“This was nice, Hope.”

I look at the woman sitting on the sofa across from me and she’s still a mystery. I’m married to her, supposedly, but for the most part nothing about our relationship seems like we’re married. I’ve been here a week now, and tomorrow the motel opens for business and I feel like… a visitor. I definitely don’t feel like I’m married and as cute as Jack is and as much as I care for him… I feel like I’m on the outside looking in at the two of them. I can see everything I’m supposed to be a part of, everything I kind of want… and yet I don’t feel a part of them.

I have so many questions, so many things that I want answered or explained. I haven’t pushed it. Primarily because every time I do, Hope’s answers scare the hell out of me. I know it’s way past time that I get some real answers, however. I had planned on sitting down with Hope and getting the answers to those questions tonight. Then, I showed up and she had dinner fixed and a homemade birthday cake—chocolate, which was amazing. I know money has to be tight. I know this because in the week that I’ve been here, Hope is cleaning houses for people in town to supplement our income, and yet, she took time out of her busy schedule—not to mention money out of her budget—to make me a special dinner of steaks, salads and baked potatoes to go with the birthday cake.

The fact that she’s cleaning houses and paying the bills, while I’m doing nothing, makes me feel like shit. I’m starting to pray I never get my memory back. I don’t want to wake up and be that man again. The old man who gets drunk and hangs on the side of a woman like Hope, taking and taking and giving nothing back.

I’ve thought about walking away. I’d be doing Hope a favor. One thing stops me. It makes me a selfish bastard, but it’s the truth.

I remember her.

I don’t mean that I have memories, but I have…feelings. I can remember how she tastes, the sounds she makes during sex, and the smell of her…. Fuck. The scent of vanilla is driving me crazy. When she’s looking at me, it’s… familiar. When she says my name, I know in my heart I’ve heard it before.

So, I’m still here. Because I can’t just walk away. Which means I’m going to have to get some answers soon. Things are going to have to start changing because… I can’t keep going like I am. I feel like I’m in a dark room, blindfolded, and unsure of the first step I need to take.

“It’s not over yet.”

“It’s not?” I ask surprised.

“Jack’s asleep so I thought…since it’s your birthday and all, we could watch something besides cartoons on the television.

“What are we watching?”

“I have a horrible confession, Aden. I don’t watch movies.”

“What?”

“Don’t laugh but… I hate television and movies. I’m a reader. I read. That’s what I do.”

“I see, and you’re telling me this… Because?”

“The last movie I watched was an old DVD that I got at the flea market for a dollar. I loved it though and sometimes I watch it after Jack goes to sleep.”

“I never watched it with you?”

“What?” she asks, blinking.

“I didn’t watch the movie with you?”

“Well, usually by the time I crash and watch it you’re gone…”

“I see,” I mumble. “So, what’s the name of the movie?”

“Die Hard!” she says excitedly.

“Die Hard?”

“I know you probably don’t remember it, but it’s amazing and Bruce Willis is the greatest male actor ever. Seriously! He can’t make a bad movie.”

“He’s an asshole. He’s rude to everyone,” I growl and then, when I realize what I’ve said, my body goes completely still.

“Aden? Do you remember Bruce Willis movies?” Hope asks, confused, and sure enough that frown is on her forehead again. Standing up and acting on impulse, I reach over and rub the pad of my thumb across the small indention.

“I’ve probably read it somewhere or something. It’s funny the things I can remember and the things I can’t,” I shrug—for some reason however, that doesn’t feel completely honest. Something about just the name Bruce Willis makes me feel like maybe I know him. Which is crazy. I’m sure nowhere in the history of the world does someone like me rub elbows with the Hollywood elite.

“Oh… We don’t have to watch it if you don’t want to,” she says softly.

“I can think of nothing I’d like more than to spend time with you, Hope,” I tell her, and that at least is completely honest.

“You’re being very sweet,” she whispers. “I’m really not used to sweet Aden. I don’t think I’m prepared.”

“I’ll go slow,” I wink, and I sit down beside her on the couch.

She tenses up a little when I sit down and I feel like a damn kid. I’m supposed to be married to this girl, but it’s almost as if we are strangers. That’s something I want to change. It’s something I need to change, because there has to be something between us besides this. If there wasn’t I wouldn’t remember her like I do… Would I?

She messes around with the DVD player and the television. I find myself staring at her ass as she’s bent over in front of me. My dick jerks against the zipper in my pants. The old Aden might have needed help to get his motor running, but apparently this one doesn’t.

Something to be thankful for.

To keep from getting a raging cock-stand, I pull my vision away from Hope’s ass and look around the room. The room isn’t very large, but it’s homey. It has a great feel to it and she has the walls painted a muted beige and has offset that by using warm hues of blue and teal. It’s… calming. It reminds me of the ocean. I can’t be sure I’ve ever been there, but still—

“Are you ready?” she asks, smiling, and strangely she goes to the chair I just vacated earlier.

“Come sit down beside me. You can’t see the television from the corner like that.”

“Sure I can. I do it all the time,” she argues.

“Hope. It’s my birthday. Come sit down beside me.”

“Okay,” she whispers her voice threaded thickly with nerves.

“Why aren’t there any pictures of me?”

“What?” she asks, and in a move I’m coming to realize is nerves, she blinks twice—yet again.

“All through this room and even Jack’s room you have pictures of him or you, or both of you and some of your family, but… there are no pictures of me anywhere.”

“I…Aden, you hate the camera.”

“Still… I mean I’m part of your life. I’m Jack’s father…”

“I told you that you aren’t Jack’s—”

“Let’s don’t start that shit again. And, quit trying to divert me. I’m being serious here. Shouldn’t there be at least one picture of me somewhere?”

“I…”

“Hope, is there something you’re not telling me?” I ask.

She looks at me and I wait, almost holding my breath.