Owen hesitated, which I understood, but I hoped he’d see my point. Once he drank that potion, there was no going back. He hadn’t done anything irreversible yet. If we sat down for a few minutes, it wouldn’t hurt anything.

  He gave the bottle one last uneasy look. Then he pushed back from the counter and shuffled around the island toward the couch, where he collapsed onto the cushions. As he sighed and pulled a throw pillow against his chest, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him so exhausted and wrung out.

  I hated that we could undo the amnesia spell but I couldn’t undo everything that had turned him into this. My conscience wasn’t going to let me forget this for a long time.

  I sat down with some space between us. I wasn’t sure if the pillow he was holding was meant for comfort or a shield of sorts. A buffer between us, maybe?

  Testing the water, I gently took his hand.

  He didn’t resist, closing his fingers around mine as he sighed and pressed back against the couch. “I feel so stupid.”

  “Why? Anyone would be scared right now.”

  “I know, but… I mean, I need my life back.” He swallowed. “I’m just afraid of what I don’t remember.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like, how bad was I, mentally and emotionally, that I needed all those memories gone?”

  I winced, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry for that.”

  “I know you are. I… That’s one thing I absolutely believe. That you regret it.”

  “I do,” I whispered. I wanted so, so badly to wrap him up in my arms and apologize again and again until I didn’t have any voice left. But I was afraid that would just keep him from drinking the potion, or make him put it off longer. And I did not want him sympathizing with me. Yes, it was all killing me, and I hated myself even more than I had over the past year, but that was for me to deal with. I’d put him through enough.

  “There’s also…” Owen pressed his lips together. When he spoke again, the waver in his voice made my heart ache: “I don’t want to remember what it’s like to hate you.”

  Oh, God. Owen.

  Fighting back my own emotions, I squeezed his hand. “I know you don’t. But I don’t want my fuck-up to cost you an entire year of your life. I hate that I hurt you, and that I ruined us. But I’d rather live with that than have you miss out on a whole year. There had to be good memories during that time, and I—Owen, I took too much from you already.”

  He sniffed as he wiped at his eyes.

  “I’m sorry for what I did,” I said. “And yes, I wish I could take away how much I hurt you. But given the choice between you knowing what I did and you losing an entire year of your life…” I shook my head. “I’d rather you hate me.”

  He met my gaze, a tear rolling down his cheek. “But what if I do hate you?”

  “Then you do. And I’ll understand.”

  “It’s not that you won’t understand.” He exhaled, brushing away that tear. “It’s that I’ll lose you all over again.”

  I had to fight hard not to visibly flinch. I didn’t know what to say, either. Another apology sounded useless. Even manipulative. I didn’t want him to feel guilty about whatever emotions followed getting his memory back. I sure as shit didn’t want him feeling bad for my sake.

  But what the hell could I do?

  Owen laughed bitterly. “I feel so stupid.” He raked a hand through his hair and sighed. “It isn’t like I’m going to forget everything we’ve talked about over the last couple of days just because I can remember the past now. It’s…” He huffed sharply and rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Do emotions ever make sense?”

  He quirked his lips. “Not really.”

  I ran my thumb along his. “Listen. We’ve talked things through, and right now, you can see a way forward for us. But feelings are real. And yours were obviously bad enough that you wanted it all to disappear.” It was a fight, but I tried like hell to stay stoic. “Whatever you feel when you remember everything, that’s all valid. And it might mean that this”—I gestured at us with my other hand—“isn’t doable for you anymore.”

  He flinched and broke eye contact, but he was still gripping my hand almost painfully tight.

  I wanted so, so badly to tell him I loved him, but that just seemed cruel. It would only make his decision harder. He needed to have that year back, for better or worse, and I’d made his life hell already. Somehow, whispering, “I love you,” just felt like kicking him while he was down. Or trying to manipulate him into pushing past whatever emotions came from that bottle. I’d never stopped loving him, but he’d absolutely stopped loving me, and whether he could love me again was out of my hands.

