Chapter 4
Under the glow of fluorescent lights, Dylan meets with Dr. Edwards to talk about Brenda's condition.
"How is she?" Dylan asks, whisking sweaty palms together. "How's Brenda?"
Dr. Edwards bobs her head. "I'll be blunt with you, Mr. McKay. How your wife has been surviving all these months is miraculous."
Pride swells in Dylan's chest at the doctor's words. That's Bren. The fiercest and most determined woman he knows. Dr. Edward's pauses, seeing Dylan's eyes land on Brenda's door. Steve's gone in ahead of Dylan to prep Brenda for his visit. Dylan would be lying if he said he wasn't shaking in his boots. He can't stand the waiting. He's dying to go in there, to see her with his own two eyes.
A small part of him can't help but dwell on what-ifs? What if it's not her? What if Steve's wrong? It'd be the hardest hit Dylan's ever taken. He wouldn't get back up.
"I know you're anxious to see her, but let's talk Brenda's health." Edward's scans her chart. "Physically, your wife is undernourished and dehydrated. There are also the migraines, which are related to the head trauma. However, with time, all those are treatable. Also . . ."
Edward's hesitates. "There is evidence of physical abuse, though she's been quiet on the subject." The blood in his veins boils. Turning away from the doctor, Dylan has to take a quick walk around the waiting room to cool down. He'll kill the man who raised a hand to his wife. He's already as good as dead. After a careful glance at Dylan, like she doesn't know whether he'll combust right then and there, Edward's says gently, "Let's move on to Brenda's mental state. My chief concern is the memory loss."
"Is it permanent?" Dylan asks. He's been brought up to speed by Steve, Erica and David about everything that's gone on since they found Brenda in the diner. How she remembered nothing and no one, not even her name.
"It's hard to say," Edward's says. "We won't know for sure until we run some tests. And even then I can't tell for certain what she's lost from the brain injury and what her mind has blocked out due to trauma."
Dr. Edwards's purses her lips. "It's unfortunate. She's spent nearly a year being kept somewhere, with no memories of her past and no medical treatment. That worries me. It was not beneficial to her well-being at all. I'm not saying her memory won't return, but the wait wasn't good for her."
"How do we help her remember?" Dylan asks, choking down the knot in his throat.
"Here's the thing. You don't." At Dylan's raised eyebrow, Dr. Edwards continues. "At least, not a full-on barrage of information. That's not what she needs right now."
"Okay." Dylan exhales, gripping the back of his neck. "So what do you recommend?"
"Kid gloves and a whole lotta love." Dr. Edward's pauses as she listens to an announcement over the loudspeaker. "Your focus should be on making sure Brenda can live her life. Tell her about her job, her successes, introduce her to family and friends, answer her questions, stuff like that. Stuff she needs to know, day to day. You ease her in, slowly. However, I know that might not be so doable seeing that she's in the public eye." Edward's gives him a pointed look. "Are there things from the past she needs to know?"
Dylan swallows, feeling the hot sting of tears in the back of his eyes. "We lost a baby. Almost a year ago." He gives a shake of his head. "It wasn't in the paper. Only family knew."
"I see." Edward's gives him a smile of sympathy. "Honestly, in this case, my advice wouldn't be 'just tell her'—it would be a whole plan of how to tell her and when and what to avoid."
"What else can I do?" Dylan asks, a sense of determination filling him. "Anything. Anything she needs, I'll do it."
"Feed her. Make her smile. Be gentle and patient. Finding her someone to talk to could do wonders." Dr. Edward's holds up a finger. "And no stress. It's a bitch on recovery." Despite everything, Dylan chuckles, liking the doctor's humor. Liking how her outrage matches his. Liking how she has Brenda's best interests at heart.
"I mean it," Edwards continues, the smile falling away. "Stress will make the migraines worse, and her dizzy spells will continue."
"I can do that." He reaches out to shake Dr. Edward's hand. "Thank you doctor."
As she turns to walk away, Edwards says, "I have all the confidence in the world she will get through this. The brain is a resilient creature. So is your wife. There's no telling what will happen when you get her home and surround her with people who love her."
Dylan's eyes move as Brenda's door cracks open. "She's ready." Steve says in a low voice. Dylan's heart jumps in his chest.
It's Brenda.
It has to be.
He feels her.
For a long second, after he steps inside the small room, Dylan's speechless. The woman he loves stares back at him from the hospital bed. Haunted. Beautiful. Alive.
Bren.
Dylan would know her face in the fucking dark. Every inch of her, he's traced with his hands, his mouth, his mind, his heart. His constant. His whole world. His life force. His wife. Emotion hits Dylan all at once, and he has to blink away tears, choke down the knot in his throat.
God, he wants to fall to his knees right here and now. Nothing about this makes sense, and yet, here she is. Alive and breathing and whole and so goddamn beautiful that for a long second, he can't breathe.
