Keeper_Harloe Rae, page 1
Copyright © 2020 by Harloe Rae, LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the publisher listed above, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or purely coincidental.
Editing: Librum Arts Editorial Services
Cover Artist: BookCoverKingdom (www.bookcoverkingdom.com)
Photographer: Rafa G. Catalá
Cover Model: Oliver Buendia
Formatting: Champagne Book Design
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
NOVELS BY HARLOE RAE
DEDICATION
EPIGRAPH
PLAYLIST
INTRO
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
EPILOGUE
BONUS EPILOGUE
WHAT TO READ NEXT
MORE TITLES FROM HARLOE RAE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Reclusive Standalones
Redefining Us
Forget You Not
#BitterSweetHeat Standalones
Gent
Miss
Lass
Watch Me Follow
Ask Me Why
Breaker
Keeper
For Keri and Katherine.
It’s because of lovely people like you that dreams come true. Thank you for being a huge part of mine.
The Lonely Road
The lonely road is littered with sorrow.
Murky puddles taunt.
Grass long overgrown weeps.
Sharp pebbles cut deep.
But my soles do not beg for relief.
The shards of my heart bleed.
Painting the gravel with more despair.
And I don’t even remember how I got there.
—Delaney Wallace
“Bruises” Lewis Capaldi
“Anchor” by Novo Amor
“If You Want Love” by NF
“Losin Control” by Russ
“Be Alright” by Dean Lewis
“Remember Love” by The Lover The Keeper
“Can I Be Him” by James Arthur
“Cringe” by Matt Maeson
“She Is Love” by Parachute
“Someone You Loved” Lewis Capaldi
“It’s You” by Ali Gaite
“Someone To Stay” Vancouver Sleep Clinic
“I Was Made For Loving You” by Tori Kelly & Ed Sheeran
Listen on Spotify here
“Will you help me remember?”
That’s the second thing I ask the stranger hovering just outside of my hospital room. To me, Decker Fredric is another nameless face in the crowd. To him, I’m a forgotten girl he hasn’t seen in years. But he agrees to be my crutch through the fog as if we were once friends.
Everything is a blank canvas spreading far and wide in front of me. Any direction I take, my steps stumble over the unknown. Decker becomes the only reliable constant in my life. I lean on him too hard, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His unwavering patience and guidance restore some semblance of normal I don’t recall having.
My attraction to Decker is instant, but he appears indifferent. Until the day his stare holds a bit too much heat. In return, I dare to let my touch linger. Our hugs cling tighter than a simple embrace should. But we have no business defying the distinct line cutting between us.
Decker Fredric was never mine to keep. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting him to be.
Wisdom of Worth #83: Beware of coal wrapped in glitter.
A lamp whizzes by my face, crashing into the wall. The lightbulb shatters with a sickening pop, cloaking the room in eerie darkness. I focus on the dying glow from those unrecognizable pieces. There’s probably a metaphor buried within the shards, but I can’t think of that now. The man looming on the fringes of my personal space commands every ounce of attention. I feel his sticky filth locking me in place. That level of control makes my skin pebble and burn.
Charles points a blunt finger at me. “You think keeping secrets will save you?”
My blink is weighed down with a thousand words. All the curses I wish to spill dangle on my lashes. What I wouldn’t give to let him hear exactly how he makes me feel…but it will only make the impending fallout worse.
“What’s spinning up here, huh?” He flicks my forehead. “Nothing but hot air. You’re lucky I was willing to take care of you. Anyone else would’ve kicked you to the curb by now. Maybe I should, huh? Would that teach you a lesson?”
Bile burns at the back of my throat. This asshole is so arrogant. He can’t see the truth ready to be spat in his disgusting face. How did I ever find him attractive? He’s nothing more than a bully with a fat wallet. I was lured in by the promise of a better life, duped by shiny presents and glamorous dates. He said all the right things, with an extra helping of extravagant flare, showering me with gifts I could never afford on my own. Such material bullshit. Nothing that good is true—or free. I should’ve known better when mother dearest suggested our coupling. She’s only out for herself and whatever benefits come along with it. Now I’m left paying dearly for my stupidity.
There isn’t a wisdom of worth powerful enough to clean this mess I’ve landed in. My big brain isn’t looking so impressive in this moment. If my friends could see me now, they’d probably have plenty of their own advice to dish out. None of that will help me with this devil of a man.
“Did you fucking hear me, Lanie? Or are you suddenly deaf and dumb?” His meaty fist crumples the note I’d been foolish enough to leave by my phone. “Whose number is this, huh? Some asshole you met at work? You’re quitting that damn job. I won’t let anything—or anyone—take you away from me.”
