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Trey had begun to get curious. He was there sometimes, in bed with her when the dreams came. So far he hadn’t asked, but Shayla could feel the questions brimming over inside him when he turned to hold her in the dark, or when she slipped out from between the sheets and went to shower. She could wash away the perspiration but not the memories of Justin’s hands. Funny how she remembered every detail of his hands, while the contours of his face had grown fuzzy and indistinct.

Occasionally at work, she was tempted to look him up online, just to see one of the old pictures of how he used to be, to refresh her memory. She’d done that once, a long while ago now, when she was living in New York, and the image on the monitor had immediately transported her back to that time . . . It had not been a good feeling and she was in no hurry to repeat the experience, but sometimes, still, she wanted to see his face.

Nowadays she was constantly getting new reminders of how much of that time still remained with her. Like when Trey touched her unexpectedly; she tensed and it took her mind and her body a moment to realize that it would not hurt. And she hadn’t been so good about hiding it either. Once in awhile she saw something flash in his eyes, like he recognized her apprehension and wanted to say something to alleviate it.

He knew.

Even if he didn’t know that he knew, Trey had begun to realize something about her. If she let this continue, their sleeping together, spending all this time together, he would eventually ask and she would have to decide whether to tell him, or to move on.

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