I shook my head. No, I couldn’t talk about Rafe. A sob broke free, then another. Tears slid down my cheeks, and each one amplified the grief simmering in my soul until all I felt was denial. Anger.

Rage.

“You killed him! I hate you.” I lifted a knee and struck his erection. “I fucking hate you! Do you hear me?”

Zach stumbled back, out of striking distance. While he doubled over, wheezing between lips tightened in pain, I unraveled, my gut-wrenching sobs tearing through the air, my feet uselessly kicking as acceptance finally penetrated.

Rafe was really gone.

I wailed, aching to clutch my breasts and contain the agony pouring from me. Zach might as well cut my chest open and carve my heart out with his teeth. It wouldn’t devastate any less. Nothing mattered anymore. He could beat me, cut me, kill me…I felt nothing beyond hatred and the remnants of despair.

I lifted my head, peering through tears and the messy curls clinging to my face, and caught his gaze, blasted all my hatred in that stare. He turned away, as if he couldn’t stand to look at me. But was it the sight of me that bothered him, or the truth that stared him in the face?

4. Rude Awakening - Rafe

4. RUDE AWAKENING - RAFE

“You have a condition called dissociative amnesia.”

Before I could ask what the heck that meant, my brother beat me to it. Typical Adam behavior. He’d just arrived, but he was already taking over. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward, dark hair brushing his brows as he cast a glance in my direction. “What does that mean, exactly?” His get-to-the-point tone commanded Dr. Brady’s attention.

“Dissociative amnesia usually occurs due to a psychological trauma, rather than a physiological one.” The doctor gestured toward me. “In the case of your brother, it’s unusual, as it’s neither generalized nor selective. He hasn’t forgotten his entire life, or bits and pieces, he’s lost a large segment of it instead.”

“And you’re positive this isn’t from physical trauma?” Adam asked.

“Going by the MRI results, no. Everything looks good.”

I shifted carefully so the hole in my shoulder wouldn’t throb too much. “Then why the fuck can’t I remember the last eight years?” The doc’s brows furrowed, and I winced. “Sorry, I’m just…” Pissed that you guys are talking like I’m not here. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

His ruddy face hardened. “This type of disorder doesn’t always make sense.”

“Now you’re calling it a disorder? Am I crazy? Is that it?”