Lorraine met me at the Hard Rock Stadium. From time to time, they let the minor leagues go where the big boys played, and the turnout was always fantastic. Excitement lingered in the air. I made my way to the women’s locker room, and my girls were in there, dressed in their uniforms, ready for action.

Lorraine, my assistant and best friend, was already present, and she came to give me a hug. She was a friend I’d made after the accident, someone who hadn’t been involved at all. I’d told her about it, but the only Sadie she knew was the one I was now, which is exactly how I liked it. She was a loyal friend, and she expected nothing from me other than what I could give. Which at times over these past five years, hasn’t been a whole lot.

“Are we excited, ladies?” I asked.

They cheered. We would dance next to the field during the game. During timeouts, they would take the field and entertain the spectators. The cheerleaders were a big favorite.

“Looks like you’ve got them under control,” I said to Lorraine. “I’m going to grab us sodas before the game starts.”

She nodded, and I left the locker room again. I cut through the VIP section, where I wasn’t technically allowed, and almost made it through without trouble when I bumped into someone.

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” I said, keeping my head down.

If whoever this was asked me for my ticket or pass or whatever, I would get in trouble, because I didn’t have one.

“Sadie?” the man asked.

I looked up into Brian McMurray’s cerulean blue eyes. Of course, he would be in the VIP section. His eyes smiled at me, and his sandy hair was messy, like he’d only finger combed it.

“Brian,” I said.

My stomach turned. It was the same feeling I’d had when I’d seen him on the field last night. His eyes had seemed to turn more blue since then, though.

God, he was sexy.

“You remember me,” he said.

I nodded slowly. “From after the accident.”

He nodded, and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His face was unreadable. Although, if he showed me an expression, I doubted I would know what it meant. I didn’t know him like that.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

I swallowed.

The truth?

I might as well give it to him.

“Cheating,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows, lips curling into a smile.

“I want to skip out on the crowds,” I said. “I wasn’t going to sit here or anything.”

He chuckled. “Smart move.”

I relaxed. Something about him was calming. I didn’t remember that about him from when I was in the hospital, but the last time we spoke, I had been angry the whole time, resentful, difficult. I didn’t pay attention to the people around me, only to myself, my agony, and my problems.

He wore jeans that were faded in all the right places, a blue-collared shirt that brought out his eyes with sleeves rolled up halfway, the top button of his shirt undone. He was super toned, and had tattoos.

“How have you been?” he asked.

A security guard walked past and didn’t even look in my direction. Standing next to and chatting with Mr. Famous had its perks.

“I’ve been good,” I said. “Training hard with the cheerleaders.”

Brian nodded. His eyes were still gentle, his lips on the verge of a smile all the time. I had forgotten how tall he was, too. He loomed over me but in an alpha male sort of way, not in a way that made me feel crowded or creeped out.

“And you?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Well, my career has been going very well.”

It was a very impersonal answer. And your personal life? I wanted to ask, but it seemed unfair of me to do that. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to know.

“Your cheerleaders look good, by the way,” he said. “I can see you’ve been working hard.”

I nodded. I didn’t know what else to say. This happened whenever I met someone that had known me before the accident. I always felt like I was disappointing them somehow, like I was a watered down version of who they needed me to be, and since I couldn’t remember who that had been, I could never figure out how to make it right.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again,” he said, as if he knew I was starting to feel awkward. “Take care of yourself.”

Whenever someone said that to me, it felt like a line, but when Brian said it, it sounded like he really meant it. He smiled at me, and it reached all the way to his eyes. I felt warm and beautiful when he looked at me like that.

He touched my hand lightly before walking away. I turned and watched him go. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. My chest felt tight, like I was struggling to breathe, and something nagged at the back of my mind.

I flashed to an image— a memory?— of Brian in a suit, wearing a shirt that was the same color as his eyes, a rose pinned to his lapel. He was much younger, his body not as filled out as it was now, but it was like I knew that body. The eyes of the Brian from my vision smiled the same way Brian’s eyes had smiled at me now.

Was this really a memory? The doctors had said it was possible that I would start remembering something things at some point. But so many years had passed without one single memory that I had become convinced it wouldn’t happen for me.

If it was a memory, though, it was the first time I’d remembered anything since the accident. I couldn’t even remember my parents, my home, anything. Why in the world would my first memory be of this Brian guy instead of anything else?

My chest tightened, and I couldn’t breathe. This was the start of a panic attack. I’d had them sometimes in the past, and they always happened after I had realized how much I’d forgotten.

The feeling was unreal. It was as if I could have been anyone, said and done anything in the past, and I wouldn’t even know it now. I had no idea who the “old me” even was, and the thought was enough to send me into a spiral sometimes.

I hurried away from the VIP section and hid in the women’s restroom. I pressed my back against the wall, the tiles cold behind me, and I forced myself to breathe in and out slowly.

When the panic passed and I felt better again, I walked to the mirror above the sinks. I splashed cold water on my face and studied myself. It was still me, but I couldn’t remember when last the woman staring back had been as familiar as she was now.

There was more, locked up in my mind. If I could remember Brian, I could remember more. I tried to reach for it, but I couldn’t grasp it. It felt like trying to remember a dream. For a moment, I thought I had something.

Then it was gone again, and when I looked in the mirror one more time, the Sadie I saw was the same one I had learned to live with the last few years. There was no trace of the Sadie I had once been, and no more memories of who Brian used to be.

I suppose it must not have been a memory and only a vision that quickly flashed in and out of my mind, as if perhaps it wanted to remember so badly that it was creating a false memory. I had been foolish— or too caught up in the panic attack— to think my mind could actually remember something, or someone.