But then Brenda's eyes are meeting his and suddenly he can. He is back. Because she is.
"Bren?" he begins. "It's me, Dylan." He moves slowly into the room, not wanting to scare her. Brenda, looking extremely tiny in the hospital bed, sits up, her hands folded in her lap. Wires and tubes run to her arms. Her chocolate-brown hair hangs loose around her face. Her big grey eyes, blank with recognition, take him in.
"Hi, Dylan," she says with a small, uncertain smile. Dylan has to steady himself on the wall when he hears her speak. It's the same voice he's loved. He always said Brenda's voice was like a melody. Her eyes land on his wedding ring. "I heard you're my husband." Her smile wavers for a second before she shakes off the hint of sadness.
"You heard right." Her slender hands twist together.
"I'm sorry. I don't have my ring. I…"
"Don't you worry about that." He keeps his voice light, jovial. Pushing through his own pain to focus on his wife. Brenda feeling bad or afraid for not remembering him is not an option. He'll do his damnedest to make sure she knows it's not her fault. That she knows he'll do everything in his power to help her.
Pulling up a chair at her bedside, Dylan sits. He wraps his hands around the divider bar to give them something to do since it's taking every unholy ounce of strength he has not to touch her. He'd give anything to pull her into his arms and tell her that he loves her. That he missed her so goddamn much he thought his own heart would break a million times over. But he resists, not wanting to overwhelm or frighten her.
Steve had warned him she was skittish. Dylan's eyes brush over her, shocked by her weight loss, by the hellish changes she's been through. The first time he's seen her in nine months. Her hospital gown has slipped off one bony shoulder, making her look extremely small and fragile. Her face is gaunt, her cheeks hollow, her hair wild and messy. But none of that matters to him, because even as thin as she is, she's as beautiful as Dylan remembers. It takes him a minute to realize she's studying him to. Her head cocked, her narrowed eyes float around his face. When she sees Dylan's caught her, she flushes and drops her eyes.
Clearing his throat, he says, "How are you doin'?"
"I'm okay. Confused." She lets out a little sigh. "But I guess they probably already told you everything."
Dylan nods slowly. "They did." His eyes roam the sterile room. It's tiny. Depressing. Brenda deserves soft sheets, a private room, a warmer gown. And flowers. A boatload of flowers. Dylan wants Brenda to be comfortable, but most of all he wants her to be okay.
"What do you need?" he asks. "Can I get you anything?"
"I just want to get out of here." She leans in, conspiratorial-like. "I don't suppose you can spring me, can you?"
Dylan chuckles at the little burst of fire in Brenda's eyes. He wants her out of here too. Safe with him and back on their ranch.
"Soon, I promise."
She's biting her lip. "And I'd…go home with you?"
Dylan nods once, "Franklin…its about 25 minutes outside of Nashville. That's where we live, most of the time that is."
"Is that where we're from? You don't have an accent."
Dylan smiles, "No…we met in California. That's where I'm from, you are originally from Minnesota."
"I'm sorry." Her eyes fill with tears quickly. "I don't remember you. I don't remember any of that."
The rawness of her voice has Dylan reaching for her. He can't help it. The temptation to touch her is too strong, too instinctual. Gently, Dylan cups her pale cheek in his palm. He lets out a shaky breath at the feel of her. She feels like heaven. Brenda tenses, but only for a second, then leans into his touch. He thumbs his finger over the lone tear trailing down her face, over the bruise on her cheekbone. He aches to wash it all away. To take away every inch of her pain. Dylan shakes his head.
"Baby, you don't have to be sorry for anything. You hear me?" He means it. She is safe, alive, that's all that matters.
They have all the time in the world to work on her memory. If it never returns, it wouldn't make a difference to him. She's still the woman he married. He loves her no matter what. She smiles through her tears.
"Everything is like puzzle pieces inside my head. The memories are so short. I can't hang on to them. But you…your eyes…I saw them in my dreams."
Dylan breathes out tears filling his eyes, his heart beats wildly in his chest, "I dream about you all the time." He admits.
"God Brenda." He breaths out emotionally, tears slipping from his eyes. "I never thought I'd see you again." He shakes his head to clear the emotion that is all consuming. There will be time for emotional reunions. He knows she doesn't remember him or their life together. As much as that kills him, as much as that hurts his heart. He can't get past the fact that she is here, staring at him. Dylan never wanted to believe she was dead but the more time that passed he would be lying if that thought hadn't creeped in from time to time. No, It wasn't that he didn't believe it, it was the fact that if he let his mind believe it…it would be real. And here she is…in the flesh. It's a lot to take in.
Brenda looks into his eyes, he can feel her still wiling herself to remember him.
"We'll figure it out, Brenda."
"We will?" Her tormented eyes turn hopeful, searching out his for merciful truth.
"I swear it."
As he reluctantly draws his hand away from her cheek, Brenda's eyes seize on something. She lets out a little gasp.
