiently, they guided Aly through the basic vision and consciousness tests.
She passed, the paramedic reassured her. She was going to be fine. The woman patted her shoulder gently. And Aly felt such gratitude, like a warm wave washing through her aching chest.
So what if everything hurt? She was lucky to be alive and relatively unharmed.
The EMTs gave permission for her to talk briefly to another state trooper, a woman this time. Aly tried to remember. She recalled passing Camp 18, but after that, it was all a blur.
“I don’t know, really, how it happened, or why I hit that tree. I think there were headlights, maybe, coming at me, in my lane...”
The trooper nodded. “We have a witness, a woman in a vehicle who wasn’t far behind you. She saw the other car in your lane and barely swerved in time to avoid a collision herself. She’s the one who called 9-1-1. Unfortunately, her description of the oncoming car is too vague for identification. She said she thought it was a dark sedan.”
“So, whoever it was will get off scot-free?”
The trooper gave a shrug of regret. “It happens—too often, sad to say.”
Aly put her hand to her head. “I’m sorry. My head really hurts.”
The officer was sympathetic. “I’ll let you go, then.” She gave Aly a card. “Call this number if anything more comes back to you.”
“What about my things? They’re still in what’s left of the car.”
The trooper gave her another card with a number to call to get her stuff once what was left of the car had been “processed” and “cleared.”
And that was it. The EMTs loaded her into an ambulance and off they went to Valentine Bay Memorial.


At the hospital, she kept telling everyone that she felt fine, just a little banged up with a headache. She asked to call her parents. The request brought soothing noises and promises that she could make the call “soon.” They took her vitals and examined her more thoroughly for any new and potentially worrisome symptoms from her head injury. The air bag burns were declared minor and treated with a gentle cleaning and antibiotic ointment.
In the end, the doctor in charge prescribed a night at the hospital for observation. Barring complications, he promised, she would be released the next morning.
They moved her to a regular room and she used the phone by the bed to call her mom, who answered on the second ring with, “If you’re a telemarketer, hang up now.”
Her cheeks still hurt, but Aly smiled anyway. “Hey, Mom. It’s me.”
Catriona Santangelo said nothing for a slow count of three, after which she stated carefully, “You’re not calling from your phone and we expected you two hours ago.”
“Yeah, well...” Alyssa let her head drop back to the pillow with a sigh. “Can you believe I don’t even know where to start with this?”
“What’s happened?”
“I’m fine, I promise you. Are you in bed?” Aly’s mom was forty-eight—and seven months pregnant with her fifth son. In recent weeks, her blood pressure had climbed. She’d had cramping and some bleeding and the family doctor had put her on modified bed rest—which was why Aly, who never came home for more than a few days at a stretch, had taken an extended leave from her job in Manhattan. At a time like this, Cat needed her only daughter at her side and Aly needed to be with her mom.
Cat scoffed, “Of course I’m in bed. I hardly dare to get up to go to the bathroom. The men in this family will be the death of me, I swear. Overprotective is too tame a word for your father and your brothers, let me tell you.”
“And yet here you are, having another one.”
“God never gives us more than we can handle—plus, well, you know your father.” Ernesto Santangelo was a plumber by trade. He was strong and fit at fifty and he loved Aly’s mom with a fiery passion, to say the least. Cat’s voice grew husky. “Impulsive and so romantic. What can I say? I could never resist him.”
“La, la, la—I don’t want to hear about your, er, private life, Mom.”
Cat started laughing and then Aly was laughing, too—until she gasped at the pain around her ribs. “Ouch!”
“All right, Alyssa,” her mother said sternly. “What is going on?”
“It’s nothing that serious. I was in a little accident, that’s all. My rental car was totaled, but I’m going to be fine.”
More dead air on the line. Alyssa’s mom never got hysterical. Cat was the strong, silent, effective type in any emergency. “Tell me,” she finally commanded. “Tell me everything. Now.”
Aly explained what she could remember about the accident, finishing with, “I don’t really remember why, exactly, I veered off the road and hit a tree, but when I came to, the car was a goner.”
“Thank God you’re all right—but a mild TBI? That’s still a concussion, right?”
“Yes. And do not get out of bed, Mom. Do not come to the hospital.”
“But are you sure that you’re...?”
“A little battered and very relieved to be all in one piece. That’s where I am on this. They’re keeping me overnight, but only for observation. It’s nothing serious and I’ll be home with you in the morning.”
After another unhappy silence, Cat promised to stay put. “Your father and your brothers will be there soon,” she said. “Give me the number there in your room.”
Aly rattled it off.
“I love you, Alyssa Siobhan.”
“I love you, Mom.” She said goodbye.
Twenty minutes later, her dad appeared. He kissed her carefully on her forehead and called her Bella, the way he always did. She reassured him that she was doing fine.
Within the next half hour, her four brothers filed in. They surrounded her, a wall of Italian-Irish-American testosterone, their thick, dark eyebrows scrunched up with worry for her. She reassured them that it looked worse than it was and the doctors were only keeping her till tomorrow to be on the safe side.
Her dad announced that he and the boys would be staying at the hospital with her. The nurses brought extra chairs and the men settled in to keep her company. They took turns visiting the cafeteria and the beverage machines in the waiting area for refreshments. Her head was aching a little and she started to feel really tired.
“Go to sleep,” urged her dad, his warm, rough hand gently squeezing her arm. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Dad, really. You guys don’t need to stay.”
He patted her hand. “Just rest. Close your eyes and let it all go...”
She followed his whispered instructions. But before she could drift off, a nurse came in and shooed the men out to take her blood pressure and her temperature, to test her pupil reaction and ask her about her level of pain, which was minimal.
When the nurse left, her dad and her brother Marco returned to sit with her. They talked a little. Marco reported that he’d enjoyed his first year at OU. Her dad reassured her that her mom was safe at home, tucked into bed per doctor’s orders, with her brother Pascal’s wife, Sandy, looking after her.
Aly’s eyes drifted closed again and her father’s deep voice faded to a low drone in the background...


