Chapter 8 - THE MEMORY BENEATH THE SCAR|
Adrian arrived at the motel within thirty minutes.
He came alone, though Elena suspected his men were waiting somewhere nearby. When he saw the blood on her hand, his expression hardened.
“Who did this?”
“Someone who wants me quiet.”
He examined the cut without touching her.
“Let me take you somewhere safe.”
“No.”
“Elena—”
“I will not spend another decade being moved around by men who claim they know what's best for me.”
He accepted the rebuke.
“Then tell me what you need.”
She handed him her father's letter.
Adrian read it in silence. When he reached the line about the promise, his fingers tightened around the paper.
“I remember the clinic,” he whispered.
Elena held her breath.
“The rain. Your father's voice. You standing beside a bed with a cup of coffee.” He pressed his fingers to his temple. “I remember saying I had to leave before they found me.”
“Who?”
“My uncle.”
The word seemed to unlock something.
Adrian staggered backward, gripping the edge of the motel dresser.
A flash of memory struck him: headlights on a wet road, his uncle's furious voice, a gunshot, and the sensation of falling.
Then Elena's face, younger and frightened, bending over him.
“Don't move, Matthew. You're bleeding.”
He looked at Elena.
“I remember you.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Do you remember what you promised?”
He tried to answer, but another memory rose too quickly.
A woman standing beside a hospital bed. His mother, pale and immaculate, telling him that Elena had betrayed him. A doctor explaining that the head injury had damaged his memory. Vincent beside the window, holding a photograph of the clinic.
And then a voice, cold and unmistakable.
If you ever go back to that girl, everyone she loves will die.
Adrian dropped the letter.
“My mother.”
Elena stepped closer.
“What did she do?”
“She told me you had sold information to my uncle. She said you had helped arrange the attack.”
“I never saw your uncle before yesterday.”
“I believe you.”
The words were so simple that Elena almost broke beneath them.
For ten years, she had imagined a thousand explanations. None had prepared her for the possibility that Adrian had been forced to choose between remembering her and keeping her alive.
“Why didn't you search for me?” she asked.
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“You could have written.”
“I was told your father had moved you out of state. I was shown a death certificate with your name.”
Elena stared at him.
“My name?”
He nodded, shame filling his eyes.
“I believed you were dead.”
She felt the room grow distant.
Someone had not merely erased their relationship. Someone had built an entire false history around it, using grief as a wall between them.
Adrian reached toward her, then stopped.
“I don't expect you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
“I want to know the truth.”
“So do I.”
She picked up the key Teresa had given her.
“My father left another recording.”
Adrian straightened.
“Then we find it.”
“And if the recording proves your family murdered him?”
His expression became frighteningly still.
“Then my family will answer for it.”
Elena searched his face for the boy she had loved.
For the first time, she found a trace of him.
May you like
It was not enough to rebuild ten years.
But it was enough to take the next step.
