Unspoken Memories (Unspoken Series)

Unspoken Memories (Unspoken Series) by Gabbie S. Duran Read Free Book Online

Book: Unspoken Memories (Unspoken Series) by Gabbie S. Duran Read Free Book Online
Authors: Gabbie S. Duran
over to a wall with several shelves
and grabs a photograph.
    He comes back and hands it to me. It’s one of him and a
woman, at what must be Matt’s graduation since he’s wearing a cap and gown. I
take the picture from his hands so I’m able to focus better on the image of the
lady, but nothing is coming to me.
    Nothing.
    Dammit, this is getting more frustrating. I shake my head,
handing the photo back to Matt. He grabs it from me, taking it back to its
original home on the shelf. As he puts it down, he takes a moment to look at
it. His body is tense, without emotion, but his shoulders are slumped.
    He turns back at me. “How often do you have these memories?”
he asks, drawing his brows down tight.
    “I don't know. They just come to me, but they’re so real. At
first, I thought they were only dreams, since I had the first two while I was
sleeping, but the last one was while I was awake. The one I just had.”
    He walks over in front of the fireplace and starts pacing
again. All I can do is sit there and stare at him.
    He suddenly leaves the room, going through a door leading
into the kitchen. I look at Trey waiting for him to tell me what's going on,
but he shrugs his shoulders and takes another drink of his beer.
    I stopped myself at the one beer that he gave me because I
began to feel lightheaded. With everything going on, I haven't had much of an
appetite. So I’d forgotten to eat breakfast, and the alcohol began to hit me
hard, and right now I need to be as clear headed as possible.
    Another fifteen minutes go by and Matt comes back into the
living room with what looks like a planner. He resumes his seat on the couch
and starts going through the pages, starting in the middle. I see his eyes
moving back and forth with a determined concentration, while slowly flipping
through the pages.
    “What are you looking for?” I ask curiously.
    He shakes his head while keeping it down, but manages to
hold up his finger as if telling me to wait. He goes back to scanning the
pages. He does this for a while and in the meantime Trey has turned on the flat
screen mounted above the fireplace, and is now watching the sports channel.
Since I'm not into sports I go back to watching Matt.
    My phone begins to ring in my purse that I placed on the
floor next to the recliner. I take it out and look at the screen. There is a
picture of Bill with his name flashed across the screen. I push the ignore
button, because the last thing I need right now is Bill asking where I am and
bitching me out again for not taking security with me. It's not my fault he
didn't tell me how to get a hold of security.
    Another reason I didn’t call for a bodyguard was how in the
world would I explain my road trip to see a guy from my dream?
    I decide to turn off the phone and figure I’ll deal with
that obstacle when I'm faced with it. This is more important right now. I need
to know why I’m having these memories.
    Matt has finally reached the last page of the planner he’s
holding and shuts it. Making an exasperated sigh, he tosses it in front of him
onto the coffee table. With his elbows on his knees, he begins rubbing his face
with his hands. He rakes his hands over his head, and then brings them down
again over his face.
    He says into his hands, “I don't get it, how is this fucking
possible?” the question comes out more of a mumble due to his hands.
    I'm assuming the planner didn't have the answer he was
looking for.
    I ask him, “What is it you were looking for?”
    He takes his head out of his hands, but keeps staring at the
floor between his knees. “I was positive that she must have worked with you at
some time, but she never mentioned you. But, then again she was not the type of
person who would brag about her clients.”
    Clients, what clients? “What did your sister do for a
living?”
    He looks at me. “She was an interior designer, and she
mostly worked with a lot of high end clients.”
    So this is why he would think that I would

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