"You have one too." Before Dylan can ask what she means, her hands snatch his. His heart flares as she cups the underside of his hand. Ever so gentle, she traces the delicately sharp words on his wrist with her nail.
Reading the tattoo aloud, she says, "Lead to Us."
Her eyes flash in recognition. "They match." She flips her own hand over, bringing her wrist to the side of his. Side by side, Dylan and Brenda's tattoos read…All the Roads Lead to Us.
"What does it mean?" She angles her head. "I always wondered."
His heart cracks open. He takes a minute to collect himself, to voice the words Brenda's said to him so many times before.
"We always said…no matter what happens, all roads would always lead to us." His voice breaks and he looks down at his hand, still tangled with Brenda's. Wistfully, he adds, "That we'd find each other no matter where we were or how lost one of us got."
When a needle phobic Brenda asked Dylan to get matching tattoos, all he asked her was why. She replied, "So I can always see it and feel the weight of what you mean to me."
"Hmm." A contemplative smile graces her face. "I like that." Her confused eyes have turned curious.
To Dylan it feels like hope. Brenda's still in there. Somewhere. "How long have we been married?" she asks.
"Eight years," Dylan says. "But we've been together on and off since we were sixteen years old." The news surprises her.
"How old am I?"
"You'll be thirty-five this fall."
Her light eyes widen. "So we were babies."
"Something like that," he smirks.
"You were my first love…boyfriend…sex?"
Dylan chuckles with a nod, "I was."
"Hmm. Was I yours?" She smiles at him.
He laughs now, he nods, "You were…well…not sex…but we don't have to talk about that."
She laughs too and it's glorious, "How did we meet? What was our first date like?"
Dylan smiles. "You sure you want to hear it?" He eyes Brenda with concern. She's tired. Dark purple bruises thumb printed beneath her eyes. "I should let you rest."
She smiles a sleepy smile. "You could talk while I rest. Unless you need to go?"
"Babe," he says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ears, "You're back. I'm not leaving your side until you kick my ass out."
That earns Dylan another laugh. And what a beautiful laugh it is. So Dylan talks. Brenda listens, trying hard to stay awake, but he can see his voice soothing her to sleep. Soon, Brenda's eyes are closed, her long lashes dark against her pale cheek. Dylan's eyes stay steady on the jumping blue lines of the heart monitor. Brenda's heartbeat is a soundtrack he can't get enough of.
The door swings open. Dylan glances up with a scowl. The first person to come through that door and wake Brenda is getting one hell of an ass kicking. It's Steve. His eyes take in the scene, Dylan watching Brenda sleep, her small hand in his. Steve visibly softens.
"Dylan," he says, his face grim. "The cops are here."
Hours later, after Dylan has given his statement to the police, its Brenda's turn. Her hospital room is chaos squared. Two patrolmen and a solemn-faced detective settle at the foot of her bed. Steve, David and Erica are there too. Brenda wants them there. She senses they won't leave her for any reason. That they're ready to protect her with all they have.
David stands near the door, quiet but observant. He seems like he's here to mediate. Mediate what, Brenda isn't yet sure.
Steve paces, his face warring between irritation and interest whenever the detective asks Brenda a question. They're like steadfast sentries, Steve and David.
Erica is quiet but looks tough, Brenda doesn't think she needs these guys or any guy. Brenda can tell by the way she looks at her. She's loyal and fierce.
And Dylan. Brenda's not sure what to make of him. This tall, bearded handsome man who came to her room only hours ago looking like he'd fight the world for her. Her heart went out to him. He seemed…well, so lost. Brenda can relate.
Now, Dylan sits beside her bed. Intense. Watchful. But not like a hawk eying her every move. Watchful like someone who cares. Who has been worrying a very long time about her. She's not scared of him, but she feels shy around him. Curious, too. He's her husband, after all. She must have married him for a reason. One of which is extremely obvious.
Brenda sneaks a quick sideways glance at Dylan. He's brutally handsome. Beautiful, if she really wants to admit it. He's tall with broad shoulders and warm brown eyes like honey. She likes his long, chiseled fingers, his brown hair that's void of product is in a wild disarray like he's been anxiously running his hands through it. It's sexy…like bed head.
The way his lean muscles rope his tan arms. Never has a man looked so strong, so steady. He looks like somebody she can trust. She needs that after Vince. The only thing she's unsure about is the beard. It's strange. Why that is, she doesn't know. It's like he's using it to hide his sadness, to hide away from the world.
The detective fires off questions like bullets. They are unflinching and unceasing, and they make Brenda wince. They also make her rage. So she sits straight up in bed, rattling answers back at him, determined not to crack. They ask about her memory. They write down the chain of events that got her here. They ask her what she remembers. They ask her about Vince Williams.
"He told me he was my husband," Brenda explains. "But he wasn't." She rubs her brow. "I don't even know if that's his real name."
