Muscle Memory of You

Rowan spent two years chasing me, and the next five worshiping the ground I walked on. Five years ago, he died in the line of duty. They never even found a body.

Today, a single phone call from Bennett shattered the dead silence. He told me Rowan was still alive. And in two weeks, he was getting married.

Chapter 1 Bennett and the other cops spent the entire trip to the coastal town trying to talk me down, but I shut them out.

My thumb rubbed obsessively over the plain band on my ring finger. He proposed to me. He was my fiancé.

He couldn't just marry some other woman. "There." Bennett pointed at a bedandbreakfast called Sunlight.

The obscure little inn had blown up online after a tourist posted a set of photos.

The owner had accidentally been caught in the frame, and even with just a shot of his side profile, the internet had lost its collective mind over him.

Bennett shot me a warning glance. "He doesn't remember a damn thing. Keep yourself…" I didn't hear the rest.

My eyes were locked onto that front door, the blood rushing in my ears drowning out everything else. Bennett pushed the door open.

A wind chime made of seashells clattered against the wood. A sprawling courtyard stretched out in front of us, with a cobblestone path cutting straight toward the main house.

An oversized swing hung on one side, and a golden retriever lay dozing in the sun, surrounded by a handful of stray cats. My brow furrowed.

A figure suddenly pushed through a curtain of strung seashells. He was tall, his long legs eating up the distance in slow, deliberate strides.

A black tshirt stretched tight across the hard, defined lines of his chest and arms, and his jawline was cut like glass.

The second his eyes met mine, a sledgehammer slammed into my chest. All the air evaporated from my lungs.

I stared at him, my fingernails biting so deep into my palms that the skin threatened to break. I needed the sting.

I needed the pain to prove this wasn't some sick, twisted hallucination.

I'd seen guys who looked like Rowan before—guys who shared eighty percent of his features, guys who even had that same teardrop mole under their eye.

But one glance was always enough to know they were cheap copies. The man standing in front of me was a far cry from the boy I used to know.

His features had hardened, trading the youth I remembered for sharp, unforgiving angles and an icy, unapproachable edge. My feet moved on their own.

I drifted closer, my vision zeroing in on the teardrop mole beneath his eye.

On the faded red string tied around his neck… "Rowan…" The name scraped out of my throat in a breathless whisper.

I swallowed down the violent urge to sob, terrified any sudden move would make him vanish into thin air. He looked down at me. There was nothing in his eyes.

Just a hollow, terrifying blankness. "What?" "Rowan…" My lips trembled so hard the syllables barely formed. He stared at me like a feral dog sizing up a trespasser.

A muscle feathered in his tight jaw. "Sorry. You've got the wrong guy." His tone was pure ice, but his dark eyes dragged down to my lips, lingering there for half a second too long.

I could get a million things wrong in this lifetime, but I would never mistake Rowan. He was half of my soul. Bennett grabbed my arm, yanking me back a step. "Sorry about her.

Do you have any vacancies?" Rowan crossed his massive arms over his chest, his gaze sweeping over us in a slow, calculating assessment. "Yeah.

How many?" "Two." "Follow me." He turned his back on us and strode toward the main house, not sparing me another glance. I'd been so damn naive.

I'd convinced myself that the second he saw me, everything would just click back into place. That seeing my face would be enough to fix it all.

But the way he looked at me… It was cold. Sharp. Laced with an unmistakable edge of irritation at the crazy woman who had dared to step onto his property.

Chapter 2 I didn't cry when Bennett told me he was alive. I didn't cry when I heard about the wedding.

But remembering the dead, hollow look in his eyes just now… It felt like a brutal fist had punched straight through my ribs, crushing my heart until it threatened to rupture.

Hot moisture spilled over my lashes before I could stop it. "IDs." Bennett slid our driver's licenses across the counter.

As he reached for the cards, my gaze slammed into his left hand. The top joint of his pinky finger was gone.

He turned toward the register, and every step carried the heavy, dragging weight of a limp.

I bit down hard on my lower lip, tasting copper as I choked back the scream clawing at my throat.

Bennett snatched the room keys and immediately motioned for the others to get me out of the lobby.

