“Okay. I might be your landlord, but we are neighbors, you know. I’m here if you need anything.”
Brie pats him on the shoulder. “You’re a peach, Marcus.”
The ghost of a smile flits across his lips as a flush creeps up his neck. Turning to follow Brie into the kitchen, his gaze skims over the coffee table… and lingers on my sketchbook. Eyebrows furrowing, he thrusts his chin toward the drawing on the open page. “Hey, how do you know Szymanski?”
Wait, did he just say Szymanski? My eyes go wide and I stop breathing for several heartbeats. “How do you know him?”
“We play in the same softball league.”
Brie jogs over to the coffee table from across the room. “You play softball with him… this guy here?” She jams her finger at the sketch.
“Yeah, that’s Devin Szymanski, right? He works with his brother at Blooms & Baubles, the flower shop on Providence and West Twenty-Eighth.”
“Flower shop?” I say at the same time Brie squeaks, “You’re sure that’s really him?”
“Um, is it supposed to be someone else? Because damn, that could practically be a photograph.” Bending over, Marcus flips through a few pages. “Why do you have all these drawings, anyway? Did you do them?”
Nodding vaguely, I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste pennies. Swiveling slowly, I face Brie. I imagine my expression matches her own openmouthed shock.
“Cass. You were right. You do know him, you must. So Devin is… real?” she breathes.
“He’s real.”
“Devin is real.” She sinks onto the couch next to me.
“He’s real. He’s real,” Xerxes squawks.
“Will somebody tell me what’s going on?” asks Marcus.
I snort. “You’re not going to believe this.”
In one smooth move, Marcus pulls the coffee table away from the couch and sits on it so he’s facing us. Resting his elbows on his knees, he steeples his fingers. “Try me.”
Marcus’s mouth hangs open like screen door in a stiff breeze. “I don’t believe it.”
Brie shifts beside me so she’s sitting cross-legged on the couch. “I didn’t until approximately five minutes ago. So, understandable.”
I scoot forward until I’m perched on the very edge of the cushion. “I know it sounds nuts, totally impossible. But I’m telling the truth.”
Pushing to his feet, Marcus strides over to the fireplace. “So you were in a coma for a week, and when you woke up, you suddenly had all these memories of… Devin Szymanski?”
“Memories of him as her boyfriend, yes,” Brie says.
I shoot her a thanks, Brie, look.
“But you say you’ve never actually met him before?” Marcus’s eyebrows knit.
“Right,” I say.
“How do you know?”
I blink. “Because Brie never met nor heard of him.”
“And she meets all your boyfriends?”
“Well, yes.”
Brie sticks a finger in the air. Her hot pink nail polish shimmers. “I never met Tucker.”
“That’s because you were at Purdue and I only dated him for two months junior year of college. You didn’t miss anything. He was a dud.”
Marcus paces the length of the room. “And according to your memories, how long were you with Devin?”
“Three months,” I say.
He shrugs. “Three months isn’t much longer than two. Maybe you were keeping the relationship a secret?”
I chortle. “No way.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“Because I never texted or called anyone named Devin, and I don’t have any pictures of him. If we really had dated for three months, I would have at the very least had his number saved in my phone.”
“Unless you wanted to keep your relationship a secret.” He shrugs. “In which case it’s conceivable you wouldn’t have his number stored in your contacts. Maybe you communicated with him through an app or DMs and deleted the messages. Or used a burner phone to talk to him.”
“A burner phone?” Brie snorts. “You watch too many thrillers.”
Flopping back into the sofa cushions, I cross my legs. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would I want to keep a relationship with someone a secret?”
Marcus taps his long fingers against a jean-clad thigh. “When was your accident again?”
“Last July.”
“Okay, so eleven months ago…” Marcus’s narrowed eyes flick back and forth. “Yeah, if I’m remembering it correctly, he was seeing someone back then. What if he had a girlfriend, and you were, like, his side piece?”