It hurts.

Before they make it into the screen porch, I'm back inside the house, sitting at the kitchen table flipping through the newspaper like I didn't see them at all. I tucked the photo album under a stack of magazines because I really don't want to answer questions right now. I'm only looking at these photos because I'm interested, not because I'm trying to be the old me again.

"Morning, Henley," Ryan says, walking around the table until he's facing me. I try not to let him see I'm bothered and confused. I try not to be ridiculous.

"Morning," I look up into his eyes and my heartbeat kicks up a few notches. Just because I refuse to act on my attraction doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

He's sweating and it's sexy as hell. His cheeks are pink from the cold wind and the long walk home. It's times like these I tell myself he's mine and that I shouldn't feel nervous around him. That this attraction is a good thing; maybe it's my body remembering him when my mind can't.

He's in a pair of camouflage pants and thick black boots, and he's peeling off his blaze orange coat and gloves and dropping them on the floor. He's left a trail of mud and leaves from the back porch to wear he stands now. I'm quick to glare from his eyes to his mess and back, and he smiles and scoops his belongings up quickly. Just because he's smoking hot doesn't mean I'm going to let him drop his shit all over the house. That much I do know.

"Sorry. I'm about to hop in the shower. Bad luck huntin'. Almost had one, but it got away," he sighs. "Good thing it's only the start of the season. Plenty of time."

"By 'almost had one' he means he saw a buck off in the distance and missed it by a mile," I hear a soft voice say from behind him. Damn, I'd almost forgotten about her.

Ryan rolls his eyes and she walks up to him to tousle his already messy hair. Excuse me while I gag. I'm just about to do something irrational like flash my wedding ring to stake my claim when Ryan's voice interrupts my jealousy.

"Way to bruise my ego," he pokes her in the ribs until she jumps back. I look away, completely out of sorts for some reason. He clears his throat, and when we make eye contact, it's clear he sees my concern. "Just remember who taught you how to hunt to begin with."

He puts his hand on the woman's back and leads her slightly forward again until she's beside him and right in front of me. "This is Harlow," he says carefully. "My twin sister."

Excuse me? Yeah, we've played it pretty simply, but I would've figured he'd have shared this minor detail, especially since I'm about to dive head first into his family again in a few days.

He looks guilty, like he knows it could upset me to introduce me to her-his twin-this way, but I can't bring myself to be angry with him. He's smiling like an idiot around her, and it's nice to finally see him relaxed. He's bent over backwards for me since the moment I woke up, and it's about time he has a little time for himself.

Harlow steps forward and I stand up awkwardly. I'm not sure if I should shake her hand or hug her, and I wonder what our relationship was like before the accident. I'm curious, because her eyes are filled with a thin sheet of tears. Instead of a hug, she presses her hand into mine, like we're really meeting for the first time, and it eases me in a way.

"Hi," she says sweetly with a smile that says she means every word. "I'm so happy you're home. We've really missed you, Henley."

"Thank you," I nod and smile politely, because I'm not sure what else to say. I'm sure Ryan has given her the story on my status. I don't think she was expecting a big happy reunion, but still, this moment is big and this time I'm going to remember it.

My sister-in-law is beautiful, much like her brother. Now that my jealousy is completely at bay and I feel like an idiot for even doubting his loyalty, I can see the resemblance. Her eyes are the same whiskey brown and she's tall and slender.

"So. I'm going to grab a shower," he says, pointing his thumb over his shoulder toward the staircase. "You want some coffee or something, 'Low?"

The corners of my lips turn up at his nickname for her. He's been so gentle with everyone we've come in contact with. I know I must've hit the jackpot with this one.

Harlow glances at me carefully. She must pick up on my nerves, because she politely declines.

"I think I better get home before Andrew gets back from his trip. I'd like to shower and actually smell like a woman since I haven't seen him in a week," she winks at him and he feigns a gag. I catch myself smiling at the ease that exists between them. "But I'll see you guys at Mom's in a few days?"

