I turn my head too fast and a spike of pain shoots up my spine.But I ignore it, becauseheis there.
Standing near the door, arms crossed over his chest like he’s been guarding the room all night.
Ledger.
The name feels heavy on my tongue, like it should mean everything, and instead it means nothing.He looks tired.More than tired.Haunted.
His dark shirt is stretched across his shoulders, his cut hanging open like he threw it on without thinking.His jaw shadowed like he didn’t bother shaving.
But it’s his eyes that hit me the hardest.
Stormy.Fierce.And fixed on me like he’s terrified to look away.
My throat goes dry.“You’re still here.”
He doesn’t smile, doesn’t shift his weight, doesn’t soften.But something in his expression a flicker of warmth or relief appears for just a second.
“Yeah, sunshine,” he mutters quietly.“I’m here.”
Sunshine.Again.
The nickname rolls through me like a warm breeze over cold skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps.My stomach flips, nausea and something else something unfamiliar but undeniably good mingling together.
“You should rest,” he adds, voice low and rough.“Doctors said you had a long night.”
“You didn’t have to stay.”
His jaw clenches.“I wasn’t leavin’.”
I swallow hard.“Even when I didn’t remember you?”
His eyes darken.“Especially then.”
A thickness forms in my chest.Confusion.Gratitude.Fear.Something like longing, though I don’t understand where it comes from.I don’t know this man.But my body reacts to him like it does.
A knock interrupts the moment, and a woman with a clipboard steps inside — pretty, blonde hair pulled into a neat ponytail, blue scrubs crisp.
“Morning, Kelly.I’m Dr.Salazar, the neurologist on call.”
She gives Ledger a quick glance assessing and cautious before turning her attention to me.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like my head’s filled with concrete.”I admit.“It’s heavy.”
She smiles sympathetically.“That’s expected.You took a significant blow to the left side of your head.The good news is that your scans look clean.No bleeding.No swelling.Your memory loss appears to be what we callselective retrograde amnesia.”
Ledger stiffens, but stays silent.
I swallow.“Meaning?”
“Meaning the memories closest to the event, sometimes emotionally charged ones as well, are temporarily inaccessible.They often return with time, rest, and reduced stress.”
Emotionally charged?
My eyes flick to Ledger.He looks away.
Oh.Oh.My chest tightens.“So I’ll remember everything in time?”I ask.
