protect your head, I fucking doubt it.”
Calisto blinked across at his friend, his fingers going numb. Maybe it was like a daze had settled over his senses for a second, too, but he wasn’t all that sure.
But it was there, just on the edges of his memories.
Something …
“Calisto?” he heard Gio asked. “Donati, you okay?”
He clenched his tingling fingers into a tight fist, breathing deep.
Gio’s got a bloody mouth.
Next week, stop protecting your face so much.
The voices flew into Calisto’s mind, but he didn’t get a visual to go along with them. Just the words, the familiar tones of the gym’s manager and Gio. But even without the visual, he had the memory of his emotion and senses washing back the words.
Irritation. Restlessness. Sadness. Jealousy.
It swirled in and around the memory, coloring it heavily with bright strokes, making Calisto feel like it might be important.
The doctor hadn’t said how his memories might come back, but he did say it could be different every time something triggered it. And instead of full memories flooding him all at once, it could be a slow trickle of information that eventually came together like a puzzle.
One little piece at a time.
“Cal?”
Calisto swallowed hard, willing the dryness in his throat away. “When was the last time we sparred here, anyway?”
Gio’s gaze flickered with concern, but he answered. “The summer, I guess.”
“Give me more than the summer, man.”
“Uh … June? Yeah, June. Birthdays and all that month. I had a lot of shit going on.”
Calisto nodded, filing that away. “June, okay.”
“Did you remember something?” Gio asked.
He wasn’t sure.
Yes. But no.
It wasn’t like saying he remembered how he felt on any given day and what someone had said in a passing moment would do him any good.
Calisto chose to brush it off, hoping the memory would lead to something else. “No, just curious.”
Gio didn’t look like he believed him, but he didn’t push for more. “All right. Spar?”
He shoved the mouth guard in.
“Spar,” he mumbled.
“ Cazzo merda ,” Calisto growled, smacking his hand against the face of the black metal safe.
Metal clanged, but it did him no good.
Again, he dropped down into a squat and fiddled with the dial on the face of the safe, determined to get the damn thing opened. Earlier, he hadn’t lied to Gio when he said he needed to get some paperwork for his restaurant. An issue had come up about the deed for the place, given it was in a plaza like situation.
Calisto had bought the restaurant years ago, and he’d purchased it as if the property were a sale, and not a rental. Nonetheless, legal issues had come up.
And he needed, amongst many things, the paperwork for the place—including the deed and contract when he purchased it.
It was in his safe, in his office.
A safe he’d apparently changed the fucking code to.
Obviously, he had changed the safe’s code over the course of the last two and half years, because he couldn’t remember the damn three numbers it wanted if his life depended on it. He also couldn’t figure out why in the hell he would change the three digits, as that required a whole process with a safe master who came in and changed the guts of the safe just to reset the tumblers.
Well, Calisto knew why he would at least keep the safe instead of getting rid of it. It had belonged to his deceased father, but his mother had given it to him about a year before her death. Though he didn’t remember the months leading up to her death, he did remember her wanting him to take the safe. She hadn’t kept anything in it for a long time.
If he had changed the digits for the dial to open it, it must have been because he didn’t feel comfortable using the ones it needed before. Maybe someone else had known the numbers.
Calisto wasn’t sure.
He just wanted inside the fucking thing.
Frustrated, Calisto tried different combinations of numbers. His birthday. His
Calisto blinked across at his friend, his fingers going numb. Maybe it was like a daze had settled over his senses for a second, too, but he wasn’t all that sure.
But it was there, just on the edges of his memories.
Something …
“Calisto?” he heard Gio asked. “Donati, you okay?”
He clenched his tingling fingers into a tight fist, breathing deep.
Gio’s got a bloody mouth.
Next week, stop protecting your face so much.
The voices flew into Calisto’s mind, but he didn’t get a visual to go along with them. Just the words, the familiar tones of the gym’s manager and Gio. But even without the visual, he had the memory of his emotion and senses washing back the words.
Irritation. Restlessness. Sadness. Jealousy.
It swirled in and around the memory, coloring it heavily with bright strokes, making Calisto feel like it might be important.
The doctor hadn’t said how his memories might come back, but he did say it could be different every time something triggered it. And instead of full memories flooding him all at once, it could be a slow trickle of information that eventually came together like a puzzle.
One little piece at a time.
“Cal?”
Calisto swallowed hard, willing the dryness in his throat away. “When was the last time we sparred here, anyway?”
Gio’s gaze flickered with concern, but he answered. “The summer, I guess.”
“Give me more than the summer, man.”
“Uh … June? Yeah, June. Birthdays and all that month. I had a lot of shit going on.”
Calisto nodded, filing that away. “June, okay.”
“Did you remember something?” Gio asked.
He wasn’t sure.
Yes. But no.
It wasn’t like saying he remembered how he felt on any given day and what someone had said in a passing moment would do him any good.
Calisto chose to brush it off, hoping the memory would lead to something else. “No, just curious.”
Gio didn’t look like he believed him, but he didn’t push for more. “All right. Spar?”
He shoved the mouth guard in.
“Spar,” he mumbled.
“ Cazzo merda ,” Calisto growled, smacking his hand against the face of the black metal safe.
Metal clanged, but it did him no good.
Again, he dropped down into a squat and fiddled with the dial on the face of the safe, determined to get the damn thing opened. Earlier, he hadn’t lied to Gio when he said he needed to get some paperwork for his restaurant. An issue had come up about the deed for the place, given it was in a plaza like situation.
Calisto had bought the restaurant years ago, and he’d purchased it as if the property were a sale, and not a rental. Nonetheless, legal issues had come up.
And he needed, amongst many things, the paperwork for the place—including the deed and contract when he purchased it.
It was in his safe, in his office.
A safe he’d apparently changed the fucking code to.
Obviously, he had changed the safe’s code over the course of the last two and half years, because he couldn’t remember the damn three numbers it wanted if his life depended on it. He also couldn’t figure out why in the hell he would change the three digits, as that required a whole process with a safe master who came in and changed the guts of the safe just to reset the tumblers.
Well, Calisto knew why he would at least keep the safe instead of getting rid of it. It had belonged to his deceased father, but his mother had given it to him about a year before her death. Though he didn’t remember the months leading up to her death, he did remember her wanting him to take the safe. She hadn’t kept anything in it for a long time.
If he had changed the digits for the dial to open it, it must have been because he didn’t feel comfortable using the ones it needed before. Maybe someone else had known the numbers.
Calisto wasn’t sure.
He just wanted inside the fucking thing.
Frustrated, Calisto tried different combinations of numbers. His birthday. His
Similar Books