She woke late in the night, with no idea where she was. Startled, she popped up straight in the strange bed and sent a bewildered glance around the dark room.
She saw her oldest brother, Dante, slumped down asleep in the bedside chair. Something must have happened to her...
She glanced across the room and saw the institutional clock on the wall. There was a bed tray and rollers next to her bed—a hospital bed.
An accident. I’ve been in an accident—haven’t I?
Her knee throbbed dully, her cheeks and forehead burned and she had a mild headache. Every time she took a breath, her chest hurt—from the seat belt, most likely.
She must have made a noise, because as she sagged back to the pillow again, Dante flinched and opened his eyes. “Hey, little sis.” He’d always called her that, even though she was second oldest, after him. “How you feelin’?”
“Everything aches,” she grumbled. “But I’ll live.” Longing flooded her, for the comfort of her husband’s strong arms. She needed him near. He would soothe all her pains and ease her weird, formless fears. “Where’s Connor gotten off to?”
Dante’s mouth fell half-open, as though in bafflement at her question. “Connor?”
He looked so befuddled, she couldn’t help chuckling a little, even though laughing made her chest and ribs hurt. “Yeah. Connor. You know, that guy I married nine years ago—my husband, your brother-in-law?”
Dante sat up. He also continued to gape at her like she was a few screwdrivers short of a full tool kit. “Uh, what’s going on? You think you’re funny?”
“Funny? Because I want my husband?” She bounced back up to a sitting position. “What, exactly, is happening here? I mean it, Dante. Be straight with me. Where’s Connor?”
Now Dante sat very still, as though he feared the slightest movement might set her off, make her do something dangerous.
And she felt dangerous. A scream of fear and longing crawled up her throat. She swallowed it down and demanded, “I want Connor. Go get him and tell him I need him. Now.” Her headache was worse, pounding so hard, a merciless hammer inside her head.
Dante patted the air between them, trying to soothe her, to settle her down. “Aly, you have to—”
“Connor!” She practically shouted. “Get me my husband, Dante. Bring him in here to me. Now.”
“Okay.” Dante leaped to his feet. “Take a deep breath and try to relax. I’ll be right back...” He raced out the door.
She pressed a hand to the sore spot on her head as it throbbed all the harder. “Connor,” she whispered, shutting her eyes, willing him to come to her. Connor, I need you. I need you so much...
A nurse bustled in, Dante close on her heels. “What can I get for you, Alyssa?”
“My husband,” she demanded. “I want you to get my husband in here now.”
Chapter Two (#uda936b70-bc73-518b-a035-2bc1ed3ab8b8)
Wednesday morning, just as Connor Bravo was about to leave for work, the doorbell rang.
Connor dropped his briefcase on the floor by the stairs leading down to the garage and went to answer, half expecting it to be Mrs. Garber from next door looking for Maurice. The lean, black cat was always getting out. He would strut around the neighborhood, his skinny tail held high, like he owned every house on Sandpiper Lane—and the people in them, too.
But it wasn’t Mrs. Garber.
“Hello, Connor.” Dante Santangelo, dressed in Valentine Bay PD blues, stuck his fists in his pockets and gave Conner a barely perceptible nod.
“Dante.” What was he doing here? Once, they’d been best friends. But for the past seven years, they’d both taken pains to steer clear of each other.
Alyssa? The name ricocheted in his brain, a boomerang with sharp edges.
Had something happened to her? Just the thought had him widening his stance to keep from staggering where he stood. “What?” he heard himself ask, the single word ragged, overloaded with equal parts fear and regret—fear for whatever could be so bad it had brought her brother to his door again.
And regret for all the ways that he, Connor, had messed up. He’d been a complete ass and he knew it, a selfish kid who’d screwed up his marriage to the most amazing woman in the world—and then refused to even try to fix what he’d broken.
How many times had he wished he could have another shot?
Too many.
But he didn’t deserve another shot. He’d thrown away what he wanted most. And when he’d finally admitted to himself what an idiot he’d been, it was a long way past too late.
The hard fact was that the best thing he could do for Aly was to leave her the hell alone, let her live the life she loved in New York City and find a better guy than him.
Dante’s expression gave him nothing. “We need to talk.”
His heart in his throat and his gut twisted into a double knot, Connor stepped back and gestured his ex-best friend inside.
Dante refused Connor’s stilted offer of coffee. In the living room, Aly’s brother stood by the slate fireplace and flatly recited the scary facts. “Four days ago, driving home from Portland International, reportedly in an effort to avoid an oncoming car, Aly swerved and ran into a tree. She wasn’t speeding, but she was going fast enough that her rental car was totaled.”
Connor’s heart, still stuck in his throat, seemed to have turned to a block of solid ice. “What are you telling me? My God, is she...?”
“She’s alive, but she’s pretty banged up. And she had a concussion. She was knocked unconscious, though not for that long.”
Connor’s heart slid down into his chest again and recommenced beating—too fast. “So then, you’re saying she’s okay?”
“Not exactly...”
Connor shoved his hands in his own pockets to keep from grabbing Dante and shaking more information from him—or worse, punching him a few times until he finally explained what had happened to Aly. “Is she okay or not?”
“At first, we thought she was going to be fine.”
“But...?”
“She woke up before dawn the morning after the wreck, and asked for you.”
For a split second, he was the happiest man on the planet—until reality hit him. “She hates me. Why would she ask for me?”
Dante looked at him kind of warily. “Look, man. Maybe you ought to sit down, you know?”
“Just answer the question.”
“Suit yourself. It’s, well, it’s some kind of weird amnesia.”
“What? Wait. Amnesia? What are you telling me? You’re making no sense.”
Dante glared. “I’m trying. But you need to shut up long enough for me to explain.”
Connor winced. “Sorry.” He forked his fingers back through his hair. “I’ll keep my mouth shut. Go on.”
Dante eyed him with skepticism, but then laid it right out there. “My sister is firmly convinced that the two of you are still married.”
Still married. Him and Aly? “That’s crazy.”
