But I close my eyes, resting my head back against the couch. “I need to call him.”
I can’t remember. But it feels important.
“I know.” Soft fingers stroke my hair. “Rest first.”
“Okay.”
20
Emmy
Frowning, I flick through my notepad as I wait for the ridiculously chirpy hold music to cut off.
Finally, the bored-sounding woman comes back on the line. “I’m sorry, we have no record of anyone by that name.”
Damn it. “Thanks for—,”
She’s already hung up.
Sighing, I run my pen through the last line of a long list.
Where are you, Jared?
Ben’s brother is a ghost. He has no social media presence. No listing in the directory. And Ben’s memory is fractured enough that he can only remember a place Jared once worked.
The trail is cold.
My head jerks up at the sound of coughing.
“Ben?” I’m out in the living room in a flash, leaning over him. But he only twists in his sleep, kicking off the covers on the bed. I carefully pull them up, averting my eyes from his swollen abdomen. His eyes flicker open, and I pause. “Hey, you.”
Sometimes he responds.
Today, clouded brown eyes shift to mine. “Hey.”
Gingerly, I settle on the bed beside him. His eyes move from me, head tilting to look at the plastic seat beside his bed. His eyes close.
“You need to go?” I keep my voice quiet. Soothing.
He nods stiffly. “I can… I can do it.”
My heart twists and squeezes as I stand back to give him space. Ben uses the railing on his bed to pull himself upright with painfully slow movements, breathing heavily. Turning around, I stick to our silent mutual agreement to give him as much privacy as I can while staying close. My fingers pick at the bedding as I wait.
And wait.
Finally, he coughs. “At least hum or something. I’m getting performance anxiety.”
At the familiar, faint thrum of amusement in his words, my heart flips again. Humming tunelessly, I wait for him to finish, to pull himself back into bed.
And then I’ll ask.
Maybe today he’ll remember.
“Em,” he whispers, cutting me off. “I can’t… get up.”
I whip around. Ben’s head is hanging down, his shoulders shaking. “I can’t—,”
“I’ve got you.” My throat is tight as I pull up his sweatpants, wrapping my arms around his waist and lifting him so I can tug them into place.
