Chapter Three (Michael POV)

I can't sleep.

It has nothing to do with the fact that my motel room is ratty as hell and in all likelihood came complete with a couple of furry roommates. It's also not because I'm in a strange place, lying in a strange bed and surrounded by strange walls…though that part isn't so great either. Having no reference points to my past has made me greatly appreciate familiarity and predictability in my life. I'm not so big on surprises these days and I'm even less fond of the unexpected. It sounds boring but I crave routine like air. Which is why Jane Villanueva-Cordero scares me so damned much…because there is nothing routine, predictable or familiar about her.

In contrast to her diminutive size, Jane Villanueva-Cordero is assertive and quite bossy. I suspect that she would have actually wrestled me to the ground if I'd tried to leave tonight. It also really unnerves me that she was able to read me so easily, that she called me out on being afraid, that she was even able to discern my motives in the first place. This stranger, this curious, sassy Latina who claims to be my wife but is clearly in love with another man and has a child that isn't mine either, certainly seems to think she knows me better than all others.

And…maybe she does. She definitely had my number tonight which, quite honestly, irritates the hell out of me. The woman hasn't even been in my life for three minutes but she's already taking control and telling me what I do and don't need. But what is even more ridiculous is that I let her do it and I can't figure out why.

I readjust the pillows stacked behind my head as I continue to stare at the sticky note on which Jane Villanueva-Cordero's phone number and address is written. In the last hour, I have considered calling her more than once. I have also immediately discarded the idea more than once. There are a dozen reasons why I shouldn't.

She's a stranger. It's nearly 2 am. She has a boyfriend. The dynamic between us is awkward and undefined. I can't be sure she's alone. It's possible she's changed her mind about me in the last hour. She might be more trouble than she's worth. The list goes on and on but, despite all of that, I can't honestly say that I don't want to call her. There is an undeniable part of me that is captivated, that has a thousand questions to ask, questions that only she can answer. And no matter how many times I tell myself I shouldn't call, I inevitably find myself wrestling with the desire all over again.

It's the proverbial catch-22. I can't bring myself to dial her phone number but I also can't bring myself to throw it out either. I'm stuck, just like I've always been. Only this time what's holding me in place isn't fear of the past but fear of what lies ahead of me. That's what keeps me from falling asleep right now. And so I turn to the only person I know who can talk me down off the ledge I'm on. I grab my cellphone and scroll through my contacts until I find her name. Lorena Diaz. She picks up on the first ring.

"Did I wake you? It's not too late to call, is it?" I whisper, "I know there's a time difference."

"Don't worry. It's an hour earlier here," she reassures me, "Besides I've been waiting to hear from you all day! I couldn't sleep. How did it go? Did you get to meet her?"

"Yeah…I did."

"And?" Lorena prods impatiently.

"And it was weird as hell." I can almost imagine her pursing her lips with an exasperated eye roll and the mental image makes me smile.

"That's not what I'm asking you, goofball!" she laughs, "I want to know if you remembered anything."

I deflate at the question, my smile faltering. "Nope. Not a single thing."

"That sucks." Her disappointed sigh echoes in my ear. I know she's not putting on an act either. Despite how complicated things are between us, I know that Lorena wants me to regain my memory probably even more than I do. "I'm really sorry to hear that, John," she murmurs, "I know you were hoping for a breakthrough."

"I told you there wouldn't be one," I remind her, somewhat cranky about it, "That's why I didn't want to come! This whole trip was a waste of time!"

"Oh shut up. You were being ridiculous then and you're being ridiculous now. This is your wife we're talking about here. You had to meet her." She expels what sounds to me like a plaintive sigh. "I guess, under the circumstances, I shouldn't call you 'John' anymore, huh? That's not your name."

"Well, Michael Cordero doesn't really feel like my name either."

"That's to be expected. It's still new. You never struck me as a 'John Ditch' anyway. I like Michael." She and I exchange a soft, ironic laugh before falling into several seconds of silence right after. I know what's she's thinking even without her saying a word because I am thinking the same thing. I know that she senses, like I do, that everything between us is about to change even though I don't want it to change. But, if I'm honest with myself things have been changing between us for a long time now.

"Listen," she whispers, shaking me from my brooding thoughts, "This day was destined to come. You're going to have to get used to being Michael Cordero…since you'll be living his life from now on."

"I don't know about that. I don't think I'm going to stay here long, Lorie."