“Now you’re getting the picture.” Dante’s expression was bleak. “We’ve tried everything—arguing, reasoning, begging, pacifying. Nothing seems to get her past it. She will not accept that you two have been divorced for years.”
“But...her doctors, they must have some idea of what to do, how to handle this.”
“They’ve tried. There have been CT scans and MRIs, long visits with a therapist—and with Father Francis, too.”
Father Francis. The name brought back memories. Of the little Catholic church on Ocean Road where all the Santangelos had been baptized. Of Aly, a vision in white, coming down the aisle to him. Their wedding had been small, just the families, and put together quickly because they wanted to be married more than they’d wanted all the trappings of a big ceremony and a fancy reception. Father Francis had led them through their wedding vows.
Dante continued, “The brain imaging tests revealed nothing out of the normal range. Father Francis keeps reminding us that God will find a way. The doctors predict that over time she will remember she’s not married anymore and hasn’t been for years. Her real life will come back to her.”
“But...what about right now? How is she now?”
“She’s suffering.” Dante’s dark eyes accused him. “She keeps demanding to see you. At first, she cried and carried on, refusing to listen when we told her that you’d divorced her years ago. Now, she just quietly insists that she doesn’t believe us and she needs to talk to you. We’re kind of out of options at this point. And she’s only getting calmer—and at the same time, more scarily insistent. She says that if you won’t come to her, she’ll hunt you down and demand to know what’s going on, why you’ve suddenly deserted her.”
Connor swore low and sank to the fireplace seat.
Dante went on, “It got worse this morning. She’s started to think that something bad must have happened to you. She’s staying at my folks’ house. Mom called me a half an hour ago to tell me that at breakfast Aly called Dad a liar right to his face. About broke the old man’s heart. I mean, she is his favorite. She told Dad she needed him to tell her why we were all keeping the awful truth from her. My mother’s pregnant, on bed rest. She doesn’t need the extra stress of worrying that Aly’s going to climb out a window and run off in search of you.”
“Of course not.” Connor had always liked Aly’s mom. “Cat’s having another baby?” She had to be almost fifty.
Dante sneered at him. “Didn’t I just say that?”
Connor put up a hand. “Can you dial back the hostility a notch or two, maybe? It’s not helping.”
“Yeah, well. Let’s just be honest here. I don’t trust you. You bring out the worst in me.”
“What do you want me to do, Dante?”
Aly’s brother shook his head. “I hate it. I don’t want you anywhere near her. But she really needs to see you. She needs to hear the truth from you.”
“No problem.” He’d deserted her once. This time, he would be there when she needed him. “I’ll go to her. You said she’s at your parents’ house?”
“Yeah. They discharged her from Memorial day before yesterday.”
“I’ll go over to your folks’ house right now.” He stood.
“You’ll talk to her new shrink first,” growled Dante. “And you’ll do what the doctor tells you to do.”
Connor put up both hands in complete surrender. “However it has to be, I’m in. Where do I go to see the psychiatrist?”
“You don’t go anywhere. I’ll drive you there.”
“Why?”
“The family won’t have you taking this over, trying to run this show. You’re not her husband anymore. You’ve got no claim on her and if you want to help, you’ll do it our way.”
A spike of adrenaline had Connor on the verge of saying something he would almost certainly regret. But he wasn’t the same hotheaded, self-centered kid he’d been when he’d ruined his marriage to Aly. This wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about Dante. It wasn’t about their lifelong friendship that had been tested more than once and ended up turning into something hard and dark and ready to explode.
This was about Aly. Connor would remember that. “Fine. I’ll ride with you.” He took his cell from his pocket. “Let me just call Daniel.” The oldest of Connor’s siblings, Daniel ran the family company, Valentine Logging. Connor was CFO.
Dante eyed him with furious suspicion. “We don’t need the family business on the street. What’s your brother got to do with this?”
“For God’s sake, chill. I need to let Daniel know I won’t be in today.”


Dr. Serena Warbury had her office in Valentine Bay’s downtown historic district. She’d taken a room on the second floor of a rambling two-story Craftsman-style house repurposed for professional use. Connor and Dante sat in the downstairs waiting room until Dr. Warbury was ready for them.
Dante didn’t even try to make conversation. He sat with his elbows on the chair arms, fingers laced together between them, and never once even glanced in Connor’s direction.
Connor thumbed through a dog-eared Sports Illustrated. When that got old, he stared out the window and tried not to worry too much about Aly. Eventually, the therapist came down the stairs and led them up to the second floor.
Right off, Connor liked Dr. Warbury. She was smart and direct. It took her no time at all to figure out that Dante’s hostility toward his ex-brother-in-law wouldn’t help the situation. She sent Dante back downstairs to wait. He wasn’t happy about it, but he went.
Connor refused a cup of herbal tea. He took a chair by a window with a partial view of the Pacific a few blocks away. The therapist repeated what Dante had already told him about Aly’s condition and how it would most likely fade over time on its own.
She went on to explain, “Right now, we want her to take it easy. That’s unlikely to happen until we can reduce the anguish and confusion she’s suffering, with her brain telling her one thing and everyone else insisting otherwise. She needs a lot of rest and as little excitement and stress as possible.”
“I get all that. But what can I do?”
“To help her, you will have to be patient and kind—and honest, too. The whole point is to reassure Alyssa that everything will work out, while at the same time never giving her any less than the truth. You can’t ‘humor’ her or go along when she insists something’s true that isn’t. You have to be frank. You are divorced and have been for several years. If she tries to insist otherwise, you must quietly and firmly tell her that’s not true.”
“No lies. I can do that.”
“And you mustn’t indulge your own emotions, either. You have to be calm and steady. Let her lead the conversation. And no matter what she says, you must not become defensive or angry. This is not about you, not an opportunity for you to justify your past actions, whatever they might have been. I’m not privy to the details of your divorce, but I understand from what members of her family have said that it was not amicable.”
“They’re right. I was a dick, okay?”
“Well.” Dr. Warbury seemed to be hiding a smile. “Don’t be overly hard on yourself, either.”
“I get it. I honestly do.”