Ryan nods and gives her a look I can't decipher, but she seems to understand. Must be weird twin magic or something. She's gone in a moment and I find myself at the table alone again. He excused himself for his shower without saying much, and now I'm left feeling a little out of sorts. I need to tell him about my decision, no matter how afraid of how it will go over.

Before I can stop myself, I'm at his bedroom door. It's closed, so I let myself in.

"Holy hell, Hen. If you only want to be friends you better learn how to knock. I'm practically naked in here," he teases. I freeze as I take it all in. It's the first time I've been in here since the fire, and I'm immediately hit with the scent of dark spices.

It's so familiar I almost can't breathe. I give it a minute, inhaling and exhaling, unable to get enough of the way it makes me feel, but the moment ends when I open my eyes and see him sitting at the edge of his bed shirtless. Okay, now that's just not fair.

He's cut, with the most amazing muscles I think I've ever laid eyes on,and a small script-like tattoo inked on the inside of his right bicep that reads aeternus eternus. I can't bring myself to ask him what it means.

"What's up?" His head is tipped a bit to one side. He looks hopeful. "I was only teasing, you know. I don't care if you come in here without knocking."

"I uh..." I'm almost afraid to tell him that I remember the scent, because a part of me thinks it's only familiar because he wears it almost every day. I know that's not it though. Deep down, I know; this is the first time anything has ever felt like a memory with him, and I'm nervous to voice it for fear I'll get his hopes up that I'm close to remembering the rest. "It's just my first time being in here since I came back," I say honestly. "You're bed is really huge."

Wow. I'm awesome.

The bed he's sitting on used to be our bed. I pull my eyes away and they get stuck on a large canvas hanging above the headboard. I nearly lose it, because I've never seen myself smile that widely. It's of the two of us, and my curls hang loosely around my shoulders as I tip my head back into Ryan's chest. I've got a lit cigarette between my fingers at my hip, and I'm laughing. Heartily.

"I smoked?"

"Like a chimney," he laughs. "I used to, too. We'd go through at least two packs a day. You smoked until the day of the accident."

"Gross," I frown. "I guess that's one good thing about losing my memory. I don't remember the withdrawals. You quit, too?"

"Yeah. Same time as you." I know what he means, so I hope he doesn't elaborate further. "I guess I started thinking about all the bad shit it was doing to my body. I stared at you, and you were helpless to do anything for yourself...so I knew I wanted to make some changes, starting with quitting cigs."

That's honorable, and sweet. "So why'd you pick this picture to hang up here?"

"I couldn't have you in person, and this picture is about as close to the real you I knew. I mean look at you. You're gorgeous here," he says, nostalgia dripping from his lips as he waves toward the canvas. I wish this could go differently, for his sake. "I mean, you still are. I just love the way this photo shows how your eyes light up when you laugh."

He runs a hand through his sweaty hair and my insides crumple. He may be okay with the way things are right now, but he's still deeply in love with the way I used to be. That worries me.

Okay, I didn't come up here for this. I bite my lip and force my gaze back down to him and start off with something a little lighter.

"I didn't know your sister went hunting with you this morning. I didn't even know you had a sister, let alone a twin, Ryan. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sorry. I wasn't sure when you'd be ready for all that," he reaches for my hand and I let him take it. It's comforting, and I'm confident he's not going to push me for more. "She said she didn't have to come inside because she was worried about overwhelming you. It's just she's really excited you're back. You're going to meet everyone else on Thanksgiving and I thought it might be good to kind of break you in slowly, so you at least know one more person there."

"Speaking of introductions, I made a pretty big decision this morning and I haven't gotten to talk to you about it. I'm heartbroken that I can't remember, so I'm just going to stop trying. I'm willing to talk about our past, but only because it's our past, not because I'm trying togo back in time. I can't sit around and wait for my life to start back up, Ryan."

He takes a deep breath, like he's going to beg me to reconsider, but lets it out without a word.

"I hated myself when I was seventeen," I whisper what I hope he already knows.