"Where does he work, Mrs. McKay?" The detective looks like Porky Pig in a suit.
"At county corrections," she says, weary. "He's a guard there."
The detective nods. He's already done his research, vetting her, and Brenda doesn't like it. "There is a man who works there named Vince Williams."
He looks at the patrolman. "Let's send someone down there to pick him up."
"What's going to happen to him?" Brenda shivers in disgust, thinking of Vince with his buzzed hair and pale face and endless black eyes like pits. She doesn't tell this detective that she would have gladly killed him if she'd had the chance, but she didn't think she had the strength to take a swing.
"We'll question him. Decide if charges should be filed."
"If," Erica speaks up. Her voice full of pissed off frustration and she's shooting daggers at the detective. "What's with the fucking if?"
Even David, standing calmly all this time, bristles.
Dylan leans forward in his chair. A muscle in his angular jaw jumps. "I want this guy in a jail cell."
"I don't dispute that, Mr. McKay." Sighing, the detective levels a tired gaze at Brenda. "Ma'am, did Mr. Williams ever say you couldn't leave?"
"What?" Frowning, Brenda looks at Dylan in confusion. His stance has gone tense and she can tell he's fighting to control his anger in front of her. She glances back at the detective. "I mean, not outright, but . . ." She rubs her temple. Dizziness beckons.
"I ask because if you were wounded when he took you from the crash site, force wasn't used. We can prove a crime if, when you were conscious and aware, you asked to leave and he refused."
"Are you serious?" Her hands are trembling so badly she wants to raise them to her face and let loose a frustrated scream. That this detective is asking her to prove her captivity, to prove her abuse, to prove that the last nine months were against her will, infuriates her.
"This is bullshit," Steve mutters. He stares at Dylan who looks back at him, their faces dark, furious as something passes between them. The room's a surge of emotions. A palpable anger brews in the air.
Dylan's eyes flash with anger. "Don't you god damn dare ask my wife why she didn't leave. That isn't the right question. You find this guy and you ask him why he kept her there." He blows out an irritated breath. "All this time we could have found her…all this time we were thinking she was dead." He rips a hand through his hair and snarls, "So don't you sell me that line of bullshit."
The detective continues, whether oblivious to how much Dylan wants to take a swing at him or just content being an asshole, Brenda doesn't know.
"I understand, Mr. McKay. We want to get this guy as much as you. We just have to get it right so the charges stick." Brenda shudders, feeling victimized and disbelieved. The cop speaks to her as if she is a small child.
Brenda's digs her nails into her palms. She despises him. Despises everything about her situation. How does she make them understand that she knew? Deep down, if she tried to leave, she knew Vince would kill her. It was in his body language, a snake ready to strike. They don't understand because she doesn't understand. How a man could have taken her and kept her as his own. How she was trapped in a shack in the backwoods of Florida. How if she tried to leave the house, Vince would block the door, so she played meek and quiet until she could run. How she wasn't raped, not without effort, but wasn't it rape being kept there? Being forced to live a lie? They don't understand how lucky she feels to be out of there, to be done with that life, to know who she is, even though she still ultimately doesn't know just who in the hell Brenda McKay is. She didn't know any better, but these men don't either.
Brenda glares at the detective. Her lips tremble, but she forces the words from her mouth. "No," she says, interrupting his bullshit attempt to pacify Dylan. "No, you don't understand at all."
All eyes swivel to her. Dylan's especially are extra pained, his brow creased, his brown eyes pinned on her face. Gripping the rail bars, she pulls herself tall and pushes her voice to the ceiling. Loud, louder. They have to hear her.
"So, what you're telling me is that the man who found me, who pretended to be my husband when I have no memory, who choked me when I tried to leave, you can't do anything to? You won't?"
Brenda breaks off in vocal fry. The police in the room look awkward and uncomfortable. Though her eyes fill with hot tears, she wills herself not to cry. Not to give this asshole detective a glimpse of her pain.
Then the world's blurring around her, and Brenda feels herself sway. Thankfully, Dylan comes to her rescue. He's beside her instantly, gripping her elbow and helping lower her back into the pillows.
Exhausted, Brenda sags down into the cool comfort of the bed. His touch is tender as he brushes a hand across her brow, smoothing her hair back. Their eyes lock, in a way Brenda's never experienced. She sees the silent question Dylan's asking, Are you okay?
She gives a small nod.
After a second of hesitation, Dylan tears his concerned eyes from Brenda's face and turns to the room.
"I think that's enough, Detective," he says, standing tall over Brenda, using his lean, muscled body like a shield. "You find this guy. But we aren't sticking around here. I'm taking my wife home as soon as she's well enough to travel."
The detective considers it, then nods his assent. "That's fine. We don't want to overwhelm Mrs. McKay any more than necessary. We'll do whatever we can not to put her through a trial."