“If you’re going to become upset, you will upset Alyssa.”
“I won’t upset her,” he vowed, and wondered at himself to promise such a thing. Anything could happen. She might take one look at him and realize he really just pissed her the hell off, no matter how bland and even-tempered he managed to be.
Dr. Warbury smoothed her yellow skirt. “I believe it could be helpful to her, to see you and reassure herself that you are all right, to hear it from you that you two are divorced. But if you don’t think you can keep control of your emotions, please say so now and I will recommend to you and to her family that you stay away.”
By then, he was seriously considering backing out. If seeing him ended up only making it worse for her, he would never forgive himself.
But at the same time, he really wanted to help—and he needed to see her, to find out for himself just how bad off she was, to do whatever he could to make things more bearable for her. She’d always been so strong and focused, so totally in charge of herself and her life. It must be killing her to have her own mind betraying her, to have everyone telling her that reality was not as she believed it to be.
He had no illusions. There was no possibility of a future for them, together, anymore. They’d had something real and true and beautiful. All that was gone now, broken beyond repair, mostly by him. He didn’t want to fix it. He didn’t believe it could be fixed.
He just wanted Aly to be whole and happy. He wanted her to be ready, the way she’d always been, to take on the world. He wanted to be able to picture her living the East Coast life she’d created for herself, making it big in New York, New York.
“I’ll follow your instructions,” he said. “Please tell her brother it’s all right that I see her.”


The ride to Cat and Ernesto’s house was as silent as the one to Dr. Warbury’s office had been.
Dante seethed. Connor had the feeling that anything he said might set him off. He and Dante were the same age, both of them two years older than Alyssa.
It was sad, really. What they’d come to. All through elementary school, middle school and high school, it was Connor and Dante, joined at the hip, the best of friends. Alyssa had been off-limits to Connor then. A guy didn’t put moves on his best friend’s little sister—no matter how much he wanted to.
Aly hadn’t helped. She’d done everything in her power to get him to give in and make a move on her.
She’d started crushing on him when she was thirteen. By then, she already had serious curves to go with her beautiful face, her thick, dark hair, cobalt-blue eyes and milk-white skin. She started wearing shorts and tight T-shirts every chance she got, just to drive him crazy.
But he’d pretended he didn’t notice. His mom and dad had died that year, the year Aly was thirteen. They’d drowned in a tsunami during a vacation in Thailand, of all the awful ways to go. He was all broken up about it, like everyone else in the Bravo family. Whenever Aly tried to get close to him, he would think of his lost parents and nurture the ache inside himself, the feeling of bitter loneliness to be without his mom and dad. He’d always felt a little guilty that he used his parents’ death to protect himself, to keep from getting too close to Dante’s gorgeous little sister.
After a year or so of trying really hard to get his attention, Aly seemed to get the message that he wasn’t going there. She went totally the other way, completely ignoring him. He’d told himself that all he felt was relief. She was Dante’s precious sister and Dante was his best friend in the world. He didn’t need that kind of trouble.
Not long after she turned fifteen, Aly started hanging out with her first boyfriend, Craig Watson. Connor had managed to keep his cool about that, but barely. He’d had a lot of violent fantasies wherein he beat the crap out of Craig. Somehow, he’d managed not to act on those fantasies.
Over time, he’d even succeeded in convincing himself that everything was cool between him and Aly, that he thought of her as an honorary little sister and nothing more.
Until they met up at OU. She was a freshman and he was in his junior year, and Dante was miles away at Portland State. At first, they pretended to each other that they were just friends, that Connor was looking out for her, taking the big brother role while she adjusted to college life.
That pretense died fast.
They were lovers within a week, and by the second week of classes, they were inseparable. Dante completely lost it when he found out. He came after Connor. They fought hard and dirty. Connor broke Dante’s nose and ended up busting the metacarpal bone of his little finger in the process.
But their injuries healed. In time, Dante forgave him and agreed to be best man at the wedding.
Everything was pretty much perfect. Except for Alyssa’s dream for her future, the one Connor had pretended he shared.


Cat and Ernesto Santangelo still lived in the big two-story house where they’d raised their family. Their four sons were all grown up. Pascal and Tony were married, with kids. Dante was divorced with twin daughters. Marco, the youngest, would be nineteen now. Last Connor had heard, Marco still lived at home.
Dante parked in the big graveled turnaround in front of the house, filling an empty space between two other vehicles. A mud-spattered quad cab was parked several yards away. Had all the Santangelo sons shown up for this?
Dante turned off the engine. “Mom and Aly are both fragile right now,” he warned. “You give either of them the slightest hint of grief and you will be dealing with—”
Connor cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I get it. Let’s go in.”
In the house, the full gauntlet of Santangelo men waited for him in the big living room. All four of them—Ernesto, Pascal, Tony and Marco—stared at him through identical angry, coffee-brown eyes. Dante, too, for that matter.
Ernesto, as the patriarch, did the talking, his voice low and carefully controlled. “We don’t want you here, but what else can a man do? My Bella won’t quit asking for you. You’d better not screw this up or we’ll make it a family project to rearrange your face for you.”
Okay, the threats were getting really old. He was here, wasn’t he? He’d promised to keep himself under control. What more did they want? About now, it was getting pretty hard not to imagine how much he would enjoy mixing it up with a Santangelo or two.
Aly, he reminded himself. She’s why you’re here.
Connor kept his voice calm and said what Dr. Warbury had warned him to say. “I’m not here to cause trouble, only to help.”
Several seconds of cold stares ensued. Finally, Ernesto nodded at Marco. “Go on, get your sister.”
“Wait a minute,” Connor put a lot of effort into keeping his voice low and easy. “I’m guessing Aly would rather meet with me in private. I have promised before and I’ll promise again to behave myself. I’m just thinking she’d rather do this without her father and her brothers breathing down her neck.”
“Forget that,” Ernesto and Dante said almost in unison.
Ernesto went on, “You know nothing about what my daughter would rather do. It’s happening here, in the open, where we can keep an eye on you. You will tell her that you’re not married anymore, that you haven’t been married for a long time and that’s gonna be that.”
