6. Layla

The soft hum of the coffee machine fills the air as I stand in my kitchen, savoring the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The morning sun spills through the windows, casting a warm glow on the spacious kitchen. It"s been six years since that fateful night, and as I take a sip of my coffee, I can"t help but marvel at the life I"ve built.

Breckin, my energetic five-year-old, bounds into the kitchen, his laughter echoing through the air. He tugs at my hand, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Mommy, can we have pancakes today?"

I chuckle, ruffling his hair. "Pancakes it is, little man. Go grab your favorite book, and we"ll read while they cook."

As he scampers off, I feel a surge of gratitude for the life I"ve created. The journey hasn"t been easy, especially not remembering anything before the accident. But through determination and the unwavering support of my family, I"ve carved out a life that is filled with love and purpose.

The cozy home, with its inviting decor and sunlit spaces, is a testament to the effort I"ve put into creating a stable environment for Breckin. The living room is adorned with family photos, capturing moments of laughter, milestones, and the love that binds us together. It"s a life I never anticipated, but one I"ve come to cherish.

Breckin returns with his favorite picture book, and we settle on the couch. As I read to him, his eyes light up with wonder, and I"m reminded of the joy that parenthood brings. Despite the challenges and uncertainties, the bond between us is unbreakable.

The sound of a familiar voice echoes from the doorway, and I look up to see my brother, Eric, clad in a Boston Bruins hoodie. He grins, his eyes reflecting the same warmth I"ve come to rely on over the years. "Morning, Layla. Pancakes on the menu today?"

I nod, a smile playing on my lips. "You know it. Care to join us?"

He takes a seat on the couch, ruffling Breckin"s hair affectionately. "Wouldn"t miss it for the world."

As we enjoy a leisurely breakfast together, I marvel at the support system I"m fortunate to have. Eric has been a constant pillar in my life, helping me navigate the challenges of being a single mom while pursuing my career. The Boston Bruins may keep him busy, but he always makes time for his family.

After breakfast, Breckin heads off to his playroom, leaving Eric and me to catch up. He leans back on the couch, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Coach said I had gained a little weight and I told him that my diet was on point."

I smile, gratitude welling up within me. "You forgot to mention our Saturday pancake ritual?"

"Yup, I think that's the culprit."

Our conversation shifts to work, and I share updates on my thriving career in marketing. Working from home has allowed me to balance my professional life with the responsibilities of Breckin. The flexibility has been a game-changer, and I"ve managed to excel in my field while being present for Breckin"s milestones.

As the day unfolds, I find myself immersed in a flurry of activities – from work calls to playtime with Breckin. The balance is delicate, but the fulfillment I find in both aspects of my life is undeniable. Breckin"s laughter becomes the soundtrack to my days.

"I thought Breck, and I could practice some hockey."

"He's so excited that you're going to be home for his first game next weekend."

"You'd be facetiming me if I wasn't. The whole team is fully invested in his first game."

"I love that. You guys are all so great with him. He's so lucky."

"You raised a good kid, sis."

"Who looks more like he shot out of your butt, but let's not talk about that."

He throws his head back and laughs. "I love talking about it."

I roll my eyes and giggle. "It's a shame the season is over. I really thought this was the year."

"Yeah, losing to my best friend and former high school rival in the playoffs wasn't my idea of fun. The bastard always bests me."

"You had a rival in high school?"

"Yeah," he chuckles. "Brock. He grew up here in Stetson Falls and so we were on opposing grade school and high schools until we became best friends in college."

"Did I ever meet him?"

"I kept him far away as long as I could. Until you went on the trip with us and the accident happened."

"Oh."

"Sometimes I forget that you don't remember."

"Me too," I sigh.

"You may get to meet Brock again. I think he said he's coming home after the season's over to clear his head. However, he's told me that before and never came home."

"Clear his head?"

"He was living with a woman. His family thinks they're perfect together, but he said he wasn't feeling it. His mom and the woman were pushing for them to get married, and he ended it instead. I think he just needs a break because she doesn't really want to let it be. She's convinced they're soulmates."