Her reaction to that is volatile and shrill. I reflexively pull the phone away from my ear while she screeches, "What do you mean you don't think you're going to stay? This is what you've been wanting the entire time I've known you!"

"So I'm just supposed to leave Marcel to run the body shop without me? He'll go under in a week."

"My brother can take care of himself. You need to focus on what's important right now."

"That's what I'm doing. You and Marcel are important to me."

"What about your wife?"

"What about her?"

"Won't she care if you leave?"

I don't have to think about it. I know absolutely that she would but I don't tell Lorena that. Jane's words from earlier this evening are still ringing in my ears. Instead of running, spend some time with us. Get to know us. Let us know you. Give yourself time to be home again… A chill goes through me with the memory and the fire that burned in her eyes right then. I don't mention the fight and determination that Jane Villanueva-Cordero embodies and the admiration she inspires at all because I know that if I do, I will have to deal with my feelings and analyze exactly why she intrigues me and I'm not ready for that.

So, instead I say, "She's seeing someone, Lorie."

"What?"

"The guy who came for me…he's her boyfriend. They're together."

"Really? Oh…"

"Also, she has a five year old son. He's not mine. And I haven't had anyone confirm it for me but I'm pretty sure Solano is the father. It was just the look on his face when she told me we had been raising her son together. I thought his head was going to explode."

I hear the bed springs creak and groan as she shifts on her bed, probably to cradle the phone closer to her ear. "You're kidding. I would have never guessed he had that kind of history with her with the way he showed up here. Wow that's…that's crazy."

"Tell me about it."

"How does that make you feel?"

Though she is careful to keep her tone neutral I can still detect a note of uncertainty in her words. I know what she's asking even if she won't come right out and say it. "Are you asking me if I'm jealous?" I wonder incredulously, "Because I'm not! I could care less! They're strangers to me. It was more awkward than anything else."

"Why was it awkward?"

"They were fighting with each other the whole time I was there. I guess he didn't tell her about me until tonight and…uh…kind of blindsided her with it. She wasn't happy about it."

"I'll bet," Lorena commiserates, "What did he have to say for himself?"

"He told her that he was trying to protect her, that he had to be sure I was who he thought I was…you know the spiel."

"How did she take it?"

"Like I said, she didn't seem too happy."

"God, guys like that really grate my ass," Lorena grumbles, "They make shady decisions and then try to convince you that they lied to you for your benefit. It's a load of crap."

"Is that a not so subtle dig at me?" I sigh wearily.

"You would have never said a word to me about Solano approaching you if he hadn't shown up at the house!" she snaps, "Every time I think about it I want to throttle you!"

I groan and drag a weary hand over my chin. "I thought we had gotten past this before I left."

"I said I'd try to get past it. But if I'm being honest, I'm still not over it."

"Do you want me to apologize again? Cuz I can do it."

"Why bother? We both know you're not sorry because if you had a chance to do it all over again you'd make the same choice."

There's little point in going back and forth. I know better than to get into a war of words with her so I decide to stage a swift retreat. "Can we not fight? I didn't call you to fight."

"That's right. You called to tell me all about your wife," she replies in a cheeky tone, "So tell me about her."

"I didn't call to talk about that either."

"But that is what we're going to talk about because that's what matters right now," she determines in a tone that demands compliance and tolerates no dissent. I have no doubt she will end the conversation if I challenge her. "So, what do you think about everything…about her?"

That's a good question. There are a lot of emotions bundled up inside me at the moment but I have no idea how to begin to sort them out or where Jane Villanueva-Cordero fits into it all. I don't know where she belongs and I don't know where I belong. I feel lonely, confused, angry, sad, uncertain…but, most of all, I feel afraid. I'm so afraid it's hard to breathe because I know my coveted, precious predictable routine is about to fly out the window. And I can't really verbalize or properly explain how I am literally rebounding from one emotion to the next, sometimes within seconds of each.

Left without an alternative, I go the easier route and simply say, "I don't know." But I know Lorena well enough to know she won't be satisfied with that answer…and she's not.

"Did you feel anything when you saw her?"

"Feel anything? Like what?"

"You know…like a pull or a connection," she clarifies.

"I'm not attracted to her if that's what you're asking me."

"That's not what I'm asking."