Dylan gives a curt nod. "I'd appreciate that."
As Dylan ushers everyone out of the room, a sense of determination fills Brenda like nothing she's ever known. Sure, she's been down for the count for a few long months. But she's not beaten. Or broken. And the one thing Brenda knows for certain? She will never live a lie again.
David whistles as they gather in the hallway. "That was intense."
"That's because Brenda is a bad ass," Erica says, scowling at the back of the detective as he disappears around the corner. "She's made of miracles and nine fucking lives."
"That's the damn truth." Dylan's still marveling over the strength of his wife, keeping it together when all he wanted to do was deck that son of a bitch detective.
The pain and sorrow in Brenda's eyes. How they asked her to share her truth, her pain, while simultaneously burying her alive with their questions.
"So?" Steve rubs his hands together. He's almost as eager as Dylan is to get the hell out of Florida. "How're we getting Bren home?"
Dylan gives a fierce shake of his head. "No way in hell I'm putting her on a plane."
Marshall, leaning back against the wall, glances up from his phone. "Already on it. I got us a tour bus ready to go when you say so. It'll be a long drive, keep Brenda comfy." His rotund belly quivers as he chuckles. "Also, I have Valerie and Martha over at your house right now getting it pretty and sparkling. I hope you like chicken noodle casseroles, because your fridge is stocked."
A boatload of gratitude fills Dylan. He has to choke down a rock in his throat the size of Texas. Their Tennessee/Beverly Hills family is the best. Jumping into task mode. Coming together when Dylan needs them the most.
David snorts and holds up his phone. "Val says you should be ashamed of yourself." He flashes a text from her. The attached picture shows her plugging her nose as she throws away crusty pizza boxes.
Groaning, Dylan smears his face in shame. The house. He'd forgotten how shitty he had kept it. How shitty he'd been keeping himself. How deep and dark he had sunk. But now, Brenda's back, and damn if Dylan isn't getting himself back together for her.
He looks at Marshall. "Thanks. I owe you."
"You do." Marshall grins. "Don't forget I plan on cashing in when we get home." He claps Dylan on the shoulder. "We're family, son. We want our girl safe."
Steve laughs. "I take it this means he's rehired?"
Dylan nods absentmindedly. All he can think about is Brenda. Whatever Marshall wants, he'll give it—he just has to wait until Brenda is settled.
David speaks up. "We have to call Brandon…the Walsh's?"
Erica scowls. "Fucking great."
Dylan grits his teeth, agreeing with Erica, but he knows David is right. He also knows that dealing with Brandon is something he is not looking forward too. Dealing with the Walsh's is an exercise in being driven slowly insane. He's not sure if he and Brandon can overcome their already-strained relationship, but for Brenda's sake, they'll have to try.
"And listen . . ." Dylan rubs his brow, hating himself, hating what he's about to say. "Nothing about the baby or Kelly." He levels an even gaze at his sister and best friends. "You hear me?"
David nods slow. "You think that's a good idea?"
"I don't know," Dylan admits, running a hand down his beard. "I hate keeping it from her. All I know is what the doctor said. I'm not going to overwhelm her with too much. At least, not right away." He glances back at the closed door where Brenda sleeps. "We get her home and take care of her."
That's all Dylan's focused on—getting Brenda better. Keeping her safe and protected until she's healthy enough to learn about the past.
"Damn straight," Steve swears. "Anything. Anything for Brenda."
Turning to face Brenda's room door, Dylan presses his palm against the window. Inside, Brenda sleeps easy. Her breathing light, her hair damp against her brow. She looks so fragile, so raw. Dylan's eyes suddenly fill with tears. He has to tell her the truth again. About Kelly, about the night he was off and gone, making her question her trust in him again…making her question everything. Only this time, like last time, he doesn't know if she'll believe him. Dylan closes his eyes. She has to. He can't lose her. Not again.
Two days later, after a myriad of tests and scans that still don't have her remembering, Brenda's on the bus. She should be sleeping. But she isn't. She's been stagnant too long. She wants to move. Explore. Live. She knows this mind-bending situation is the clusterfuck of impossible clusterfucks, but Brenda can accept it so easily because of Vince. He caused all this. No one else.
For so many months, she's dreamed about getting away, and now she has it—freedom. She's in a new world, on her way to a new life. Though she's nervous, she's not afraid. She spent enough time being afraid, being lied to, in her old life. She'll never go back to that.
Brenda cracks the door to the bedroom and steps out into the hallway, swaying slightly from the rocking motion. The bus is massive, with sleeper bunks and a large lounge and kitchen. David sprawls in a lower bunk, trying to nap. Seeing her, he raises his eyebrows and his hand. Brenda waves back. She likes David. She likes them all. She feels like they root her. Like she can learn everything about herself, everything she lost, and they will hold it. They will help her. They already have. The way they stayed with her at the hospital, how they had her back with the police. She won't forget that.