"Do you believe in soulmates?"

"I don't know. I guess anything is possible," he shrugs. "How are things with Randy?"

"Meh," I laugh. "I broke up with him last week. Similar story, I just wasn't feeling it. I don't think Breckin likes him either, he just would never say that to me."

"Breck is a good judge of character. I wish you wouldn't have gotten back with Randy in the first place."

"How can I judge someone for cheating on me when I don't remember any of it? He's a nice guy but… I don't know. Something was missing. I also got a message or two from people telling me that he was cheating on me."

"Good riddance," he laughs as he pushes himself up from the table. "I'm going to grab the little man and lace up our blades for driveway hockey."

"Have fun," I smile. "You good if I go for a run while you're here?"

"Absolutely, go," he grins.

I hug him quickly and change into my running clothes. I grab my AirPods and phone and set out on a jog through town.

Eric always teases that I used to despise running but the accident must've shaken that loose. For whatever reason, when I got home from the hospital all I wanted to do was go for long runs. It's the only thing that clears my head and helps me make sense of things when they seem crazy.

***

Later that night, the soft glow of my bedside lamp casts a warm light across the room as I settle into bed. The events of the day have left me both content and reflective, and my mind wanders to the worn journal on my nightstand. With a sense of anticipation, I reach for it, tracing my fingers over the familiar cover.

Opening the journal, I"m greeted by the handwriting that feels both foreign and intimate – the words of a woman who once inhabited my mind and heart. My own words from the night before the accident unfold on the pages, a fragment of a past that remains elusive.

I read through the entry, each word a window into a world I can no longer fully grasp. The emotions spill across the page, a mixture of anticipation, joy, and a sense of being on the cusp of something extraordinary. But as I delve deeper into the memories, frustration creeps in.

There"s a recurring image that haunts my consciousness – a beach, the rhythmic sound of waves, and the silhouette of a man. We walk hand in hand, and though I can feel the connection, the familiarity, his face eludes me. It"s as if a veil shrouds his features, leaving me with a sense of longing and an inability to fully grasp the essence of this mysterious presence.

I can hear his voice, a melodic timbre that resonates with tenderness and familiarity. Yet, as much as I strain to retain the details, they slip through my grasp like sand slipping through my fingers. The frustration gnaws at me, a puzzle with missing pieces that refuses to be solved.

Closing the journal, I place it back on the nightstand, my mind still lingering on the enigma of that beach scene. Is it a real memory or a figment of my imagination? The uncertainty is both maddening and intriguing, a riddle that teases the edges of my consciousness.

As I lay in bed, surrounded by the hush of the night, I find myself contemplating the other fragments of my past that elude me. Faces, places, and moments slip through the fog of amnesia, leaving me with a sense of disconnection from the person I once was. It"s a journey of self-discovery, a puzzle I navigate with each passing day.

The end of my relationship with Randy has been a long time coming. The recollection is tinged with a sense of detachment as if I were merely a spectator in my own life. The decision to part ways was accompanied by a conviction that there is a better love out there for me, a love that I can't fully fathom right now.

Reflecting on that moment, it"s as if I am on autopilot, moving through the motions without truly being present. The realization dawns that breaking up with Randy wasn"t just about him; it was about reclaiming a sense of authenticity and connection to my own emotions.

The memory of that beach, the mysterious man, and the echoes of a love that feels just beyond reach in the recesses of my mind. It"s a reminder that amidst the fragments of the past, there are threads of longing and possibility. The frustration of not fully grasping those memories propels me forward, a driving force in my pursuit of a life that feels authentic.

As I drift into sleep, the contours of the beach scene and the distant laughter of the mysterious man accompany me into the realm of dreams. The night unfolds with a symphony of memories and uncertainties, a journey that continues to weave the tapestry of my existence.

***

The next morning, I wake with a sense of purpose, the enigmatic memories of the beach, and the shadowy figure remaining in the corners of my consciousness. It's frustrating to get little snippets of memory only for them to disappear quickly. It's the most memory I've gotten. Why is it connected to a man and the beach? Should I return to the beach to see if it triggers the whole memory?

