“I want you, Reese. Here and now. I won’t deny that anymore. But that would be too easy,” he groaned in her ear. He took a step back, looked into her eyes and stroked her face with his fingertip. “You deserve more than just a mating game.” He took a breath. “And I don’t know if I’m capable of giving more than that. Not anymore.”
He set her away from him and turned his back to her.
“Max,” she whispered, trembling from the aftermath of his loving. She reached out to touch his stiff shoulder. “Please don’t turn away from me. Talk to me—please.”
He expelled a short, hollow laugh. “Reese, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
She came around to stand in front of him. “How about if I start first,” she offered.
Maxwell looked into her eyes, expecting some insignificant piece of information. But nothing could have prepared him for her revelation.
Chapter 9
Maxwell stared at Reese for several long moments, attempting to digest what she’d said.
“Pretty unbelievable, huh?”
Maxwell’s eyebrows rose then lowered in silent response. “How could you not remember anything before the accident?” he asked, his voice heavy with bewilderment.
Reese slowly shook her head. “I’ve been to every doctor, neurosurgeon, psychologist and psychiatrist worth their shingle. The general consensus is that there’s nothing physically wrong with me. The headaches and the nightmares are all a manifestation of my intentional attempt to suppress my memory.”
“That’s what the doctors told you?” he sputtered in disbelief.
Reese nodded. “That’s the only explanation any of them could offer. The trauma of the accident was so severe that I’ve completely erased it and my entire life leading up to it.”
Maxwell leaned slightly forward, bracing his arms on his thighs. “You have no memory of the first fifteen years of your life?” he asked in astonished wonder.
“None,” she said in a tone of resignation.
Maxwell heaved a sigh. “This is just incredible.” He got up to kneel in front of where she sat. “How do you deal with it?” he asked with such absolute sincerity it tore at her heart.
“Day by day,” she answered softly. “Just day by day.”
He reached out, letting the tip of his index finger trail along the contours of her face. Then gently he asked, “Do you want to remember, Reese—really want to remember?”
Briefly she shut her eyes. “At times, especially when the pain and the nightmares are so bad that I just wish I would die. Then, when things are good, I don’t want to know. If what happened was that horrible, maybe it’s best I never remember.”
“That can’t be better, Reese. And the only way to rid yourself of the pain and the nightmares is to rid yourself of the fear of remembering.”
“Yes, doc,” she teased, chucking him under the chin in an attempt to lighten the somber mood. She popped up from her seat and slowly began to pace. Then she suddenly turned toward him. “What’s most disturbing, at the moment, is that the headaches and the nightmares started again…when I met you.”
Maxwell’s dark eyes widened. “Let me get this straight. You started having these reoccurrences after we met?”
“Yes. At first I thought it was the stress of the trip. But the headaches started getting worse, like I told you. I had to begin taking the prescription medicine again. And then the nightmares.” She shut her eyes and wrapped her arms around her waist as a tremor shimmied through her. “I hadn’t suffered from those in close to three years.”
An unnatural sense of foreboding settled in the pit of Maxwell’s belly. There was a reason for everything, he rationalized. But what could the reason be for him to be the catalyst that triggered her ordeal?
“How do you feel right now, right at this moment?”
“Right now I feel fine. The pain is gone and I can’t remember my dreams.”
“Good. Come on. Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door.
“Where?” she cried doubling her step to keep up with him.
“Just get your purse, or whatever, and let’s go. What you need is a little R&R. And I have just the place.”
“But what about work?” she giggled, caught up in the moment.
“What about it?” he grinned over his shoulder.
Maxwell pressed the button for the sunroof of the car, turned up the music, and sped off.
“Now are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
He turned to her and smiled. “Just relax,” he said, patting her folded hands. “I guarantee you’re going to love it.”
Reese pouted but held her tongue. When was the last time she’d done anything spontaneously? Too long, she concluded. The only way she’d been able to manage her life, such as it was, was to organize and compartmentalize every aspect of it. That ritual seemed to give some validity to her existence, as if documenting her every move would eradicate the possibility that she’d ever forget anything again.
“Do you keep a journal?” Maxwell asked out of the blue, almost as if he’d just taken a short hop through her thoughts.
Reese turned to him. Her right eyebrow arched. “Why did you ask me that?”
“It just seems like you would. Keeping notes, a diary or journal is a good way to record your thoughts. I would think that your…situation is a basis for you being a journalist as well. Always searching for the truth, uncovering information.” He glanced at her. “So, do you?”
“Yes, Sherlock,” she retorted, mystified by his astuteness. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Did you keep a diary before—the accident?”
Sadly she shook her head. “I only wish that I had.” Then she chuckled halfheartedly. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t remember where I’d put it.”
“That’s unfortunate, but it’s just so amazing to me how you’ve managed to cope all of these years. What about school? How did you function?”
“That’s one of the curious things of this whole illness. After I came out of the coma, I was able to function relatively normally. I knew how to read, write, dress—everything. I hadn’t forgotten any of it. But my life, my family, friends, places I’d been, things I’d heard or seen were gone as if they’d never existed.”
Maxwell frowned and his admiration for Reese Delaware grew. She was a phenomenal woman. And to look at her and be in her presence, one would never suspect all that she’d endured. She was a survivor, strong and determined, like the great Sphinx of Egypt. But beneath the tough, got-it-together exterior was a very vulnerable woman who needed—and quite possibly needed more than he would ever be able to give. The thought saddened him.
They’d been on the road for more than two hours, driving in comfortable silence punctuated by brief comments about the magnificent scenery or the balmy air.
By degrees, Reese felt her entire self uncoil and relax as she gave in to the calming sensations that filled her spirit. She took in her surroundings and noticed that they turned onto the exit marked San Diego. Well, at least she had an idea what town they were headed for.
“We’re almost there,” Maxwell announced.
“Almost where?”
“You’ll see.” He grinned.
It