"I know," he frowns. "You weren't so keen on yourself when we first met, either."

His confession throws me off, but I press on. I'll revisit that sometime later because I deserve to know what I'm dealing with.

"I can't go back to feeling that way," he holds out his hand and shakes his head, but I know what he's getting ready to say. That I was happy before the accident. That he'd never let me be that sad again. I get my words out quickly, before I lose my nerve.

"And yes, I realize a lot happened to me, and us, that I don't remember. I look happy in these pictures, and I want to feel that way again. But it'll never happen if I concentrate on how much time I lost."

"Okay," he says simply. I'm fully aware that he knows the way I felt about myself just before we met. I wonder how bad I let myself and how the hell I turned it all around.

"Okay? That's it? You're not going to tell me I'm silly to just give up trying to remember?"

I know in a way I'm saying I won't force myself to remember loving him, and it's got to hurt.

"No," he shrugs, then stands from his bed and swipes a folded towel from a pile sitting on his bed. He's starting to be too good to be true. I'm just waiting for this all to come crashing down. I wonder if the doctors prepared him for this particular speech, too.

"Well what if I'm nothing like the way you remember me?"

"You are. Trust me. Whether you remember it or not, you'll always be my Henley." His tone suggests he's never said a more true statement in his life.

I stare at him, unable to move. He's so beautiful in just his unbuttoned pants. His muscled arms are stretched above him and he taps his hands on the top of the doorframe, like he's waiting for me to respond.

I can't.

He offers me a devilish grin that says he knows he just affected me, then turns and closes the door behind him before turning on the shower.

I briefly debate whether or not I made a bad decision in asking we stay friends. He's gorgeous and completely committed to me, no matter what idea I seem to present him. If I'm truly trying to move forward and make decisions solely on how I feel now instead of what I would've done before, I know I have to take things slowly and keep him as a friend. A really, really sexy friend that I can stare at whenever I want.

I take the plunge and plop down on his bed. Our bed. I stare backwards, upside down at the canvas on the wall behind me. I'm not sure what I think could happen. He's always quick in the shower and before I know it he'll be out here in a towel. I should probably go. No matter the label slapped on our relationship, I just feel better when he's around.

I'm still adjusting to the idea that he's all I have left. The doctors say it's best if I take things easy so I don't overwhelm myself. And I can, with most situations, but not the death of my parents. I catch myself zoning in and out, remembering things they used to say. When I was small, I naturally believed everything my mother said was right. As I grew, I began to wonder why she never seemed truly happy. Her brown eyes were big and beautiful, but when I really learned how to look, I could only see emptiness.

"Only a fool marries for love alone; you'll see what I mean when you're older," she once said.

Do I think she loved my father? Yes, but not in that inseparable, heart-aches-when-I'm-not-with-him type of love. She supported him in everything he did...maybe that was the way she showed her affection. I wonder what it was like when they fell in love. They never really talked about it. I just knew they married when they were in their early twenties. Before they'd really seen the world, as my mother had once put it. As I think back, I don't recall ever walking in on them kissing or whispering.

The kind of relationships I grew up around were anything but passionate.I briefly wonder if I'm capable of real love or if I, too, was systematic and practiced in my marriage.

I know I wouldn't be that way now.

Mom always had a way of seeing the sour side of things. She was well-spoken but arrogant, and often times more beautiful on the outside than in. She didn't leave the house without her dark red lipstick and a pair of heels, spending too many evenings downing bottles of red wine with her ladies' association rather than fixing me bedtime snacks.

My nanny, Josephine—Joey, for short—did all the important things,like making sure I brushed my teeth and packed my books for school in Kindergarten. The nights my father got home early, he'd press a kiss to my forehead. I always pretended to be asleep, afraid if I caught his eyes I might see something I didn't want to, like misery. Even asa small child I sensed my family was different.