I slumped against the cold wood of the door in my room, my chest heaving erratically. "What the hell kind of torture did he go through?" On the ride here, I'd sworn to myself that the second I saw him, I was going to slap him so hard his head would spin.

How dare he forget me? How dare he plan a wedding with someone else? But the moment I laid eyes on him, all that righteous fury evaporated.

All I wanted to do was wrap my arms around him and hold him together.

I stayed locked in that room until Loretta, terrified I was going to do something stupid, dragged me out by force.

The rest of the team was out in the backyard, grouped around a barbecue grill. My eyes instantly locked onto Rowan.

He was flipping skewers over the smoking coals, with Bennett standing right next to him.

The two of them were actually holding a decent conversation. "Margot, you holding up okay?" Bennett asked. I gave a tight nod. "Rowan, let me introduce you.

This is Margot." I slowly extended my hand, fighting a vicious battle to keep my fingers from trembling. "Margot.

It's nice to meet you." A large, calloused, and achingly warm hand gripped mine in a brief, strictly polite shake. "Rowan.

Nice to meet you." A textbook greeting between two strangers. A sharp, acidic sting hit the bridge of my nose. My mind flashed back to the night he proposed.

He had wrapped me up in his arms, his touch devastatingly gentle, his voice a low murmur against my temple. "Nice to meet you, future wife." We had lost everything.

Staring at the man standing right in front of me, a million frantic questions clawed at my throat. But in the end, all that came out was, "It's beautiful out here.

Have you… been doing well?" He flipped a row of meat skewers with practiced ease, throwing out a casual reply. "Doing great." Good. That was good.

While he spoke, a piece of chicken slipped off a skewer and hit the dirt. He didn't miss a beat, turning his head toward the back door. "Biscuit, come here." Biscuit.

That was the name of the chunky orange tabby we had adopted together back in the city. He was the one who named the cat. "He's round and looks like a baked good.

Let's just call him Biscuit." I stared at the massive golden retriever that came trotting over, its tail wagging happily.

My throat suddenly felt like it was packed with sand. "His name is… Biscuit?" "Yeah. He's round and chubby.

What else would I call him?" I turned my back, hurriedly swiping at the fresh tears burning my eyes. Only he could come up with such a ridiculously tacky name.

Once the food was ready, we all gathered around the rustic patio table. My eyes locked onto the cooler of beer.

I grabbed a can, cracked it open, and practically inhaled it, letting the bitter, cold liquid burn down my throat. I stared at the man sitting across from me.

That teardrop mole I used to tease him about still rested perfectly under his eye.

The faded red string still hung around his neck, though I had no way of knowing if it was the exact one I had given him. None of this felt real.

It was a suffocating, waking nightmare. Chapter 3 Loretta started passing around the skewers. She dropped one loaded with mushrooms onto his plate.

My hand shot out, snatching the skewer before he could even reach for it. "No. He can't eat mushrooms." The entire table fell dead silent, all eyes snapping to me.

Just as I stood there frozen, a girl came jogging over. She slipped up behind him, her arms wrapping naturally around his waist.

Resting her chin on his broad shoulder, she turned her head and pressed a loud, wet kiss to his jaw. "God, I missed you, Rowan!" Rowan immediately shifted his stance, his large hand coming back to instinctively steady the girl behind him. "Get off." It was supposed to be a reprimand, but the heavy, velvet softness in his tone made my stomach drop.

He pulled her around to his front, tucking her effortlessly into his side.

A rare, genuine smile broke across his face as he looked at us. "This is my wife, Chloe." My fingers clamped around the wooden skewer in my hand until the wood threatened to snap.

I stared blankly at the girl. Her smile was blindingly bright, radiating an easy, untainted warmth. A brutal tremor ripped through my chest.

It felt like a baseball bat had been taken to my ribs, collapsing my lungs and ripping the oxygen straight out of my throat. "Hi everyone! I'm Chloe, Rowan's wife.

Welcome to the coast." Bennett and the others mumbled their awkward hellos. Chloe was a talker.

She worked her way around the table, showering everyone with easy compliments until she landed on me. "Oh my god, Margot, you're gorgeous! I'd kill for your figure.

And your hair is incredible." "Seriously, look at mine, I'm practically going bald." She suddenly remembered something, twisting around to glare up at the man beside her. "It's definitely the way you blowdry it for me.