As she pads down the hallway, Brenda looks for Dylan. She hopes he went to bed. He's been by her side for two straight days. He's exhausted. When she reaches the second bedroom, the door cracked a few inches, she hears Dylan's voice. Soft. Hushed. Smiling, she moves to push open the cracked door but stops. Dylan's on the phone, his handsome profile pulled into a worried frown.
"I know. I know. It has to be later, though. Now's not the time." He pauses, listening to the person on the other end of the line. Brenda leans closer. "Okay," he says softly. "Love you too." Brenda pulls back, his words a cold shock to her system. Her mouth goes dry as her heart pounds out a furious beat in her ears. Before Dylan can spot her, she turns and retreats down the hall, her confused mind trying to make sense of what she's just heard. Could there be someone else? She doesn't know. Not sure if she wants to.
When Brenda gets to the dining area, she slips into a booth, tucking her bare feet beneath herself. She tries to relax, tries to force Dylan's conversation from her mind. She settles back against the cushions, feeling cozy in the buttery sweatpants and hoodie that Dylan brought her this morning.
They're too big, too expensive, but there heaven against her skin. Propping her chin in her hand, she stares out the window at the flash of her surroundings. Alabama traffic signs disappear as they cross over into Tennessee. Almost unconsciously, Brenda runs a finger across the crooked scar on her hairline. She scowls, the simple action calling to mind Vince.
She hates that he's the one who sewed her up and got her well. Hates that he's the one who kept her alive. Why? And for what purpose?
"Hey." A rumbling voice drifts through her dreary thoughts. Brenda glances up to see Steve sliding in across from her.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fine," she says too quickly. It's got Steve frowning at her like he doesn't believe her. "How far away are we?"
"Still got about an hour to go." Steve gives her a look. "You should get some rest."
"That's what the hospital was for." Her lips curve up at the edges. "Rest and torment."
Steve leans back in the booth and laugh-groans. "Glad to see you still got your stubborn streak."
"Oh, I'm stubborn, am I?"
"The worst. In the best kind of way." She smiles at that. She likes hearing about herself. She'd like her memory back even better. Dr. Edward's warned her that it could come back gradually or not at all. Both options, Brenda isn't fine with.
"Steve?" she asks. "We're close, right?"
He hesitates, then nods. "We are. Why?" Brenda senses there's a past to her and Steve. He's not just Dylan's friend. It's something else. He rubs the back of his head. An uncomfortable look settles over his face.
"Bren, maybe we should wait until you . . ." He trails off when she shakes her head.
"No," she says, frustrated. She knows they don't want to push her, but if they try to hide everything, she'll never remember anything. "I want to know." She eyes him dead-on. "You said we were close friends…were we…ever anything more?"
Steve's eyes widen. "No." He lets out a breath. "I love you, Bren, but not like that."
Brenda flushes in embarrassment. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry."
"Hey, don't be." Steve reaches across the table to take her hand. He rubs his thumb back and forth over her knuckles in a gesture Brenda finds comforting. "You can tell me anything."
"Does that go the same for me?" Brenda volleys, eyeing him evenly.
Steve sighs. "Goddamnit." She smiles when she sees him relenting. He levels her with a scowl. "Fine. But Dylan's gonna be pissed if he hears I was laying this on you your first day home, you hear me?" She nods, mimes zipped lips.
"It isn't pretty," he says.
"That's okay." Her heart speeds up. It's so fast she can hear it in her ears.
Steve swallows thickly. "Growing up…I was more your brother's friend." He looks ashamed. "We had our moments and our group was very close but Brandon was my best friend."
"My twin?" She had heard she was not an only child as Vince had told her. Dylan had told her small bits about her family. How she had a twin brother and parents that were very loving and still married to this very day.
Steve nods, "About five years ago, My wife left me and took my daughter with her. I got into some trouble."
Brenda cocks her head. "What kind of trouble?"
"Drugs." Steve says it so point-blank she winces. "Cocaine. I hid it for a few months, but when I started missing visitation with Maddie, sure as shit, Dylan found out, he's her godfather." Brenda smiles at that.
A small chuckle. "Man, he was so pissed, he tried to have an intervention. Dylan has fought his own addiction demons in the past and he let me know right away, that it wasn't me. You threatened me with bodily harm. We'd been on tour for about a month when you found me." Brenda licks her lips. "Found you what?"
"Overdosing in the goddamn bathtub."
"Jesus," she whispers, knocked down by the news.
"You picked up on it first. You knew something was wrong. The night it happened, you followed me back to the hotel after the show." A tight smile spreads across Steve's face. "You wiped the blood from my nose and got the tour medic to hook me up to an IV." She frowns. "You didn't tell Dylan…you didn't tell anyone." Steve sighs. "Look Brenda, our group back then was tight, if anyone had found out it would have eventually made it's way back to Janet…my ex wife. I would have lost custody, who knows if I'd even be apart of Maddie's life. I messed up. In all my years of stupid shit, I had never touched anything like that before. I spiraled when she left me. You saved my life."