I blow out a slow stream of held breath then press my lips together in a flat line. He doesn’t deserve my honesty—not that he’d believe me either way. This isn’t the first time he’s falsely accused me of something outrageous. I’ve come to expect this nasty behavior from my so-called boyfriend, embarrassing as that is to admit. There’s no denying the truth currently sneering at me.
In the beginning, I blamed his mood on a bad night of drinking. Weeks later, I now see his temper for what it truly is.
“Who is he? Did you tell him all about me? How I’ve ruined you?”
Charles stalks closer, and I brace for his brutal contact. There’s no disguising my flinch, though. Every part of me goes rigid with tension. His chuckle is a taunt and has me stiffening further.
“Scared, little lamb?”
I grind my teeth. That nickname is disturbing, similar to the man spitting it at me. The urge to kick him in the teeth vibrates through me. I usually fight back without hesitation. He hasn’t broken me yet—not for lack of trying. My jaw still throbs from his backhand. The purple bruise is further proof that I need out of here. I’ve been planning my escape since he first hit me weeks ago. Leaving immediately would’ve been wise, but not practical. Regardless, his lack of awareness is almost comical.
“How long have you been cheating on me? You been spreading those thighs for any man willing?”
Heat builds behind my eyes, wildfire blazing beyond my control. I don’t wipe at the moisture collecting. Showing any sign of weakness will fuel his fury. I gulp down the ball of fire and keep my gaze unwavering.
“Do I look stupid to you?” Spittle collects in the corner of his lips.
I imagine him as a rabid dog foaming at the mouth, and the picture almost makes me laugh. I press two fingers over my twitching lips.
“You think this is fucking funny?”
I don’t bother responding. Eventually he’ll tire himself out, and I’ll be gone by morning. There’s a packed duffel bag buried deep in the coat closet. Almost two grand is stashed in a coffee can—cliché but effective. Just one more night. Hell, a few measly hours. I can survive that long.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
I’ve stopped trying to guess what he’s rambl
He chucks my makeshift piggy bank at me. The container lands in my lap, and I catch it on reflex alone. It’s empty. All the money I’ve starved and scrimped to save is gone. I barely manage to trap my sob.
“H–how did you find this?”
Charles folds his bulging arms, showing off stacks of steroid-fueled muscles. “Again, do I look stupid to you?”
“Every cent of that is mine. You stole it from me.”
“I’ll take whatever I want, because you belong to me. Your ass is mine, Lanie. Ever since you walked through my door, that’s been your fate. Nothing you do can change that. Hear that? You’ll never escape me, little lamb. But I’ll give you credit for trying.”
In the next beat, Charles pounces. One massive palm slaps down on my head while the other attempts to crush my windpipe. His grip on my scalp is punishing, but it’s mild compared to the lethal noose around my neck. I struggle, trying to loosen his hold to grab some air. Strands of hair rip out from the roots, tearing a whimper from my clogging throat.
“You’re nothing more than worthless trash. I never should’ve picked you up.” He slams my face into the nearby dresser, blistering agony exploding in my cheek. The edges of my vision blur with an array of blinding stars. High-pitched ringing echoes in my ears.
A moan curls off my tongue. Before I can complain further, Charles wrenches my head back and bashes me again. A streak of blissful white immediately follows. Another blow rattles my skull, and everything goes dark.
Wisdom of Worth #21: Memories can be easily altered.
Mechanical beeping penetrates the wall of my subconscious and rouses me from sleep. I remember the sound waking me up before. That’s one of the only memories I can recall, at this point.
A quick assessment of my surroundings confirms I’m still in the hospital. The distinctive stench of antiseptic and sterile gauze stings my nose. White walls box me in. A thin, lumpy mattress makes finding comfort in this place a bigger challenge. Pressure squeezes my skull and threatens to crack more than bone. The pounding beats louder with each labored breath.
I attempt to stretch the stiffness from my limbs, but a harsh tug stops the movement short. Wires and tubes remain taped to my arms. I follow the tangle to a row of machines, the large screen beside my bed spitting out readings I can’t decipher. Same as yesterday, and the three prior to that. But that’s where my memory stops.
That reminder alone has the pebble in my throat growing into a suffocating boulder. Will I ever escape the void? The professionals constantly swarming nearby don’t seem to think so. A heavy sigh accompanies the moisture collecting on my lashes.
Several rapid knocks break into the echoing silence. A doctor pokes his head into the room, as if summoned by my downward spiral. I recognize him and the kind smile he’s wearing. In this moment, it does nothing to settle my nerves.
“Good morning, Delaney. Can I come in?”
