Page 83 of Thin Lives

With every breath, each blink, the memories bled together for Calisto until his mind was a screaming, aching, jumbled mess of things he had forgotten. And with each forgotten moment—for every lost emotion—the pain intensified until he was vomiting again, and tears streaked down his cheeks.

How had he forgotten?

How was it possible that one day he had woken up, and forgot how he loved her?

Their time …

Their words …

Stolen minutes, brief seconds, and darker days.

Calisto’s knees hit the pavement hard, and his fingers curled into fists against the brick wall of his club, making his fingernails break from the pressure.

It was difficult, having all of his memories from before bleed into the time he had spent without them.

Anger festered and then flared, overwhelming his heart.

Guilt ate at him.

Pain suffocated him.

But through it all, his mind—hazy and full—focused on two things.

Emma.

Cross.

Emma.

Cross.

Once he had gained enough of his bearings to stand straight, Calisto stumbled back to the open driver’s door of the SUV. Somehow, he had a feeling that not very much time had passed from the moment he wrecked his SUV, to now. He only thought that because no one had yet to come out of the club and find the wrecked vehicle, or him. Then again, he’d hit the wall of another business that was only open on the weekends, and it was possible there was no one inside to hear the crash.

Calisto had all he could do to keep from retching again as he dug around on the floor of the SUV, trying to find his cell phone. He was definitely concussed, and it wasn’t a particularly good feeling.

Finally, he found the fucking phone.

He hit the power button, illuminating the cracked touchscreen. Just from the home screen, he could clearly see that there were a few missed calls and a couple of messages. Swiping his thumb across the screen, he typed in the code to unlock the device and see exactly who had called him.

Calisto ran down the numbers.

Ray.

Wolf.

One of his managers.

Ray again.

The messages were the same thing—the same people.

Calisto went back to the previous log screen, and focused on what he knew was there. In a day, Affonso made it a point to call him several times. Usually, it was to run some kind of errand or to chat about whatever fit Affonso’s fancy that day.

He only had one call from Affonso.

Just one.

The call that had asked Calisto to the hospital.