My father was a surgeon, and he spent countless hours hunched over the operating table, dedicating his time to ensuring his patients got to see the sunrise the next day. I remember thinking how important his job was and how admirable it was that my daddy saved people. Deep down, though, it bothered me that he always seemed so far away. And I don't mean physically. Yes, he was gone a lot, but his hospital was just a few miles away. He'd work for hours, coming home only to sit and stare at a computer with dark circles under his eyes. Even when he was home, it never really felt like he was there...especially not the wayI needed him to be.

I was sent away to an out-of-state boarding school in first grade. My parents told me I'd get a better education than the public or private schools around our home. Maybe I did, but as the years progressed I realized a top-notch education wasn't the only reason they'd sent me away.

Joey escorted me on my first plane ride to school, when I was only 6 years old. I remember clutching her hand and staring into her eyes as she told me she wouldn't let anything happen to me. She was always kind to me, and often listened to me when it seemed my parents didn't care to. It broke my heart the first time I came home from boarding school for Thanksgiving break; I'd had to make the 3 hours flight alone, only to discover Joey had been dismissed and I was back to having no one.

I had a few friends over the years at school. Mostly roommates. But Sophie grew up to be a Grade A bitch and Mallory moved overseas when her father took a job in France. It wasn't easy for me to make connections. I was awkward and shy and my parents had instilled in me that I needed to watch every word I said, so as not to offend anyone or tarnish our family name. It was a lot of pressure for a young girl, probably more than I realized at the time. But as the years went on, my emotions began stirring, like I'd been holding back for far too long.

I watched the other girls prance around campus like they had it all figured out, but I didn't envy them. They walked like my mother and talked like my father, and after awhile it became abundantly clear that I didn't want to be a thing like either one of them...like I'd inherited the deeply buried wild side of each of them, and a vibrant young woman was just dying to break free. I'm not sure if she ever did.

I guess it's been years since I've thought about all this. Everything Ryan's told me so far makes me believe things didn't end well with my parents. I wonder what I did, and I wonder if he has anything to do with it. I don't expect him to sit me down and explain it all in one shot. I don't think he could if he wanted to...at least thats the way it seems. I hope I wasn't so shallow that he could define me in a matter of hours.

I must be more exhausted than I'll admit, because I somehow managed to fall asleep in the short time he was in the shower. I probably could've slept for hours, and maybe I did, because I woke to a fully clothed Ryan sitting next to me on the bed.

I jump, completely startled and unsure of where I am or what time it is. His smile calms me.

"It's okay. You should go back to sleep. I thought it was kind of weird that you were awake when I got back. You've been waking up really early lately. Kind of surprises me."

"I take it I wasn't much of morning person," I prop myself up on my elbows so my head lifts from his pillow.

"You slept like the dead," he blurts.

"Don't I know it," I say with a small smile. As far as I'm concerned, I was dead for those 4 years. I have to comment on it now and then to show him I can accept it.

As soon as he says it, he's reeling his words back in. "Shit, Henley. I didn't mean it like that."

We're silent for a minute, but not because I'm angry. It's just one of those moments nothing can fix, and I'm thankful that I've decided to stop revisiting these feelings. I know, now more than ever, that I've made the right decision in trying to move forward.

"I tried your apple pie last night. It's awesome." He says. I'm happy for the change in subject. "I was thinking about reheating some to have with dinner. Interested?" He wiggles his eyebrows in an adorable way.

"Very," I tuck my hair behind my ears and pull the warm blankets away from my body. The cool air hits me and I shiver.

"You haven't slept well since we've been home, have you?"

I swallow, then shake my head. His eyes are swimming with empathy. We must be magnetic, because his hand reaches for mine and he squeezes it gently. It's warm and wonderful, and I briefly picture myself falling asleep right here, like this, with him holding my hand.

"Tell you what. It's only 2 o'clock. You go back to sleep and I'll come get you when it's time for dinner."

I try to act like I'm not completely drained, but my yawns give me away. He smiles, then pulls the covers over me up to my shoulders. I catch his scent again and my heart flutters.

"I can go to my room," I suggest, but I don't mean it. I hope he lets me stay. It's warm and it's strange, but I somehow