Connor let a shrug speak for him. He’d tried. At this point, it seemed counterproductive to push the issue.
Marco vanished into the front hall. Nobody spoke. An endless couple minutes ticked by.
And then, at last, Aly appeared in the open doorway to the foyer, with Marco right behind her. She had bruises on her pale arms and two black eyes. A white bandage covered a spot on the left side of her head. The gorgeous, milky skin of her cheeks and forehead was scraped raw and scabbed over. Cuts and scratches marred the soft column of her neck. Only her glorious mane of dark hair appeared unscathed, except for that shaved area on the left side. It was covered with a white bandage. She looked like hell—and so damn beautiful it hurt.
She gasped at the sight of him. He probably did the same. It rocked him, rocked him deep, just to see her again.
There was a moment, endless and so sweet. They stared at each other. God, it was good. A complete lie, yeah, but perfect nonetheless. She was looking at him the way she used to before he screwed it all up. Like he was everything that mattered, the center of her world.
As the seconds ticked by, he grew more and more certain that she would throw herself into his arms. He could not wait.
She didn’t do it, though. Instead she came forward with her head high and held out a hand. Every nerve in his body on fire with hopeless yearning, he took it.
“Come on,” she said, and turned for the foyer again.
“Hey!” Dante started after them as the other Santangelo men let out a chorus of protests.
“Aly, no...”
“Aly, stay here.”
“You’re not leaving this room,” said her dad.
Still holding tight to Connor’s hand, Aly stopped in the doorway. She turned and pinned them all with a look. “I will talk to my husband alone if you don’t mind.”
Dante froze where he stood.
And Ernesto, who never could refuse her anything, gave in. “Let them go.” Suddenly, he looked old.
Not another word was spoken. Aly led Connor across the foyer and up the stairs. She entered the second room along the upstairs hall, the room that had been hers when she was growing up.
He remembered that room. Even after they got married, her mom had kept it for Aly, with her purple satin bedspread and black lacquer furniture. Pictures of him and Aly and of her school friends had remained stuck beneath the mirror frame of the vanity table.
Not anymore, though. Cat had redone it—as a guest room, apparently. The walls were a tan color, the bedspread a soft blue.
He heard Aly shut the door, and turned from studying the room to face her.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Connor. At last.”
And then she did throw herself at him.
Heedless of the rules not to encourage her, he opened his arms and grabbed her close. She hopped up, the way she used to do, and wrapped her arms and legs around him.
“Aly...” He tried to be careful of her, to remember her injuries. But at the same time, he couldn’t crush her close enough. She felt like heaven and the ginger scent of her was so sweet, so well remembered. It filled him with longing and regret.
“Connor...” She lifted her head from where she’d buried it against his shoulder. “Oh, Conn...” Tipping her chin high, she offered her mouth to him, surging up higher, eager to meet his lips.
He’d never wanted anything so much in his life as to steal a kiss from her right now.
But he couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.
“Hey, now...” Reluctantly, and much more gently than he’d grabbed her, he eased her thighs from around him. Setting her carefully down, he stepped back.
She stared up at him, shattered. “Tell me.” Bright red stained her battered cheeks. “Say it.”
“I’m sorry, I...” Words failed him.
She’d always been the stronger one. Now, she said it for him in a flat voice. “We’re not married. You filed to divorce me seven years ago. I live in New York and I have a fabulous career. And you and me, we’re just...not anymore.”
He blinked down at her. “So then, you do know? You remember now?”
She laughed then, a wild laugh, and tossed her midnight hair. “No, I do not remember.” She put both hands to her head, as if to steady her brain after shaking it. “But it’s what everyone keeps telling me. It’s what I see in your eyes when I look at you.” She held up her left hand, poked her thumb at her ring finger. “Bare. That’s a big clue, right? My laptop is toast, but they recovered my purse and phone from the wreck of my rental car. I have a New York driver’s license. It says my last name is Santangelo. And I’m on social media. I’ve seen a bunch of great pictures of me with my friends and colleagues in Manhattan. I wear a lot of black and I have amazing shoes.” She put her hands to her head again. “Also, everything’s pretty fuzzy in here. I believe, I’m absolutely certain in my heart, that you and I are still married. But I don’t really remember much specifically—about you and me and our life now. I can’t tell you where we live or what we do, together, day by day...”
“Because we aren’t together.” The words came out of him sounding cold. Cruel. He tried for a gentler tone. “Not anymore. Not for seven years.”
“My family has explained it all to me, over and over, that we broke up because you wanted to stay in Oregon and I was determined to have a career with a major advertising firm. That you divorced me when I took a job in New York.”
“That’s right,” he said gently. “That’s what happened. That’s the truth, at least basically.”
She sneered at him. “Basically, huh? So then, what is the deeper truth, Connor? Tell me about that.”
He’d come here to be honest with her, but still he hesitated, reluctant to admit what a rotten jerk he’d been. “You really don’t remember any of it?”
She raised her hand and laid it carefully over the white bandage on the side of her head. “Just...random images. Nothing makes sense.”
He stared down at her. Where to even start?
“Tell me,” she demanded again.
He made himself do it. “From the first, when we were at OU together, you were all about getting out, getting away. No small-town life for you, you told me. And I went along with you, I agreed with you. I said I wanted what you wanted, that I would go with you. I would get a job in finance. We would take New York by storm. I pretended to be all gung ho about it. You interviewed with your dream company in Manhattan and they hired you. We even signed a lease on a postage stamp of an apartment.”
“But you didn’t really want to go?”
He shook his head. “We were packing for the move when I finally admitted I didn’t want to do it. I wanted a life here in Valentine Bay, working with my brother, building the family business.”
She seemed more confused than before. “You lied because...?”
“I didn’t want to lose you. I told myself you’d change your mind, that deep in your heart, you didn’t want to go, either.”
“But I really did want to go?” It wasn’t quite a question.