  “Drink the potion,” I whispered. “You deserve to have your life back.”

  He pressed his lips together. “I know. And I want it back. I’m just… delaying the inevitable, I guess.” He released my hand and rose, tossing the pillow onto the cushion where he was sitting. “The sooner I do, it though…” He didn’t finish that thought. He just shuffled into the kitchen where the bottle was waiting.

  I followed him, keeping a cautious distance.

  At the kitchen island, Owen regarded the bottle warily. Then he reached for it as hesitantly as I’d reach for a magical pet that might take my arm off. When he closed his fingers around the glass, he pushed out a long breath.

  Meeting my eyes, he whispered, “Is it stupid to be nervous?”

  “No” was all I said.

  He watched me for a moment as if he were expecting me to offer up some kind of reassurance. I had nothing, though. Not even a reminder that I’d be here as long as he needed me. We were both too keenly aware of how quickly he could decide he neither needed nor wanted me anywhere near him.

  His gaze drifted back down to the bottle, and he gulped. I thought he’d finally open and drink it this time, but instead, he turned to me. Before I realized what was happening, his hands were on the sides of my neck and his lips were against mine.

  I couldn’t help myself. I wrapped my arms around him and let him deepen the kiss. Let it linger. Didn’t dare let on that for as gentle and sweet as it was, it was also tearing me apart. It felt like goodbye. It probably was, even if he didn’t know it yet.

  He drew back and met my eyes, looking dazed. There was a fire there I recognized all too well, and I knew what was coming.

  But I couldn’t handle another round in bed with him. A goodbye kiss was one thing. Goodbye sex with the man who was about to remember just how badly I’d destroyed him? Way too damn much.

  “Drink the potion,” I pleaded. “You need your life back.”

  He hesitated, watching me like he might suggest we go into the bedroom after all. Did I want him? Absolutely. But we couldn’t. I couldn’t. And I wanted to believe that if he asked, I could make myself say no. In his crosshairs right then, I wasn’t so sure I was strong enough.

  He broke eye contact and looked at the bottle. Then he picked it up and tugged the cork free. A faintly solvent smell drifted to my nostrils. Owen gave the bottle a sniff and made a face as he looked away.

  “Eww.” He gagged. “This isn’t going to taste good, is it?”

  “Probably not.”

  He managed a laugh, but it was halfhearted at best. Then he took a deep breath and met my gaze. Raising the potion in a mock toast, he said, “Bottoms up.”

  And then he downed the contents like a shot.

  Chapter 13

  Owen

  The potion tasted worse than it smelled. Bitter. Herbal. Chemical. Nauseatingly sweet.

  For a few seconds, my mouth watered so much, I wondered if the nasty stuff would even stay down.

  The revulsion quickly receded. My watering eyes cleared.

  Across the island, Matteo cautiously asked, “Do you feel anything?”

  I shook my head. “No. I… Maybe I should’ve asked him how long it takes.”

  Matteo pursed his lips as if he wasn’t sure what to say. In his shoes, I probably wouldn’t either. I didn’t in my shoes.

  I searched for the slightest hint of… something. A tingle? A vibration? Maybe my balance going wonky? What would this even feel like, anyway?

  But so far… nothing.

  In my mind, I’d fallen asleep the night I’d brought Matteo home from the airport, and I’d woken up in this unfamiliar new life a year later. There was only the space of one night between those realities.

  But then…

  Holy shit.

  Remembering things was one thing. I could recall a few minutes ago clear back to some hazy memories as a little kid. Sometimes memories showed up on their own. Sometimes they were triggered by something. Totally normal.