You need to be careful, or you're going to have a bald bride at the wedding next week." Rowan threaded his thick fingers through her hair, letting out a low, helpless chuckle. "Alright." I watched the clarity in her eyes.

There wasn't a single trace of trauma or darkness in them—just pure, unadulterated excitement for her wedding day.

It was a terrifying mirror image of exactly who I used to be. "Wedding?" Loretta echoed. "Yep! Next Wednesday.

You guys are all invited, seriously, we'd love to have you!" I grabbed another can of beer from the cooler and popped the tab.

Chloe reached for one too, but before her fingers could even graze the aluminum, a large hand snatched it away. "No drinking for you." Chloe hooked a finger into his collar, tilting her face up with a bratty pout. "Just one little sip, please." Ignoring the fact that we were all sitting right there, she pushed up on her tiptoes and bit down lightly on his lower lip in a teasing punishment. "Come on, Rowan.

Be nice." "Drink this." He unscrewed the lid of a white thermos. The unmistakable, sweet scent of steeped rose petals drifted across the table.

Chloe wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Rose? Seriously, Rowan? I've told you a million times, I hate floral teas.

How do you forget every single time?" "I don't know…" he muttered, his brow furrowing slightly. "Muscle memory, I guess." My stomach flipped.

I jerked my head away, tipping my can back and downing the rest of the beer in one bitter gulp. I hated drinking water.

Back in high school, I used to wreck my vocal cords memorizing notes until I practically lost my voice. To force fluids into me, Rowan had turned into an obsessive barista.

He cycled through rose teas, fruit infusions, oolong—anything to get me to drink. In the winter, he would stand over a hot stove boiling apple and pear cider for me.

Every time I actually managed to drain a cup, the arrogant, untouchable golden boy would look at my cheap pink thermos like it was the Holy Grail.

Watching me crush the empty can, Chloe doubled down on her negotiation. "Look at Margot, she just killed a whole can.

Maybe that's her secret to perfect hair." "Smartass," he grunted. I stared at the crushed aluminum in my hand.

A sharp, cynical smile ghosted across my lips. "My ex used to police my drinking, too. Mostly because I'm an absolute lightweight.

He was practically my warden." Chloe blinked at me. "Doesn't he get pissed when you drink like this now?" My eyes flicked past her, landing squarely on the broad chest of the man standing beside her.

I gave a slow, empty shake of my head. "He doesn't give a damn about me anymore." Chapter 4 Realizing she had stepped on a landmine, Chloe flashed me an apologetic look.

The bratty act vanished. She wrapped both hands around Rowan's thermos and obediently drained it dry.

That single mushroom skewer was the only thing I managed to choke down, but the alcohol was hitting my system hard. The world tilted slightly. I excused myself early.

As I took the porch steps, Chloe's bright, ringing laughter cut through the saltheavy air. I glanced back over my shoulder.

She was plastered to Rowan's broad back like a sloth, gesturing wildly, her mouth running a mile a minute.

Her arms choked around his neck, causing him to stumble slightly, but he didn't snap.

He just kept clearing the patio table, his head bent in quiet indulgence, like this was just their everyday routine. Rowan didn't have a good temper. He never had.

I'd spent years believing I was the only one allowed to see that soft, patient side of him. I'd believed, right down to my marrow, that I was the only woman he would ever love.

Staring at the overflowing joy on Chloe's face, my lungs collapsed.

I clamped a hand over my chest, digging my fingers into my sternum as a suffocating agony ripped through me. "That was supposed to be me." I was the one he was supposed to spoil until the rest of the world ceased to exist.

By the time I retreated to my room and Loretta pushed my door open, I had forcefully shoved the shattered pieces of myself back into place. "I fully expected you to tear this place down," she said quietly.

I kept my eyes fixed on the blackedout windowpane. "That was the original plan. But… I couldn't bring myself to do it." "You hauled a massive suitcase all the way out here.

I figured you were planning to jog his memory." That heavy suitcase held an entire decade of us.

It held the very first note he ever slipped into my hand, his handwritten confession, every single birthday gift he'd bought me from eighteen to twentyeight, our first polaroid together, and the test shots from our wedding fitting.