I nod, but my attention snags on the name. How pathetic that I didn’t remember it myself until he told me earlier this week. The basics of my identity are all they’ve shared since I woke from the coma without my past. I drum my nails to a silent rhythm while playing the information on a loop.
My name is Delaney Katherine Wallace. I’m twenty-three years old. My memories are trapped by a blockade—thick and impenetrable. The life I had before this is gone, my recollection of anything beyond this hospital zero. Without meaning to, I’ve pushed a reset button of epic proportions.
When I glance up, the doctor is watching me with an assessing gaze. It takes great effort not to fidget under that level of scrutiny. I should be used to it by now, though I’m not sure it’s ever something I want to accept as normal.
“Feeling okay, Delaney?”
There’s my name again. I swear he repeats it on purpose, as if to jog my memory. That’s a wild assumption, considering he’s the one who told me the past is likely lost in a bottomless abyss.
I scratch at my throbbing temple. “Uh, sure. Same old and all that.”
His eyes squint further. “Any new pain?”
“Just the headache, but that’s been a consistent companion.”
The doctor nods and makes a sympathetic sound. I imagine this man as someone’s protective father. His bedside manner is naturally relaxed and kind, meant to soothe. He’s the compassionate type without going overboard. How I’m able to grasp that from him yet not recall my own parents is beyond comprehension. All part of this thing called retrograde amnesia.
Morning arrives and fades into night, while nothing else sinks in. The days drag on as I try to regain footing. Minutes trickle down, grains of sand in an hourglass. I swallow the grit on my tongue. “How long has it been since my accident?”
He taps on the tablet in his hand. “You were brought in two weeks ago. We suspect the incident occurred just hours prior. The external injuries you sustained were fresh. You regained consciousness after nine days. Thankfully the coma didn’t extend longer than that.”
I allow my chin to bob with this information. I’ve heard it before from a different doctor. For some reason, hearing it again allows me to feel grounded to this experience. But I want more.
“Where was I found?”
His brow lowers. “In an alley. You were unconscious and in a heap against the wall.”
I want to ask who brought me here. Where was I specifically? Did someone cause me harm on purpose? But I know he won’t say. My mental state is still too “fragile.” I’ve been internally rolling my eyes since he told me that yesterday.
The doctor continues reciting details in a methodical tone. “Aside from the impairment to your memory functions, all is well. I’m very happy with the speed of your healing. You’re a healthy young woman.”
He left out alone. I’m utterly and crushingly alone. Inside my mind, all around me, and for the foreseeable future. They did tell me that—I have no one to call mine. Well, that’s not entirely true. My mother is alive and apparently doing very well in Colorado. That doesn’t do me a bit of good. She couldn’t be bothered to even speak with me on the phone when the hospital called her. The doctor was kind enough to pass along that message yesterday.
A pit inside of my stomach grows to the point of pain. I rub at the burn. The discomfort doesn’t ease.
This relative stranger with a warm stare offers me a small smile. “You’ll be just fine, Delaney. Think of this as a fresh start.”
I almost laugh at the absurd notion. Why do I need a new beginning? What happened to me? Those questions may never be answered, at least not by me.
“Still no hope of me remembering anything?”
His sigh says it all. “I’m sorry, Delaney. There is significant damage to several parts of your brain.”
The doctor taps on his screen again. I already know what he’s preparing to show me. Since I first regained consciousness, they’ve reviewed several charts and scans with me. All of them spell out similar results. It all goes way over my head, quite literally. But the gist? I’m stuck in this perpetual loop of blank vastness. I still have basic knowledge; I can read, I can do math, I can write. But everything I once knew about myself has vanished.
He hovers his finger over a picture that highlights the affected areas. “These injuries cannot be repaired. It’s a miracle you’re alive, frankly.”
I fiddle with the hem of my checkered gown. “Losing my memory isn’t bad enough?”
“Unfortunately, with traumatic brain injury, it could always be worse.”
I sniff at the sting in my bruised nose. His words ring with clanging truth. I’m grateful to have oxygen flooding into my lungs and blood pumping through my heart. But the struggle ahead of me seems difficult to conquer.
The most dominating concern wakes from slumber and prods at the rear of my sluggish mind. “Still no visitors?”
His expression slips. “Not that I’ve heard. The police have word out and are searching for other possible relatives.”
Because my mother has made it clear she wants nothing to do with me. I’ve done my best to block out that hurtful fact. How can she stay away after hearing I’m hurt and have no other family to rely on? Maybe that’s not entirely fair. I’m not sure what the doctors shared with her. And without knowledge of where our relationship stands, it’s impossible to determine who’s to blame for us being at odds. Maybe I deserve her silence. That’s the main reason I’m not pushing to contact her again. It won’t be difficult to find me if she changes her mind.