"I did?" She looks down at her hands.
"You did." Steve's grip on Brenda's hand tightens. "You took care of me and you had my back." His expression fills with shame. "I didn't deserve any of that, and yet you did it. I hadn't always had yours."
Steve's voice breaks as he adds, "I could have lost everything. You wouldn't let me embarrass myself, and you wouldn't give up on me. I won't get into details but like I said before, I was always more Brandon's friend but that night changed everything."
The gratefulness in Steve's voice has Brenda reeling.
"You're better now?" She can't help the concern creeping into her question.
"I haven't touched the stuff since that night." Steve's voice is quiet as he meets Brenda's gaze. "I owe you my life. You saved me, Brenda. I had just about given up."
Brenda moves her head to stare out the window, her heart wrecked by the revelation. She knew there was something between them, had felt that since their first encounter in the diner, and while it's not romantic love, it's love nonetheless. There's wetness on her face, and when she reaches up to wipe her cheek, her hand fills with hot tears.
When she looks back at Steve, he's watching her with worry. She has to tell him. "You saved me too," she says hoarsely.
Steve's brow furrows slightly, but he keeps a tight grip on her hand. The encouraging look in his eyes bids her to go on. "That day on the beach…I tried…I was going to . . ."
He's pale, but he nods like he knows where she's going with this. Finally, Brenda lets loose a wild shudder. "If you hadn't stopped me…"
The words hang heavy like an anchor between them. She gives a wobbly smile. "I'm glad you were there."
"Me too." Steve smiles back, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Now we're even, okay?"
"Yeah," Brenda says, wondering. She'd swear there's more to his story. "Even."
Caught off guard by the confession, Steve collapses back in the booth. It feels like there's a gaping hole in his chest. One that isn't going close anytime soon. He watches as Brenda sits silent and still in the booth, her brow furrowed as she processes what he's told her.
Steve's chest gives a twinge. He wonders if telling her about their past was a mistake. She looks too tired, too thin. He wants to feed her, to put her to bed, but knows Brenda would have none of it.
Brenda could eat a man alive and then go back to calmly drinking her coffee. Still, he could sense her frustration. Wanting to know more, wanting to dig around for the truth. Steve's got to tell Dylan that she isn't going to be such an easy sell on his whole keeping-the-past-a-secret-until-Bren's-ready plan.
And Christ. The question about them being together. Steve wouldn't touch Brenda with a ten-foot pole. Not because she wasn't gorgeous. She was. Brenda was always off limits, she was Brandon's sister and let's face it, always Dylan's girl. Whether they were together at that moment or not. He and Brenda—they had something deeper, and he wouldn't fuck that up for anything in the world.
He glances at Brenda, her distant stare still on the window. "When was the last time you ate something?" Steve says, standing. "I'll make you a sandwich—"
"I know how to make a sandwich." Brenda lifts a palm. "My memory isn't that shot."
Her small frame slips out of the booth and moves to the fridge. She eyes him, a teasing smile playing across her lips. "It's peanut butter and jelly, right?"
Steve shrugs. "Your eating habits were always questionable, you usually put peanut butter and jelly in a bowl and ate it with a spoon."
Brenda scoffs, "Probably something about the carbs…but Bren…you need those carbs girl." Barking a laugh at himself Steve leaves Brenda to make her sandwich with a big smile on her face and goes to find Dylan.
As Brenda finishes making her sandwich she sits back in the booth.
Erica appears with a smile, "This seat taken?"
Brenda smiles back, "it has your name on it."
"I'm not going to ask you how you're feeing?" Erica sits down across from her.
Brenda rolls her eyes playfully, "I appreciate it."
Erica smiles, but her eyes are glassy, "I still can't believe I'm looking at you."
Brenda feeling awkward puts down her sandwich while she chews slowly. "I'm sorry…"
Erica puts her hand up, "Don't Bren. Don't feel bad for not remembering me."
"It's so frustrating. Seeing so many people caring about me and not having any clue how our relationship is. I get a feeling like I know them…but have no explanation how or why."
Erica nods, "I know. It will come back Brenda. You just have to be patient. Which I know it's not a virtue you and I have." Erica chuckles. "I've know you since I was twelve years old. Out of all of Dylan's friends, you were the only one that didn't look at me like I was just some pain in the ass kid." Brenda smiles, "You were like a big sister…you are my sister."
Brenda reaches for Erica's hand when tears slowly slide down her face. "Dylan…he's been lost without you."
Brenda swallows hard remembering that phone call from earlier. She looks towards the back of the bus. "We all have."
Brenda looks back at her supposed sister and smiles. She picks up her sandwich taking a bite, "So tell me about Valerie…I have to admit when I met you guys in the diner I thought you and David were an item." Brenda changes the subject to something less serious.