  Having that many memories all come crashing in at once? Jesus. I grabbed the edge of the counter for support as an entire year’s worth of life slammed into me like an avalanche, all the sights and sounds and emotions, big and small and life-changing and forgettable, coming through crystal clear and one on top of the other. Holding my newborn nephew for the first time. The logo on the bottle of wine I’d picked up at the supermarket just before Thanksgiving. My coworker’s outdoor wedding where it had rained but we’d all danced anyway. The paper cut I’d given myself while shuffling some reports one stressful Wednesday afternoon. Waiting for Dad to call and let me know Mom’s surgery went okay. A new restaurant’s caprese pasta that tasted even better as leftovers the next day.

  The misery of the past year. The combined intense relief and crushing heartbreak the day my sister had supervised him moving out and I’d come home to find every trace of him missing from the condo. Sleepless nights wishing I’d never met him, wanting him there beside me, and hating him for what he’d done.

  And searing its way to the front of my memory as vividly as if it were happening right now was the one night that had left its stench on every day since.

  Matteo sitting on the couch, grasping my hand in both of his and not looking at me. “I need to tell you something.”

  “Okay?” I put a hand over the top of ours. “What is it?”

  His jaw worked. He refused to meet my gaze.

  And somehow, somewhere deep in my core, I knew. I felt it. I didn’t want to believe it, but I fucking knew, because he was never evasive, but he’d been weird ever since he’d come back from the conference.

  “Talk to me,” I whispered even though I didn’t want to hear it.

  He still didn’t speak. Still didn’t meet my gaze.

  With every passing second, my heart sank deeper into the pit of my stomach, because… yeah, I knew.

  Come on, you goddamned coward. Say it. Fucking say it.

  You owe me that much, you cheating son of a bitch.

  Say. It.

  I was going to grind my teeth to dust at this rate. I couldn’t take it. If he wasn’t going to own up to what he’d done and just say the words, then he could get the fuck out of here, so I inhaled sharply, ready to tell him—

  “I fucked up.” He took a deep breath and, with a hell of a lot of effort, finally met my gaze. “In Toronto.”

  I froze, lips still apart and that inhalation lodged in my throat.

  Wait. No. Don’t say it. Don’t.

  Matteo, please don’t let it be true.

  You didn’t…

  With tears in his eyes, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Owen. I… While I was in Toronto… I cheated.”

  The memory tore through my consciousness, dragging up all the emotions with it. The hurt. The betrayal. The utter disbelief that someone I loved that much could hurt me so badly. The tears I remembered were as vivid as the ones scorching hot lines down my cheeks right now.

  That night had stretched its tentacles over every day since. More than once, I’d locked myself in my office at work so I could have a moment to break down before pulling myself together in time to meet my next client. Christmas had come and gone without a lot of fanfare because I’d begged off visiting my family. I hadn’t wanted to bring down the mood. So it had just been me, a bottle of wine, and the most ridiculous comedies I could find on any streaming network. I’d called in sick on Valentine’s Day. My boss had to have known I was full of it, and she was absolutely not one to put up with malingering, but she’d gently told me to take care of myself.

  At my coworker’s wedding, one of the groomsmen had flirted with me. We’d danced, laughing at how drenched we all were, and then we’d ended up making out in the parking lot until I’d realized my heart wasn’t in it. I still had his number in my phone. He’d probably forgotten about me. Or blocked me because while I could apparently be attractive when I was a drowned rat, I doubted a mopey “I can’t do this, I’m sorry” was much of a turn-on.

  I filled out a hookup app profile but couldn’t bring myself to activate it. I went to a couple of clubs where pre-Matteo me had had more than a few sexy encounters, but I didn’t turn anyone’s heads. It was hard to attract anyone when I was wearing “my asshole boyfriend cheated on me” like a bad cologne.

  My sister had gently suggested therapy. “It’s been months. I know he hurt you, but sweetheart, you’ve got to move forward with your life. He doesn’t deserve to take that much time from you.”

  I’d promised I would, but then I hadn’t. Especially with the one-year mark coming up fast, I’d gotten angry. How dare Matteo leave me so miserable that I still couldn’t get back on the rails a whole year later? Instead of therapy, I’d forced myself to get on Tinder and reach out. I’d met someone. Nico. Gone out for drinks with him. Flirted a little.