I tip my head back against the headboard with a shuddering sigh. "I don't know how to describe it," I mumble, "It was like she was looking right into me, right into deepest part of me, like she knew me…."

"She does know you."

"You know me," I tell her, "No one knows me better than you, Lorie."

"That's what you say now but that's going to change," she predicts sadly, "It's only a matter of time."

"You've been saying that for the last four months and it hasn't happened yet."

"Just wait."

"What's with you? It's almost like you want me to have feelings for her or something!" I burst out, "What about us? Or am I the only one who cares?"

She lashes out at me then and I know it's because I've touched a nerve. She wouldn't be so angry if what I said didn't get under her skin. "Oh, get over yourself already! You're not exactly a sure thing! I'm not going to let myself fall in love with you just so you can walk away when you remember you're in love with someone else!" she declares, her tone flat and resolute, "I'm not into self-hate."

"Well, we have six weeks to see what happens," I reply, "After that, I'm coming home so you'd better be ready to deal with me."

I'm not surprised when she doesn't acknowledge that statement or the underlying challenge that comes with it at all. Yet that doesn't lessen my aggravation when she intentionally changes the subject. "So what's her name?"

"Really? You're not even going to respond to what I just said?"

"What…is…her…name?"

I huff in annoyance over her obstinance but answer her just the same. "Jane. Her name is Jane."

"And? What is Jane like?"

"How the hell should I know? We spent less than half an hour together and in that time I made her cry…more than once."

"You didn't."

"I did," I confirm with a small measure of guilt, "It was like being around me caused her physical pain. I didn't like how it felt. I didn't like doing that to her."

"Sounds to me like she did make some kind of impression on you after all," she speculates softly, "Tell me more. Is she pretty?"

"Come on, Lorena!"

"Is she?"

"I don't know…I guess so," I reply impatiently.

"Describe her to me."

I bite out several curses under my breath. "God Lorena, why are you doing this?"

"One day you'll thank me," she determines, her words thick with emotion, "One day you'll be glad I pushed you this way. Now tell me what she looks like."

Saddened and defeated by her reply, I dutifully close my eyes and conjure Jane Villanueva's image in my mind. As I begin to speak, I don't even have a clear idea of what I'm going to say. The words just come unbidden. They flow from me like rushing water, almost as if they've been dammed up inside of my heart this entire time.

"She's pretty with dark hair and dark eyes with really thick lashes. She looks really young, almost like she could be in high school. I wouldn't take her for a mother at first glance but, when I looked deeper, I could see there was a story there. She's been through hell and back and she survived it all. It's all there in her eyes. But, because she looks so innocent and defensive, it would probably be easy to underestimate her but that would be a mistake because she's…she's full of fire. She's stubborn and bossy and determined and she thinks she knows everything."

"Sounds like you got to know her pretty well after all."

There is no mistaking the tears and devastation in her voice tone and I groan mournfully to hear it. "It's just an impression, Lorie," I say, "You know how I am. I'm always looking too deeply into things."

"But it was your first impression of her and she's your wife, so it has to mean something."

"You asked me."

"You're right. I did ask. But now you can't pretend like you didn't feel anything for her because I know you did."

"It's not what you're making it out to be."

"No, I think it is," she argues lightly, "Jane sounds very much like your type. You've always had a thing for bossy brunettes. Now I know why."

"Oh yeah?" I challenge, "If that's the case, why aren't we together? You're as bossy as they come."

Her breath catches with the sudden, suggestive turn in our banter and it takes her a second to respond. "You couldn't handle me and you know it."

"I'm up for the challenge if you let me try."

"Michael, stop." The sound of that name on her lips is jarring and foreign and it feels very much like being doused in the face with cold water. It's the first time since we met that she has ever addressed me as anything other than John. I can't help but feel her calling me "Michael" now is a deliberate action and I tell her so. "You need the reminder," she declares stubbornly, "You have a family. You can't just pretend they don't exist. You have this whole other life now."

"You're my life," I tell her fiercely, "I wouldn't even be here without you."

That's not an exaggeration. Lorena is literally the reason I'm alive. It's either divine intervention or cosmic coincidence that she and her brother had their car break down less than 20 feet from where I lay unconscious and dying. I tend to lean towards the former because what are the odds that one of the people to find my near lifeless body would be an experienced trauma nurse? Had she not been present that day, I would not be here.

For that Lorena Diaz has earned not only my undying gratitude but my sincerest devotion as well.