My heart hammers against my ribs as Emily leads me toward the front door. It's weird being nervous about meeting someone who supposedly already knows me.
"Don't be nervous, baby," Emily says, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. "You get along well with Mark."
There's something off in her tone, a slight tightness around the edges that makes me think she doesn't share my apparent fondness for this Mark guy. But she doesn't seem to be lying either.
I stand awkwardly behind Emily as she swings the door open. A man about my age stands on our doorstep, his posture tense, shoulders slightly hunched. When he sees me, his eyes widen with genuine shock. Then his gaze flickers to Emily, and I catch a flash of something that looks an awful lot like fear before he masks it.
"Charles," he breathes, and something about his voice tugs at me.
I don't recognize him, but there's a... familiarity. Not in his appearance, but in his energy, his presence. Like my brain can't remember him, but my gut knows him.
Before I can say anything, Mark steps forward and pulls me into a tight hug, patting my back hard enough to make my still-tender ribs protest.
"Jesus Christ, man," he says into my shoulder, his voice cracking with emotion. "I cannot believe you survived that crash."
The raw desperation in his words hits me like a physical blow. This isn't just casual concern, this is the relief of someone who genuinely thought I was gone forever.
When he pulls back, his eyes are suspiciously bright. "How are you feeling? Your head okay?"
I scratch at the back of my head. "My head's pretty empty, if I'm being honest. I don't remember anything. Don't remember you."
The words come out blunter than I intended, and I see Mark's face fall. There's a flash of something deeper than disappointment, it's almost like grief. But then he straightens up, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that feels familiar somehow.
"Nothing at all?" he asks, his voice thick with emotion.
I shake my head, then impulsively point at him. "But... I don't know. This is gonna sound weird, but we really are boys, aren't we?"
His face transforms instantly. The fear and tension melt away, replaced by a smile that reaches all the way to his eyes.
"Yeah," he says, nodding vigorously. "Yeah, we are."
Something warm spreads through my chest, a certainty I can't explain. I find myself grinning back at him, but there's a mischievous edge to it I can feel pulling at my lips.
"I don't know what it is," I say, leaning in slightly, "but when I look at you, I feel like we're going to cause some trouble."
Mark's eyes light up with recognition, like I've said some secret password. For a split second, I catch almost guess at our shared history, countless adventures, stupid decisions, belly laughs at three in the morning.
Emily clears her throat loudly, stepping slightly between us. "Well, Charles," she says, her voice honey-sweet but with steel underneath, "I think perhaps trouble isn't really something you need at this point in your life."
Mark's smile doesn't disappear, but it freezes in place. His eyes dart to Emily, then back to me.
"Right," he says, the single word carrying a weight I can't quite decipher. "No trouble. Just thought I'd check on my old friend."
Emily's hand finds my lower back, her touch possessive. "Why don't we all have some coffee?" she suggests, though it doesn't sound like a suggestion. "Charles and I were just finishing breakfast."
"That would be great," Mark says, following as Emily guides me back toward the kitchen.
I notice how Mark's eyes scan the house as we walk, taking in details with a strange intensity, like it’s his first time here.
We settle at the dining table, Mark sitting across from me while Emily bustles around the kitchen. The moment she's out of earshot, focused on making coffee, I lean forward.
"Mark," I whisper, "I can trust you, right?"
His eyes meet mine, steady and certain. "Of course, man. Always."
Something about his immediate response feels right, like we've had this exchange a hundred times before. I glance toward the kitchen to make sure Emily is still occupied, then drop my voice even lower.
"Is Emily really my wife?"
The effect is instant and dramatic. Mark's face drains of color, his eyes widening with pure terror. He looks like someone just pressed a gun to his temple.
"What did she…" he stutters, swallowing hard. "Did she say she wasn't?"
"No," I clarify, confused by his extreme reaction. "She said she was."
Mark's eyes dart frantically around the room, checking every corner like he's afraid someone might be listening. When he speaks again, his voice is barely audible.
"Of course she's your wife, man."
His words say one thing, but his body language screams another. He's rigid with tension, knuckles white where he grips the edge of the table. This isn't just nervousness, it's fear, raw and primal.
I can't help but grin. Something about his terror is weirdly amusing to me, like we're kids again and I've just found his weakness.
"Why are you so afraid of her?" I ask, not even trying to sound accusatory. It just feels natural to mess with him a little, like it's something I'd normally do.
Mark's face contorts with panic. "Come on, man, please stop. You'll get me in…"
"What are you two whispering about?"
Emily's voice cuts through our conversation as she appears with three mugs of coffee. Her smile is pleasant, but her eyes are sharp, darting between us with laser focus.
"I was just asking Mark when your birthday is," I say smoothly, surprising myself with how easily the lie comes to my lips. "Since I can't remember."
Emily's expression softens immediately as she sets the mugs down. "That's so sweet of you to think of that." She places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "It's April 24th."
"April 24th," I repeat, filing away the information. "I won't forget again."
Mark wraps his hands around his coffee mug, avoiding eye contact with both of us. The tension in his shoulders hasn't eased at all, even with my quick cover story.
I lean back in my chair, looking between Emily and Mark. Something about the energy between us feels weirdly right, like we've sat at tables just like this a thousand times before.
"This is... familiar," I say, gesturing at the three of us. "Like we've done this dance before."
Emily's hand slides onto my thigh under the table, her grip firm but gentle. "Well, we were all neighbors growing up," she explains, her voice casual but her eyes watchful. "We spent a lot of time together."
I nod slowly, processing this. The explanation makes sense, but something still feels off, like there's a gap in the picture.
"It almost feels like we're missing someone, though. Like there should be four of us here, not three."
The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. Mark's coffee mug freezes halfway to his lips, his eyes darting nervously to Emily. Her fingers dig slightly into my thigh, not enough to hurt, but enough to notice.
Emily sighs, the sound deliberately theatrical. "Nope," she says, her tone light but final. "It was only ever us three, Charles."
I don't need my memories to recognize a lie this poor. She's barely even trying to sound convincing. Mark's face is practically screaming that she's not telling the truth, his eyes fixed firmly on his coffee as if it holds the secrets of the universe.
I look at Emily, really look at her. There's something fascinating about watching her lie so boldly. It's like seeing two completely different people occupying the same beautiful body. The devoted wife who cried in my arms last night, and this calculating woman who's reshaping reality without a second thought.
The weird thing is, I understand Mark's fear now. I feel it too, a primal warning signal flashing in my brain when I see that steel behind her eyes. But alongside that fear is something else. There's an undeniable attraction to her wildness, to the raw power she wields so effortlessly. The way she commands the space around her, rewriting the rules as she sees fit. It’s no wonder I was so obsessed with her for years.
I take a slow sip of my coffee, using the mug to hide my expression. "If you say so.”