“Yeah. You did. You really did. Still, when I finally admitted I wasn’t going, you were...patient with me. You tried to compromise, begged me just to try New York for a year and then we would reevaluate.”
“And you?”
“I dug in.” He couldn’t meet those bruised blue eyes. “I said forget it, I wasn’t going. I was so sure that when it came right down to the wire, you wouldn’t leave me, that you would give it up and stay home.”
“But I didn’t.”
“No. You went. I didn’t reach out. You didn’t, either. Two months after you left, I had you served with divorce papers.”
“Connor.”
He looked at her then. Her eyes were wide, full of wonder—or maybe just complete disbelief.
“Nothing?” she whispered. And then her voice gained strength. “You gave me nothing for two months and then, without so much as a phone call, you filed for divorce?”
“That is exactly what I did.”
“You were an assh—”
“Yes, I was. And that’s not all. I scrawled a note on the envelope the divorce papers were in. I wrote, ‘Or you could just come home.’”
She blinked. “Wow. You make yourself sound even worse than what my brothers told me.”
“Yeah, well. You signed the papers and wrote your own little note. Two words. ‘Or not.’”
That brought a low, husky laugh from her. “Good for me.”
“I can’t say I thought so at the time, but yeah. Good for you.”
“So then what you’re really saying is that you were a total douche-basket who threw me and our marriage away?”
He held her gaze and told the painful truth. “That is exactly what I was and what I did.”
She just stood there looking at him for the longest time. He had no clue what she might be thinking, though he was pretty sure it wasn’t anything good.
And he was having a little trouble not surrendering to his insane compulsion to drop to his knees and beg her for another chance.
He didn’t give in to that. He had no right. It was way too late for second chances, for big, dramatic gestures. He was here to help her, not add to her confusion.
In time, she would remember her real life in Manhattan. She would realize that she had everything she’d ever wanted, that she was better off without him.
“I don’t know what more to say, except that I am so sorry. And if there’s anything I can do now, anything at all to make it better for you, just let me know, okay?”
“Anything.” She scoffed. “You’ll do anything for me.”
“I just want to help.”
“Well, okay then. Thank you for coming, Connor. As for what you can do for me, you can get the hell out.”
Chapter Three (#uda936b70-bc73-518b-a035-2bc1ed3ab8b8)
“Love you and miss you. Lots. ’Bye, Sibbie.” Cat Santangelo hung up the phone.
Aly, nice and comfy in the wing chair by the window, with her feet propped on the plush ottoman, asked, “How’s Aunt Siobhan?”
“She thinks she needs to be here. I talked her out of coming. Your uncle Albert just had back surgery. She’s got enough on her plate taking care of him. She sends her love.” With a fond smile, Cat patted the empty side of her new king-size adjustable memory-foam bed. “Come on. It’s a giant bed and it’s super comfy. Get up in here with me.”
Aly pushed the ottoman out of the way, rose and went to stretch out on the bed with her mom. “Is he kicking?”
Cat rested a hand on the pillow next to Aly’s head. Aly felt her gentle touch as she fiddled with a lock of Aly’s hair. “He’s more of a puncher, I would say.”
Aly turned on her side—the good side, without the bandage—and rested her hand on her mom’s big stomach. “Nothing, not even a nudge.”
“Yeah, he never punches me except when we’re alone. I think he has a shy side.”
Aly stroked her mom’s belly, soothing Cat and herself and maybe the baby, too. It felt good, to spend time with her mom again. A lot of women had issues with their mothers. Not Aly. She and Cat had always banded together, presented a united front. With five strong-willed men in the family, they needed to have each other’s backs.
There was a hopeful whine from the floor on Cat’s other side. Aly and her mom chuckled together and Aly said, “Tuck wants up.”
“Come on.” Cat patted the mattress and up came Tucker, a wire-haired terrier mix her mom had adopted from the local shelter a few years before. The dog made himself comfortable, cuddling up close to Cat.
“Did it help?” asked her mom. “To see him, to talk to him?”
“In a way...” Aly indulged herself and pictured his face. His hair had darkened to a golden brown over the years and the dent in his sculpted chin was as sexy as ever. And those eyes. He could break her with those cool blue eyes.
Tuck’s tags clattered cheerfully as he gave himself a scratch.
“What way?” asked Cat.
Aly considered blowing off the question, but then couldn’t. “Don’t judge.”
“Never.”
“Seeing him made me more certain.”
“Of...?”
“That he loves me and I love him, and whoever’s fault it was, we should be together.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“Are you kidding? He explained what a complete jackass he’d been, that he’d thrown me away—thrown us away. After he was finished, I mostly just wanted to punch him in the face.”
Her mom was watching her, a little smile teasing at the edges of her mouth. “And yet you’re still in love with him.”
“Smug, Mom. That’s how you sound.”
“I am smug,” replied Cat. Smugly. “I always knew that someday you two would get back together.”
“Ha! You ever tell Dad that?”
“Dear heart, there a few things your father just doesn’t need to know. Men are so simple.” She faked a deep voice. “Bring home the bacon. Protect the women.” She chuckled. “Connor hurt you and that makes him the bad guy in your father’s eyes. I see it more in shades of gray.”
“You always had a soft spot for Connor.”
“Your dad wants you safe. I want you to have what your heart most desires.”
Aly snuggled in closer. She whispered to her unborn brother, “Hey, handsome. How you doin’ in there?”
Cat asked, “So what are you gonna do about what your heart most desires?”
“We are so over, Connor and me.”
“Yes, but that wasn’t my question.”
“Fine. What can I do?”
Cat gave her a look both teasing and conspiratorial. “Your dad and your brothers are still worried you’re going to climb out a window and go after that man.”
Ever since her rude awakening in the dark hours of Sunday morning with her mind all turned around, the men of the family had repeatedly explained to her that she’d come home for one reason—to take care of her mom until after the baby was born. “Uh-uh. I’m here for you.”
Cat grunted as she shifted to her side. She pressed a kiss in the middle of Aly’s forehead and then retreated to her own pillow with a sigh. “Show me the law that says you can’t do two things at once.”