I shook my head, my voice hollow. "No." Loretta stared at me, genuinely stunned. "Why the hell not?" The horrific, bloody memory of his parents' deaths flashed behind my eyelids.

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the tremor out of my voice. "The agony of having your entire family ripped away… I won't make him live through that hell a second time." The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed late.

By the time I threw on some clothes, grabbed my sketchpad, and headed out to the courtyard, the lunch rush was over. Loretta waved me over from a wooden picnic table. "Margot!

We saved you a plate." The group was lounging around, nursing their drinks. The second Chloe spotted me, she bolted back into the main house.

A minute later, she came practically skipping back out, clutching a burntorange envelope.

She shoved it toward me like she was presenting a prized trophy. "Margot, we don't have a lot of family coming out.

Consider this your official, VIP invite to the wedding." A formal invitation. My fingers closed around the thick cardstock, but my blood had turned to lead.

I couldn't summon the physical strength to pull the card out. Chloe wasn't having it. "Come on, Margot, pull it out! You went to art school, right?

Tell me what you think of the design." It was just a single piece of paper, but it felt like a hundred pounds of dead weight in my hands. Loretta caught my hesitation.

She immediately reached over, intercepting the envelope. "Let me see. Oh, wow. This color is gorgeous." "Right?" Chloe beamed. "Rowan actually picked the orange.

I wanted lavender, but the orange just pops so much better. What's your favorite color, Margot?" I set my sketchpad down on the bench.

Slowly, I pointed a finger at my own burntorange sweater. Before high school, I hadn't given a damn about colors.

But one day, I showed up wearing an oversized orange jacket, and Rowan casually mentioned that the color looked incredible on me.

From that second on, my entire wardrobe had slowly shifted to orange.

Chloe clapped her hands. "Oh my god, Margot, you and my Rowan have the exact same taste!" "My Rowan." Those two words grated violently against my eardrums, scraping like rusted metal.

There was a time, in another life, when Rowan loved nothing more than wrapping his arm around me in a crowded room and proudly calling me "his Margot." Chapter 5 Catching the pale look on my face, Loretta smoothly plucked the invitation out of my hands. "The illustration looks a bit like you, actually.

It's cute. Wait, an evening ceremony? You guys are getting married at sunset?" Chloe rubbed her cheeks. "That was all Rowan!

He insisted on it because he said…" "Because someone can't wake up in the morning." I finished the sentence for her. Chloe stared at me, her eyes wide. "Margot!

How did you know?!" "That's exactly what he said! But mostly, it's just because Rowan really loves sunsets." Rowan used to tell me that dusk was his absolute favorite time of day.

Because by dusk, his sleeping beauty finally woke up and turned back into his girlfriend. I was a chronic oversleeper.

Back in high school, dragging myself out of bed at fivethirty in the morning was my own personal circle of hell.

For three straight years, I would ride on the back pegs of Rowan's bike every single morning, my arms locked around his waist and my eyes dead shut as I caught extra sleep against his back.

I could pack three separate dreams into a tenminute break between classes. And every time I woke up, his letterman jacket would be draped over my shoulders.

I vividly remembered drifting in that hazy space between sleep and waking, hearing his breath ghost over my ear as he let out a heavy sigh. "You sleep like the dead, Margot.

What the hell am I going to do with you on our wedding day?" Fast forward to the morning of my twentyfourth birthday.

I woke up to the scratch of his morning stubble against my cheek.

I gave him a weak shove, trying to bury my face back into the pillows, but he just hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me flush against his chest.

He rubbed soothing circles into my spine, his voice rough with sleep. "Margot. Let's do an evening wedding." I groggily burrowed deeper into his embrace.

He dipped his head, pressing a hot kiss into the crook of my neck, his voice dropping into a raspy, loaded murmur. "I need my future wife fully rested.

If you're too damn exhausted to even let me slip the ring on your finger on our wedding day, how exactly am I supposed to punish you in bed that night?" But now… It wasn't that I was too tired to marry him.

It was that he wasn't marrying me. The bitter irony tasted like ash in my mouth. I grabbed my sketchpad and stood up.

As I moved, the sunlight caught the plain silver band on my left ring finger. Chloe's eyes immediately zeroed in on it.

Catching her stare, I gave the ring a slight twist. "I knew because my fiancé used to say the exact same thing." "You're married, Margot?" "Yeah.

