A Story That Won't End

River

"Drink this. You just threw up." I held out a glass of water I'd grabbed from the nightstand.

Ayla took it, sipped once, then handed it back with an unsteady hand. She was completely out of control when drunk, and honestly, I was lucky she hadn't ended up with some guy who would've taken advantage of her.

What I didn't expect was her hand tugging me closer-so close our faces were barely an inch apart. Her heavy-lidded eyes dropped from my face down to my neck.

My eyes widened when her lips brushed against my Adam's Apple.

God. This was the last thing I saw coming. My brain went haywire, my throat going dry as saliva slid down automatically.

I couldn't let myself lose it. But the fire in me burned hotter, twisting my thoughts. A low sound escaped my throat as her hand slid across my chest. Then lower, to my waist.

This can't happen, River.

"Ayla, stop... you're still drunk." I pulled her hand away.

"You don't want me, River?" she whispered.

My sanity snapped back. I cupped her face gently, forcing her eyes open just a little wider.

"Not now. Not like this."

"Coward!" she shoved me, frustration lacing her slurred voice.

That was better than me giving in to a desire that had no business surfacing tonight.

"Say that again when you're sober, Hope."

I left her in my room, making it through the storm of temptation by taking a long hot shower and crashing on the couch in the living room.

**

By the time Ayla came out the next morning, I was setting up the space heater. The autumn air bit sharply even with the sun climbing higher.

I'd been up since six, cleaning up the studio rental to make it feel a little more comfortable for her. The things I'd asked Travis for were already on the table-painkillers for the hangover, bagels, and warm buttered toast. The size 4 dress she'd brought with her was neatly folded over a chair.

"Good morning... River," she said quietly.

"Morning. Since you're fully awake now, let's eat." I turned to face her.

Her expression shifted instantly-panic flashing across her face as her eyes darted around, noticing the clothes she wore weren't hers. Her cheeks flushed red, and she ducked her head. I walked over slowly, handing her a glass of water laced with Aerex.

"Take this after you eat. Hangover meds."

She took it carefully. "Who... changed my clothes?"

"I did," I admitted without hesitation. "You were half-conscious and your clothes were ruined from throwing up. Luckily, it didn't get on the bed."

She stayed quiet, eyes downcast, embarrassed. I didn't want to push it, so I left her alone long enough to shower.

By the time I came out in a plain T-shirt and sweats, my phone was full of notifications from Travis. One stood out-the results of his background check on Ayla Monroe.

Or Hope Marsh.

My childhood friend. The girl who once saved me when I was just a scared kid with a heavy Japanese accent. I'd spent the last two years searching for her, and finally, here she was-on this very campus.

At first, I wasn't sure it was her. But the surgical scar on her stomach had confirmed it. I remembered the day clearly: her appendix had burst in elementary school, and she'd written me a letter before going into surgery.

We'd been inseparable back then. She was the one who made me braver after that incident on the bridge, the one who became my first love. All I wanted now was to prove to her that I wasn't the same timid boy anymore.

"River?"

I turned quickly. She stood at the doorway, drowning in my oversized shirt and rolled-up sweatpants. Strange, but kind of cute.

"What is it?"

"Did I... do anything embarrassing last night?"

I knew this question would come. And if she ever found out she'd almost broken my self-control, her guilt would swallow her whole.

So I lied. "No. You were fine."

"Do you have my phone?" She glanced around, clearly anxious.

"It got crushed under a car tire when we caught the Uber."

I showed her the plastic bag with the nearly destroyed phone inside. Her face paled, panic written all over it. I handed her mine. "Use this if you need to."

She grabbed it and immediately called someone-Yuna, her best friend.

"Yeah... I'm safe. I'm at a friend's place. I'll explain later. Can you pick me up? I'll send the location."

When she hung up, her eyes found mine again.

"I... I don't remember much about last night. Can you tell me what happened at the club?"

I kept my tone steady, calm. "I was there too. You came in with your friend, looking tense, like you'd just fought with someone. You sat at the bar and started drinking. A lot. I saw you from across the room, and before long, you passed out. I carried you out before anyone else could try anything."

I didn't mention the kiss. That was something she didn't need to know-not yet. When the right time came, I wanted her to remember it on her own.

She studied me, doubt flickering in her gaze. "So... you just happened to be there?"

"Yeah. My idiot friend had the keys to this apartment. I went to meet him." No way was I telling her I'd followed her there. Not yet.

She fell silent, her eyes drifting to the breakfast spread. "Thank you, River. You didn't have to do all this."

I sat across from her. "Why'd you drink that much?"

Ayla sighed. "My cousin, Rhett. He's... overprotective. Way too much. He told me I wasn't allowed to be near you. Not even as a friend. I got frustrated. So I drank."

The name hit me. Rhett. Travis had already mentioned him during the research. We'd met yesterday and clashed immediately. Dominant, controlling-that was him.

"I feel weird," she admitted. "But when I talk to you... I don't know. I feel comfortable. Like I've known you before."

Her words stopped my heart for a beat. If only she knew how much I remembered-every second we'd shared. Why was it only me who remembered?

I forced a smile. "Maybe we have met before."

She gave a small nod, nibbling at her toast. "I've never been drunk before."

"And don't do it again," I said too quickly. Way too quickly.

Her wide eyes lifted to mine. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I cleared my throat. "I mean... you're not the type who needs alcohol to run from your problems. There are other ways."

Her gaze lingered on me before a small smile curved her lips. "Alright, Mr. Wise Guy."

Before I could reply, the doorbell rang. Ayla jumped to her feet, panic written all over her face. "That's Yuna."

I grabbed the fresh clothes Travis had bought and handed them to her. "Here. So you'll feel more comfortable going home."

She took them, her voice soft. "Thanks. Again."

At the door, she paused, turning back.

"River... I'm glad you were there last night. I don't know what would've happened if it wasn't you."

"I'll always be there if you need me," I answered without hesitation.

She smiled faintly and left.

The door clicked shut, but her scent still lingered. I sat back down, pulling up the digital file Travis had sent. The records of Hope Freissy Marsh. Birth date. Medical history. And one detail that stood out-

2015: Mild head trauma. Possible effect: long-term memory loss.

So that was it. She really had forgotten me.

My phone buzzed-Dad calling. He'd want me at Thanksgiving again. Half-Japanese or not, he never let go of Mom's traditions.

"I'll be there, Dad. Don't worry," I said quickly before he could start.

I hung up, only to hear a knock on the door. Travis.

"Everything's handled, River," he said, walking in. "How long do you want this place rented?"

"One year. We're staying."

His brows rose. "So... she really is Ayla Monroe. Hope Marsh?"

I stared at the door she'd just walked through. Memories of our childhood, her handwritten letters, and old scars twisted in my chest.

"She's the girl you've been searching for, isn't she? The one you... love?"

I didn't answer. I didn't need to. The truth was written all over me.