  And died inside all over again when—just like I had with that damn groomsmen—I’d realized my heart wasn’t in it.

  Nico wasn’t Matteo. He hadn’t broken my heart or my trust like Matteo had, but he also just… wasn’t Matteo. And fuck me, but I was still hung up on that asshole. No one measured up to the man I’d thought he was, and everyone was suspect because they might lie to me like he did.

  Right there on a date with another man, I realized I was still neck-deep in all the emotions I just couldn’t move past. I’d wanted to both cry and throw something in that moment.

  “Owen?” Nico slid his hand over mine. “You still with me?”

  I wanted to be. Jesus Christ, I wanted to be.

  But I wasn’t, and he deserved better than me half-assing this, so I dropped my gaze and shook my head. “I’m sorry. I, um… I don’t think I’m ready for this after all.”

  “Oh. Is everything okay?” His voice was full of concern, which just made me feel worse. Nico was a good guy. He would probably make an amazing boyfriend.

  All the more reason to walk away and let him find someone whose head was in the game.

  “I’ll be fine,” I lied. “I think I just… I need to spend a little time on my own.” Right. Because I hadn’t been alone for almost an entire fucking year.

  The perfect bastard gave me a hug and kissed my cheek, and he told me to hit him up if I wanted to give this another try. Then he refused to let me cover the check.

  I left and grabbed an Uber, but I didn’t go home. Fifteen minutes after I’d walked away from Nico like the dumbass I was, I’d stormed into Gach Rud, not even noticing my surroundings because I was on a mission. I was angry with Matteo for ruining my ability to trust, and angry with myself for not being able to get over Matteo, and I was tired of fighting the goddamned past.

  So I met Ronan’s startled gaze across the cases and declared, “A friend told me you can get rid of bad memories.” I’d slammed my wallet down on the glass. “I don’t care how much it costs.”

  Oh, had those words come back to bite me in the ass. The potion had been expensive, yes, but it wasn’t the monetary price tag that had left me with a bad case of sticker shock.

  Feeling all those emotions for a year had been awful. Getting them all in one go was…

  Too much.

  It was one thing to find out something had happened and process it after the fact. Even when it had been a shock, there’d still been some distance. It had been another thing entirely to feel all the emotions from the past year, fresh and fierce, like they were all hitting me for the first time. It was like remembering how painful a serious injury was, and then experiencing it all over again, from the very beginning all through the excruciating aftermath of treatment, healing, and rehab… all at once.

  Too. Fucking. Much.

  “Owen?” Matteo’s soft voice had my teeth clenching. When his hand landed on my shoulder, I recoiled from his touch and glared at him. I had to blink my tear-blurred eyes into focus to see him. He drew back, hands upraised as he regarded me like an angry, venomous animal on his exam table.

  A fresh cascade of emotions and memories tumbled through my mind. How could he do this to us? How could he fuck another guy and just… ruin everything? Did he not understand the hell I’d been through because he couldn’t be trusted to keep his dick in his pants? The day he’d told me, I’d been ripped apart with hurt and betrayal.

  Today? I was fucking pissed.

  Little by little, Matteo’s shoulders sank, and he swallowed hard. “You remember, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I do.” I set my jaw. “All of it.”

  Matteo flinched and lowered his gaze. “Okay. I, um…” He tipped his head toward the door. “Should I—”

  “Please do,” I gritted out.

  Apparently I didn’t have to tell him twice. He grabbed his jacket off the back of a barstool and made sure he had his phone and keys. I was glad he did that—God knew I didn’t want him to have to come back here and retrieve something.

  As he stepped away from the island, he murmured, “I’m sorry. About everything.”

  “Get the fuck out,” I said through clenched teeth. “Now.”

  He got the fuck out.

  As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, I covered my face.

  And I fucking lost it.

  Chapter 14