Connor spotted Alyssa as he turned into his driveway. She sat on the front step wearing a pair of those black, tight-fitting legging things that came to midthigh, silver sandals and a clingy white shirt that made her full breasts look even more spectacular than they had the day before. She was petting Maurice, who slinked in a figure eight at her side, arching his skinny back in pleasure, black tail held high.
The garage was under the house, with retaining walls on either side of the sloping driveway. When she raised her hand to him in a wave, Connor almost ran into the wall on the passenger side. At the last second, he straightened the wheel and rolled the Land Rover safely inside. The garage door glided down behind him and he let his head droop forward until his forehead met the steering wheel.
What’s she doing here? What’s going on?
He shouldn’t allow himself to be so stupidly happy at the mere sight of her beautiful, banged-up face—and none of his questions would be answered while he hid in his car.
He ran up the steps to ground level, growing breathless all out of proportion to the short climb. Dropping his briefcase on the bench in the block-glass window nook beside the door, he paused, swiped his hair back off his forehead and straightened his shoulders.
After yesterday he had figured he would never see her again—at least not on purpose, certainly not sitting on his front step waiting for him to come home.
She was standing at the threshold when he pulled the door open, Maurice at her feet. He noticed that the bandage on the side of her head was gone. She’d combed her hair over the bare spot. “I like your cat,” she said.
With a low, entitled “Reow,” Maurice strutted inside. Connor didn’t try to stop him. The cat went where he wanted to go. “Maurice belongs to my next-door neighbor. He just thinks he owns the whole block and everyone in it.”
“Maurice,” she repeated. “It suits him. He’s friendly and affectionate and he has a lot of confidence.”
“Too much confidence, if you ask me.”
And that was it. They’d run out of words. Several seconds dragged by.
Finally, she spoke again. “Is it okay if I come in, too?”
“Uh, sure. Of course.” He stepped back and she stepped forward. He shut the door.
“It’s a beautiful house,” she said. “I love the weathered gray shingles.” Her impossibly thick black eyelashes fluttered up as she glanced at the vaulted ceiling. “What kind of wood is that?”
He blinked to make himself stop staring at her. “Hemlock.”
“Gorgeous. I noticed there’s even a big porthole window upstairs.”
“Yeah.”
“Kind of beachy and nautical. The perfect house for Valentine Bay.”
He really didn’t give a damn about his house at this particular moment. “What’s going on? Is everything...? I mean, are you okay?”
“I’m fine—well, I still have the, er, major memory problem, but it’s not any worse.”
Relief made him realize he’d forgotten to breathe. He drew in air and let it out with slow care. “So...?”
She folded her pale hands together in front of her and licked those amazing, pillowy lips of hers. The sight sent a bolt of lust straight to his groin, which annoyed him no end. He tried really hard to think about unsexy things—getting his oil changed, power-washing the driveway...
Finally, she spoke again. “My mom gave me your address. Don’t freak out, but she admitted she’s kind of kept tabs on you since we split up—not in a stalkerish way, I promise.”
“Why?”
“Long story. Let’s just say she always liked you.”
A Santangelo who still liked him. Who knew?
Aly glanced away. She seemed really nervous now. And then she huffed out a breath and faced him again. “Look, Connor. Can we talk?”
He put out a hand toward the raised living area behind him. She went where he indicated, taking a seat on the gray leather sofa. Maurice jumped right up beside her and started to purr.
Connor hesitated midway to the armchair. “I can make coffee or something...”
She shook her head. As he sat down in the armchair, she asked, “You live here alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Got a girlfriend, Conn? Someone special?”
“No.” And what did it matter to her if he was seeing someone exclusively? “I’ve got a question for you, now.”
“All right.”
“Should I expect your brothers to show up any minute, eager to beat the crap out of me?”
She smiled at that. “Don’t worry. My mom will handle my brothers.” She concentrated on petting Maurice, her bruised hand moving in long, slow strokes. “Actually, I came to ask you a favor.”
Whatever it was, he would do it. Maybe he could make up at least a little for all the ways he’d messed up back when. “Name it.”
And just like that, she dropped the bombshell. “I’m on an extended family leave of fourteen weeks to take care of my mother, or so my dad and brothers have repeatedly explained to me since the accident. I want to move in here. I want to live with you until I go back to New York.”
Live with him?
Had she really just said that?
And why was his heart beating so hard against the walls of his chest? “What about your mom?”
“What do you mean?”
“You just said it. You’re here to take care of Cat until after the baby’s born.”
“I am, yeah. And I will. I’ll spend my days with her, be with her any other time she needs me, too. But if you say it’s okay with you, I would, um, have a room here, if you have an extra one. So that I could spend time with you, too.”
He was really trying to get his mind around this. “You want to live with me?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
“Yeah. And I don’t get it. I really don’t.”
“I, um...” She brought a hand to her head at the place where the bandage had been. Her sleek black eyebrows were all scrunched up.
“Alyssa. Are you okay?”
She rubbed the spot. “I am, yes. It’s just that when I get tense my head hurts sometimes. A little.”
“Are you sure that you...?”
“I’m all right,” she insisted. “It’s just what it is. Stress reaction after trauma. I’m not going to go crazy on you or anything, I promise.”
A scary thought occurred to him. “Did you drive yourself here?”
“Ungh.” Now, she pressed both hands to the sides of her head, as though his question had almost caused her brain to explode. “You sound like my dad, you know that? And yes, I did drive myself. It’s all worked out with the rental company. The blue Mazda out front is mine for the rest of my visit here. I’m cleared to drive, so you don’t have to worry I’m going to run into another tree or anything.” Her eyes sparked with equal parts irritation and determination. “And as for my staying here with you, I would pay rent.”
“Aly, forget about rent. It’s not about that.”
“Listen, I’m not asking to share your room or anything. It’s a pretty big house and you said you live here alone. You have to have a spare room.”
“I just don’t get it. We’re divorced. It wasn’t friendly. And it’s not like we’ve kept in touch.”
