“I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
“Good.” The name Jeremiah felt right. So did the job of driver and the famous family. He was glad he wasn’t a pauper but for some reason, learning of his profession and family hadn’t brought him comfort. Instead, it brought the sensation of weight, lowering down on him pound after pound.
“Your family members are going to walk through that door any second.” Remy gestured toward the hall. “And we’re not going to know anything about them.”
Once Dr. Denny had given hospital staffers his name, it hadn’t taken them long to locate records concerning him. He’d been seen at this hospital a few times in the past. Also, this hospital was part of a larger network of regional doctors' offices of all specialty types. Apparently, he was a patient at two network offices in a town called Groomsport. At one office, he saw a GP. At the other, a PT. He’d signed annual forms just nine months ago at his GP’s office listing the two people his doctor was allowed to share his medical information with. Someone named Fiona Camden. And someone named Jude Camden. The hospital staffer had asked him if she had his permission to contact them both.
He’d hesitated.
Remy had glared daggers at him. “I’m so thankful,” she’d said meaningfully, “that we finally have the opportunity to let your family members know you’re alive. I’ve lost sleep over my inability to contact them.”
He’d known he was being a jerk for delaying consent. Thing was, he resented his family for not making it easier for Remy to find them for the last ten days.
When he’d remained silent, she’d added, “I’m relieved that they won’t have to languish in despair for another minute.” Her expression had said,Give consent now or I’ll hit the ceiling with fury.
Though his gut instinct was to delay, he’d given the staffer permission to contact Fiona and Jude. That had been twenty minutes ago, and Remy was right. Fiona or Jude, whoever they were, might walk in at any time.
“When your wife—Fiona—walks in, it will be better if you’re able to at least recognize her from a photo online. It will help ground you if you know how long you’ve been married, how many kids you have, where she’s from, and where you live. At the moment, you won’t know your wife from your sister and if you mistake your wife for your sister that will be hurtful to her.”
“I have amnesia. It’s not my fault if I don’t know who she is.”
“Itisyour fault because you have access to Google! Why are you dragging your feet on this?”
“I’m going to be straight with you.”
“Please.”
“I’m dragging my feet because I don’t want you to leave.”
For a moment, her mouth softened, her lips parting. Then her shoulders drew back into a fighting posture. “Don’t blame your procrastination on me! I have nothing to do with this.”
“I’m not blaming you, but you are the reason. If we googled Fiona Camden and found out we’ve been married five years and have two kids and we live ten minutes from here, you’d already be gone. Wouldn’t you?”
She spluttered. “Yes! And you’d want me gone—”
“Except I don’t—”
“—because it’s going to be very awkward if I’m sitting here when she arrives. Talk about a third wheel! Put yourself in her shoes. She’s been worried sick about you. And if your nightmares are any indication, your subconscious has been worried sick about her. I’d never want the two of you, who are very much in love, to have your grand reunion with me in the room!” Her voice was rising, high-pitched.
“I am not very much in love with her. I don’t even remember her.” He could easily tap into the sense of failure he’d experienced while searching and searching for the brunette of his nightmares. The idea of her showing up here in person gave him the same feeling of doom he’d had in the dream.
“We both need to prioritize howyour wifefeels,” Remy insisted. “How you feel doesn’t matter at the moment—”
“It matters to me.”
“I have a sneaking suspicion that everyone in this hospital is whispering, ‘Formula One champion Jeremiah Camden is here!’ to each other. Already, they all seem to realize who you are. What if word reached your wife that a strange woman is at your bedside?”
“I don’t care about gossip.”
Remy yanked out her phone and tapped the screen.
“Don’t look up Fiona Camden,” he growled.
“I’ve respected your feet-dragging as long as I can. I’m looking her up.”
“My head can’t take it, Remy.”
“I’ve noticed that you have quite a hard head.”