Erica laughs, " Oh Brenda…he is hot. I won't lie." They both giggle. "But…David is and will always be like a brother to me. When you see Val you'll know why even if he wasn't, I'd never have a chance."
"Valerie is pretty?"
"Valerie is bad ass, beautiful and the definition of a bombshell."
Brenda looks at Erica, "Don't sell yourself short girl, you are too."
Erica blushes, "I know." Which causes Brenda to laugh. "They're soulmates though. They almost lost each other but thankfully, Him and Donna his ex-wife realized that they had been forcing their connection…just because they were high school sweethearts and alone. They weren't meant to be."
Brenda leans in, "Tell me more."
And so Erica does. Fills her in on mundane things about the gang. Non stressful gossip really and Brenda loves every minute of it. She has the feeling this was her and Erica's norm. The girly stuff, the sister stuff and she understood why she instantly loved her sister-in-law…once again.
Steve bypasses Marshall and David, who are having a hushed conversation in the hall, to find Dylan in the lounge.
"Bren's up," Steve says as a greeting.
Dylan's eyes flicker, flashing with worry and longing. "She okay?"
"She's fine, man." Steve claps him on the shoulder and gives him a reassuring squeeze. "She's making a sandwich, relax."
Dylan grunts and tugs down his baseball cap. "Good."
Steve knows Dylan is about to go half-mad. He doesn't blame him, though. Dylan's trying to walk the fine line between giving Brenda space and being beside her every damn chance he gets. He just got her back after nine long months of thinking she was dead. Steve would want to hold on to her too. but he knows Dylan doesn't want to crowd her. The old Brenda would hate that.
Steve sits across from Dylan on one of the black leather couches. "Listen, I know you know, but it isn't gonna be so easy keeping everything from Brenda. She's smart. She's asking questions."
Dylan's jaw clenches. "What happened?"
"Nothing." Steve holds his friends eyes. "Yet."
Dipping forward, Dylan laces a hand across the back of his neck and lets out a deep sigh.
"I'll tell her everything, but she has to be stronger first. That's all I care about. Get her into therapy, get her healthy. That's the plan for now."
Steve nods, telling Dylan he understands. He's got his back. Always.
Dylan sighs tears filling his eyes, "How do you tell your wife…you haven't always been the most perfect boyfriend?"
"You're a good husband Dylan." Steve reassures him.
"I know…it's just." Dylan scratches his head. "She has no idea, what I've done to her in the past."
Steve raises his eyebrows and Dylan interrupts him already knowing what Steve is thinking, "I know…some guys would be relieved. All indiscretions all drama…gone…erased…but that's not me and Bren. The shit we've been through…defines us. It makes us who we are. It makes us stronger. The fact that we could face everything we've been through head on and still love each other…and still make it work…that's us man. That's Brenda and me. That's our connection."
"Brenda's a forgiving person Dylan. It will be fine." Steve tries to comfort him.
"The old Brenda was a forgiving person and let's not forget what was happening before that plane crash."
Steve holds up his hand, "Dylan…don't think about that okay? Not yet…one step at a time. Just stick to the plan for now, and you'll cross that bridge when you come to it."
From behind them, Marshall's boom of a voice sideswipes any further conversation. "Speaking of plans, son. You think I could get you guys in the studio tomorrow? Maybe you can write a new come back song."
David, comes down the aisle to sit beside them, shakes his head. Yet his eyes, intent and hopeful, land on Dylan.
Steve stifles a dry laugh. Marshall's got some balls of steel to ask Dylan to leave Brenda, not yet back twenty-four hours. It's typical Marshall. His I-get-what-I-want act. But he's gotten them this far—arranged for the bus, smoothed things over with Jeff Stein, finagled them out of the tour contract—so Steve's gotta give him that. It's more than Steve had the power to do being their manager.
Dylan shifts in his seat, his face neutral, though his eyes betray irritation. "What did I tell you?"
Marshall's cell phone goes off. He raises it up in surrender. "Just to talk, son. Nothin' more than that."
Then, before Dylan can really lay into him, Marshall answers with a curt, "What's happenin'?"
"It might not be too bad," David hedges. "We could go. Hear him out." The notion that David would even be okay with this has Steve frowning.
Even Dylan looks surprised. Marshall approaches them, the neon glow of the phone lighting up his weathered face. "Boys, I got some bad news you ain't gonna like."
"Is there any bad news you do like?" Dylan asks with a dry grin.
"Hmm." Steve ticks off a list on his fingers. "The baby's not yours, aliens have landed, Jeff Stein fell into a well…"
Both Dylan and David laugh. But the laughter dies off once Marshall shows them his phone.
Steve groans and rubs his eyes.
Dylan swears darkly. "Son of a mother fucking bitch."
EEEEK Any guesses? Hit review kids. Wink wink.