For five years." Chloe blinked, genuinely surprised. "What about your husband, then?

Didn't he come with you?" My eyes drifted past her, locking onto the tall, broadshouldered man walking out of the main house.

I gave a slow, imperceptible shake of my head. "No." As I walked out the front gates of the inn, Chloe's bright laughter chased after me like a physical blow.

She was excitedly telling Loretta all about how Rowan had proposed.

I picked up my pace, practically fleeing down the cobblestone path as if the devil himself were breathing down my neck.

I found an empty patch of grass near the cliffs and set up my easel. The second my fingers closed around the wooden palette, a wave of dizziness slammed into my skull.

My vision blurred. Hands shaking, I dug the plastic pill bottle out of my pocket, dryswallowing the medication.

It took several agonizing minutes for the nausea to finally recede into a dull throb. But the physical spin was only half the battle.

The spell yanked a memory straight to the surface. We had just rounded a sharp curve. Out of nowhere, the car surged forward, the steering wheel dead.

The massive concrete retaining wall rushed toward the windshield at a terrifying speed. A raw, bloodcurdling scream ripped out of my throat. CRASH!

Chapter 6 The car smashed through the barrier, but the expected, bonecrushing impact never came. Peeking through my trembling fingers, I caught a sliver of warm orange light.

The soft glow and the overwhelming scent of freesia spilled into the car, illuminating a figure standing in the center of it all.

Rowan stood in a sea of flowers, wearing a sharply tailored suit. Our closest friends and family were gathered around in their Sunday best.

Even Biscuit was sitting obediently beside him, sporting a tiny, ridiculous dog tuxedo. I stared at the scene, my brain shortcircuiting.

Rowan walked over and pulled my car door open. I'll never forget the first thing he said to me. "Time's up, Margot." It was our little code. "Time to eat. Time to go home.

Time to kiss." And now… "Time to get married." He lifted me out of the car. Applause erupted around us.

Rowan, a man who stared death in the face for a living, was actually stuttering. "Did you have a good day, Margot?" The lump in my throat was so thick I couldn't speak.

I just nodded frantically. He flashed that signature, devastatingly arrogant smirk. "Margot, I need you to do a massive favor for me.

And you're the only one who can do it." I stared up at him. "What?" "Be my wife." He dropped to one knee. "Marry me, and I'll make sure you're this lucky every single day of your life.

Plus, it's a buyonegettwo deal. Maybe even getthree." Things were always like that with Rowan. Effortless. We never needed to spell things out.

I always knew he was going to marry me, and he knew damn well I would never say yes to anyone else.

On the drive home that night, he pulled over at a gas station and bought a scratchoff ticket. "If I hit the jackpot, all thirty million goes straight to you," he told me. "And if you don't?" I asked.

He shrugged, his expression deadpan. "Then it just means marrying you used up every last drop of luck I had." I laughed so hard my ribs ached.

Then I looked at him, dead serious. "I spent my whole life thinking I was cursed.

Turns out I was just saving it all up to meet you." "Damn right you were," he smirked, his eyes crinkling. "You banked eighteen years of good karma just to land me.

You better appreciate what you've got." I leaned across the center console, pressed my lips to his jaw, and whispered fiercely, "I will." As the sun dipped below the horizon, I stared hungrily at the burning orange sky.

His voice still echoed in my ears, but the man who spoke those words was long gone.

By the time I slung my sketchpad over my shoulder and headed back, the string lights outside the inn were already glowing against the twilight.

As I walked up the path, a tall silhouette blocked the front entrance. A single, glowing ember floated in the dusk, and the harsh, biting scent of nicotine drifted on the breeze.

My brow furrowed. He turned his head at the sound of my footsteps. A flash of genuine panic broke through the dead look in his eyes.

He hurriedly crushed the cigarette under his heel, his hand lifting to awkwardly rub the back of his neck.

It was the exact same nervous tell Rowan always had whenever I caught him sneaking a smoke.

I tried to ignore him and walk straight past, but as I brushed by, his hand suddenly shot out and gripped my wrist.

The rough, calloused pads of his fingers dragged dangerously against my racing pulse. His voice was a low, gravelly scrape right against my ear. "Margot. I remember you." Chapter 7