“I know that. I understand the actual facts of the situation, I promise you. All I want is a chance to...” She made a small, frustrated sound as the words trailed off. He waited, giving her time to collect her thoughts. Finally, she offered a sad little shrug. “Look, I get it, I do. Having me underfoot for three months does not make you feel warm all over.”
She had no idea how wrong she was. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to say it. It’s right there on your face.”
“Alyssa. I want to be up front with you.”
“Yes. Please. Be up front with me—and say you’d love to have me stay in your house while I’m in town.”
He braced his knees wide and bent to lean his elbows on them. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, okay? And I just don’t see how your moving in with me could possibly be good for you. Our marriage is over.”
“I know that.” She said it through clenched teeth.
“But you told me yesterday that you didn’t really believe it.”
“Connor. I do believe it. Yeah, my head’s a little screwed around right now, but I still have all my faculties. I know we’re not married. I have no illusions that I’ve somehow fallen down a rabbit hole and when I finally emerge, we’ll be married again and everything between us will be like it was eight years ago. I’m not Alice. There is no Wonderland. I get that. I do.”
“But you don’t believe it.”
She touched her head again. “I do believe it. I just said I believe it. I know my own brain is lying to me.”
He sat back in the chair and spoke as softly as he could manage. “I’m upsetting you.”
She put up both hands. “No. Please. You’re not. You’re really not. I am allowing myself to become upset—and I’m stopping that. Now.”
“It just seems like a bad idea. How are you going to find your way to fully accepting the truth if the two of us start playing house?”
“Playing house is not what I asked for,” she replied in a carefully modulated tone. “I asked you to let me stay with you while I’m in town. As a renter or a houseguest, whichever works better for you.”
The thing was, he wanted it. Wanted her. Still. He always had. It was his problem. And he accepted it. No one compared to her. He doubted that was ever going to change.
But that didn’t mean he should take advantage of her now. She needed to stay away from him, not start living in his house.


Major fail so far, Aly was thinking.
Connor was in no way convinced. He seemed to view her request to move in here as yet more proof that her injured brain wasn’t operating on all thrusters.
So what? He could think what he wanted. She had a goal and she was pulling out all the stops to attain it.
The accident had not only scrambled her memories. It had stripped away seven years of denial and foolish pride, brought her face-to-face with herself, shown her what she really wanted most in the world, held a mirror up to all the ways she’d failed in courage and in love.
She said, “Forget about all the reasons you believe it would be wrong for me, bad for me to move in with you. It won’t be bad. It will bring...understanding between us, peace between us. It will give us a chance to work out our issues with each other, which we never did.”
He still wasn’t buying. “Face facts. It’s long past the time when we could have worked anything out.”
“I disagree.”
“Aly, it’s years too late.”
“For us to piece our marriage back together, maybe. But it’s never too late for us to learn to put all the bitterness and sadness behind us.”
He regarded her steadily, those steel-blue eyes probing. “Is that really what you want, what you think you’re going to accomplish? That we can make peace and then let each other go?”
It wasn’t. No way. In spite of everything, she wanted it all with him. She’d never gotten over him; she understood and accepted that now. She still felt so powerfully drawn to him. She had it bad—bad enough that her injured brain had rebelled on her and tried to rewrite the past.
Her heart had never really moved on from him and she was finally willing to put her pride aside and let her heart lead the way. She wanted to try again.
And she needed to tell him that.
Just not right this minute.
“What I want is to spend time with you.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Aly. You know it is.”
“And yet just a few minutes ago, and yesterday, too, you promised me that you would do whatever I needed you to do.”
“Yes, I did. And I meant it both times.” He stood. “Just...not this.”
Her head ached. She longed to grab the fancy glass dish on the coffee table in front of her and chuck it at his heartbreaker-handsome, infuriating face.
But her doctors had explained that she shouldn’t get herself worked up, that she should try to stay calm, that in the near future, headaches and emotional outbursts were likely if she let herself get stressed out. Getting overexcited would slow the healing process down.
Aly put her head in her hands and made herself suck in several slow, deep breaths. It helped. The ache in her head lessened and the frantic feeling of losing control eased.
“Aly...” Connor came toward her. He stopped a foot from where she sat.
“It’s all right,” she said, breathing slowly and evenly. “I’m okay, honestly.”
“I’ve upset you. Again. Aly, I’m so sorry.”
“No. Really.” She met his eyes, saw his remorse, felt his regret for causing her pain right now and in the past. “Don’t beat yourself up—I mean, you should be sorry for what you did seven years ago. But as for right now, it’s your house. I get it. If you don’t want me here, well, what else is there to say?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want you here. I said I thought it would be a bad idea for you to stay here.”
Was he giving her an opening? “So...you do want me here?”
“Aly...” He seemed not to know what to say next.
Maurice was curled in a ball against her thigh, purring contentedly.
Connor picked up the cat, set him on the floor and sat down beside her. “This is just crazy.”
“Tell me about it.” She watched Maurice strut away, tail held high. And then, with a tired little groan, she let herself sway toward the man sitting next to her.
The most beautiful thing happened. He wrapped his arm around her.
It felt so good, just to lean against his solid strength. And he smelled the same. Clean and manly, like soap and cedar branches. She breathed him in and felt better about everything. The proximity of his body, his heat, the weight of his arm across her shoulders—it all added up to contentment, somehow. Having him close made her world a better place.
He rubbed her arm, soothing her.
With a sigh, she gave in to the comfort he offered, resting her tired head on his hard, warm shoulder, relaxing in the cradle of his embrace.
He stroked her hair. She wished he would never stop. “I’m only trying to do the right thing here,” he said, his voice low, rumbly. Intimate in the best sort of way.
The right thing...
How could he not know that this—his arm around her, his hand caressing her hair—was just about as right as it ever got? She leaned more deeply into his strength and flat-out reveled in having him hold her again.
Years. It had been years since he’d held her. That seemed simply impossible. How could she have let the distance and the silence between them go on for so long? Whatever he’d done, whatever the facts were, her heart knew the truth. Her mom was right. They needed this time together, she and Connor.

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