The day stretches before me, and with it comes the promise of discovery. Breckin"s laughter echoes from the living room, and as I step into the day, I can't help but think that someday I'll meet the man of my dreams.

"It's time for church!" my dad hollers as he walks into the house on Sunday afternoon.

Church in my family doesn't refer to a building in the sense that it does for others. Hockey is church to my dad, brother, and Breckin. For them, it is the act of watching or playing it.

My church is watching them.

"Yes!" Breckin squeals as he runs to get his hockey gear.

The love of hockey that sent my brother to the NHL was definitely passed down through generations and Breckin is lucky to have that surrounding him as well.

Eric and my dad are both already dressed in jerseys and pants, their rollerblades nearby. Every Sunday, weather permitting they play a very competitive hockey game in the driveway.

Randy used to complain about it a lot, and he never wanted to participate. Not that they would have let him.

The sound of laughter and the rhythmic thud of a hockey puck against the pavement echo through the air as I step into the cozy chaos of our driveway. Breckin is in the midst of the action, a miniature hockey stick in hand, his eyes bright with excitement.

Dad, with his salt-and-pepper hair and a twinkle in his eye, maneuvers gracefully on the pavement. Eric, clad in his Boston Bruins gear, matches Breckin"s enthusiasm with every playful swipe of the puck. The scene is a heartwarming tableau of generations coming together, a snapshot of family joy.

I lean against the doorframe, watching the trio with a smile that reaches the depths of my soul. Breckin, with his tufts of unruly hair and a determined expression, is living a childhood dream – playing hockey with his grandpa and uncle. The sight fills me with a sense of gratitude for the family bonds that surround us.

"Mommy! Join us!" Breckin calls out, his eyes gleaming with infectious enthusiasm.

I laugh, stepping into the driveway, my heart swelling with love. "Alright, I"ll be the goalie. But you have to go easy on me, okay?"

Breckin grins, and I position myself in front of the makeshift goal. Dad and Eric exchange a knowing glance before launching into another round of playful banter. The puck zips across the pavement, and I do my best to block the shots, reveling in the shared joy of the moment.

As the game progresses, it"s clear that Breckin is not only lucky to have such skilled players as his grandpa and uncle but also that their bond extends beyond the hockey game. Dad and Eric take turns encouraging Breckin, sharing laughter that reverberates through the air, creating a symphony of familial love.

At one point, Breckin manages to score a goal, and the victory dance that follows is nothing short of priceless. Dad ruffles his hair, and Eric lifts him into the air, their laughter mingling with Breckin"s delighted giggles. The scene is a testament to the magic that happens when family comes together, creating memories that linger in the heart.

Once the game concludes, we gather in the driveway, catching our breath and basking in the warmth of shared moments. Breckin flushed with the thrill of the game, clutches his miniature hockey stick like a prized possession.

"Uncle Eric, Grandpa, that was so much fun!" he exclaims, his eyes sparkling.

Dad tousles his hair, his voice filled with affection. "You"re a natural, Breckin. Maybe we have a future Bruins player in the making!"

Eric chuckles, patting Breckin on the back. "No doubt about it. We"ll have to start practicing for the big leagues."

As we head inside, Dad, Eric, and Breckin settle in the living room, sharing stories and jokes. The laughter spills into every corner of the house, creating an atmosphere of warmth and togetherness.

Amid the familial banter, I catch a quiet moment between Breckin and Dad. They sit side by side on the couch, their conversation hushed, a bond of understanding passing between them. Dad"s hand rests on Breckin"s shoulder, a gesture that speaks volumes of the love and guidance he provides.

I join them, taking a seat on the other side of Breckin. Dad looks at me, his eyes filled with a paternal warmth that has been a constant presence in my life. "You"ve got a remarkable young man here, Layla."

I smile, the pride is evident in my voice. "I know, Dad. He"s my greatest joy."