You Will Remember Me by Hannah McKinnon (best sales books of all time txt) 📕

I mean it. You don’t get to come here and mess with my brother.”

“Stepbrother. And I’ll do whatever the hell I want, Maya.”

“Not in my house. Why can’t you understand he’s lost his memory? Besides, Ash is—”

“Innocent?” He led out a pseudo-laugh. “Yeah, yeah. He had nothing to do with Celine or Kate, blah, blah, blah. It’s a load of horseshit. You know it, I know it, and—” he pointed to Ash “—so does he.”

I narrowed my eyes, took a step closer. “For the last time, the police cleared him. They never found anything implicating him in any way. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Because he’s inno—”

“Them finding nothing means fuck all,” Keenan said. “I sure as hell don’t believe Kate slipped. And Celine—”

“Who are Kate and Celine?” Ash said.

Keenan whipped his head around, taking a step in Ash’s direction, his balled fists moving up to his chest, locked and loaded. “You don’t get to say their names, asshole.”

“Enough.” I pushed Keenan toward the door, an almost impossible feat given our size difference. “Get out and don’t come back. Stay away or I’ll have a restraining order slapped on your sorry ass.”

Keenan’s jaw made tiny sinewy movements, and I was about to order him out of the house once more when he glared at the both of us and marched to the front door. I followed, slamming it shut and locking it behind him, and moments later heard the tires of his prized possession spinning on the gravel as he sped off down the road. When I walked back into the kitchen, Ash had slumped down at the table. I went to him and put my hands on his shoulders.

“You shouldn’t have let him in,” I said.

“He kept banging on the door, I figured I could calm him down.” Ash looked up at me. “Who was he talking about? Celine, and...Kate? What happened to them? Where are they?”

“Listen, Ash, I really think we should go to the doctor—”

He smacked his palm on the table, bellowed, “I’m not a child. Tell me. Now.”

I took a step back, blinked hard and tried to keep my face neutral as the harshness of his voice rang in my ears. My hopes he’d left his temper somewhere in Maryland along with his memory faded a little. I’d hated how angry he’d become in the run-up to his abrupt departure from Newdale. I didn’t want that Ash back, but the one from before, the one who was always gentle and kind, the one who always made me feel I was at home.

“It’s all right, I’ll tell you,” I said, slowly pulling out a chair, observing Ash for the smallest of reactions, wondering if any of it might act as a trigger, as my research had indicated things could, and trying to plan how I’d handle the situation if it did. “Celine lived in a house farther up the street. The first on the right, the run-down one with the red shutters. Keenan lives there alone now.”

Ash raised his eyebrows. “That dickhead’s our neighbor?”

“Technically, yeah. But he’s almost a mile away.” I didn’t want to continue, but could tell Ash wouldn’t let this go, and I couldn’t blame him. He had no recollection of Celine or Kate, and Keenan had rattled him twice. If I didn’t give Ash something, he’d try to get information elsewhere and, depending on the source, it would do more harm than good.

“Celine’s a year younger than you,” I continued. “Keenan’s her older brother, and Fiona, the redhead—”

“I remember. I tried to steal her phone.”

“Right, well, she’s Keenan’s twin. Their mom left a few years back, after their dad died. I don’t think they’ve seen her since. Fiona runs the Harbor Inn motel in town, and Keenan works at the mill. He—”

“I don’t care about them. What does their sister have to do with anything? Why is Keenan so pissed off at me?”

I tried to determine how much of Pandora’s box I should open. Celine had always been the bona fide Sunshine Girl everybody loved, and both my mom and Brad were delighted when she and Ash grew close. Ash was sixteen back then, and despite the fact I’d grown up in the year since Mom and I had moved in with Brad and Ash, I knew he still saw me as the little kid with the nerdy math shirt and boring Mary Janes.

“You’re spending a lot of time with Celine,” Mom said one night as we sat at the family dinner table. She handed Ash the mashed potatoes before exchanging a glance with Brad, a bemused smile playing on her lips. In return, Brad made wide eyes at her, signaling he wanted her to stop talking, which, of course, she didn’t. “Tell me, are you two—”

“Friends,” Ash replied, dumping another spoonful of mash on his plate, which was already piled high with roast beef, carrots and Yorkshire puddings, a Sunday dinner both Ash and Brad had taken great delight in introducing us to. I couldn’t believe how much Ash could get away with eating, or how much he’d grown in height and muscle over the past year. In comparison to the guys in his grade, he looked like he’d finished high school, especially since he’d taken up carpentry. The other boys were pubescent, and acted as if they were little kids, but not Ash. He had the body of a man, like the ones on TV or in magazines.

Earlier in the afternoon I’d stood at the kitchen window, peeling potatoes, and watching him cut the grass without his shirt on, beads of sweat gathering across his back and flat stomach. The sight made my belly flutter, a strange sensation I’d never felt before, as if I’d swallowed a hundred fireflies. Mom had to ask me to pass the milk three times before I heard her, and then I handed her the juice.

“Friends?” Mom raised her eyebrows at him. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

“Ophelia,” Brad said. “Leave the lad alone. A man needs