His smile stretched impossibly wide. “God, I love you.”
“Don’t forget the so fucking much part. It’s my favorite.”
He dipped low, smiling against my mouth as he mumbled, “So fucking much.”
After an all-too-brief kiss, I patted him on the chest. “Good. Now go. Get in bed. I got this.”
He gave Sugar’s head a scratch and then wasted no time shuffling down the hall.
I patted my leg and Clyde hefted his large body off the bed. “You guys are lucky he’s all drugged up tonight. What were you thinking? I wouldn’t be surprised if he bans ham from the house permanently after this stunt.”
Sugar licked me again, but Clyde remained as stoic as his father had once been.
I made quick work of feeding them and then spent some time outside throwing a ball, hoping to tire Sugar out for fear the sofa cushions would be next on his demolition list.
With sleep nowhere on the horizon for me, I grabbed a trash bag and started cleaning up the mess. My initial assessment had been wrong. Only two throw pillows had been gutted, but the trail of destruction led down the hall and into the bedroom.
Bowen was passed out and quietly snoring, so I left the garbage bag in the hall and tiptoed into the room, collecting the strewn batting as I went.
“Shit!” I whispered when I saw one of Bowen’s dress shoes on the floor. The back of it had been gnawed off, and while he loved his dogs, I didn’t think he was going to be happy about owning his first pair of men’s slip-ons. This was all kinda-sorta-definitely my fault. The whole day had been my fault to be honest. I felt bad about Sugar taking the fall.
Snagging it off the floor, I walked into the closet, shut the door, and then turned the light on to search for the ruined shoe’s match. They were nice, but surely I could find a replacement somewhere online. Maybe I’d hide this pair for a few days until the new ones came in.
Bowen’s closet was a large, neatly organized walk-in. I swept my hand across the row of his hanging suits, thinking how appalled he’d be if he saw the state of my messy closet. Then I giggled at the idea of us sharing one someday.
Ya know. Hypothetically. If things worked out.
Shit, after the day we’d had—and the way I’d felt when I’d thought I might lose him—maybe I should have started thinking about when things worked out, rather than if.
That not only made my smile stretch, but my chest warmed.
I dropped into a squat in the back of the closet and quickly found the chewed-up loafer’s mate on the bottom shelf of the shoe rack. With at least twelve other pairs that looked almost identical, he’d never even notice they were missing. Turning in a circle, I glanced around for somewhere to stash them.
Damn. Why was his closet so clean?
Sweeping back a row of his pants, I tasted victory when I found a cardboard box with the top flaps folded in on themselves to keep it shut. Assuming it was winter clothes put away for the season or something that would be equally as ignored for a few days, I popped open the top and…
Froze. Heart, body, and soul.
Staring back at me was a framed photo of me and Bowen. And not any photo I remembered taking. I was sitting on his lap, all wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, my mouth split with something that couldn’t be described as anything other than pure joy.
But it was the image of Bowen that made my heart stop.
I’d never—not once—seen him without a layer of scruff covering his jaw. But in the picture, his face was shaved smooth.
It didn’t make sense.
Was it a joke? Some kind of photoshopped rendering? But why the hell did he have it tucked away in his closet?
Lifting the picture from the box, I brought it closer to my face. My lungs burned as I inspected it. My hair was shorter, barely brushing my shoulders. I remembered when my hairstylist had gotten a little carried away after I’d asked for a few inches taken off. That had been almost two years earlier and way, way before I’d met Bowen. Just outside of the window of time I’d lost after the plane crash. I still had those earrings in my jewelry box at home. The dress was in my closet, and based on the bar in the background, we were at McMurphy’s.
But when?
My stomach sank and a chill raced up my spine.
No. It wasn’t possible. He would have said something if he’d known me before the crash. There had to be an explanation. There just…had to be.
In the picture, my arm was draped around his neck, so I squinted to look at my wrist.
The scars would be there. They’d be there and I could breathe again, and then when he woke up, he’d tell me a hilarious story about why he’d had the picture made. Maybe Aaron had supplied him with an older photo of me, and he’d had some graphic design buddy put it together. Why? I had no idea, but there must have been a reason.
He wouldn’t have lied to me. Not Bowen.
Yet, even as I told myself that, my hands began to shake.
There was no scar on my wrist in that picture and that knowledge only made it feel like they were being carved into my heart instead.
Setting the frame aside, I dug deeper into the box, hoping for answers that would explain everything—or anything at all.
There were dog sweaters, little costumes small enough for Sugar. A woman’s hoodie. A pink bathrobe. Some fuzzy socks. A few T-shirts and sleep pants, none of which I recognized. It had to have been Sally’s stuff. A few mementos he’d kept from his lost love.
But at the very bottom was a small flash drive.
Had it not been for that framed picture, I would have put everything back, closed the box, and walked away because whatever was on that flash drive was none of my business.
But that photo of me and Bowen made it not only my business but my number-one priority.
Abandoning the shoes, I tucked the flash drive into my bra and shoved everything back into the box before sliding it back into place—hidden in his closet.
My hands shook, but I drew in a deep breath, calming myself as I exited the closet on the off chance that I’d woken him.
He was still sound asleep, so I quietly and quickly padded through the room and into the hall, shutting the bedroom door behind me. My laptop was at home, so I went straight to Bowen’s office in his third bedroom. I was familiar with his setup as I’d used his laptop countless times to send emails or contracts during the nights I’d spent at his house. After I opened it and turned it on, I waited for the screen to illuminate and then inserted the flash drive into the side.
My heart pounded in my chest as I navigated my way to opening the right drive on the computer. I had no idea what I was going to find. For all I knew, I was about to walk down memory lane with Bowen and Sally. There were times when I’d been jealous of her—I’d always felt guilty and childish immediately after. With a sick feeling churning in my stomach, I’d have given anything for another woman’s face to pop up on that screen.
But the clicking of the mouse was nothing more than the ticking of a bomb, ready to explode.
As I opened the first picture of me laughing, mouth open, eyes closed, Bowen’s smiling lips pressed to the side of my face, I felt every single piece of shrapnel slice through me.
“What the fuck,” I whispered to myself, moving to the next picture.
This one was almost exactly the same as the first, but I’d opened my eyes.
Pressing the arrow key, I scanned from picture to picture. It played out like a movie of us laughing in his bed. His comforter was different, but the headboard and the end tables were the same.