They’re worried. Tired. But alert and assessing.
His wavy brown hair is messy, like it hasn’t been combed in days. A short beard covers strong, angular features, and as he leans forward, a tattoo peeks out from beneath the collar of his shirt.
“Bea,” he says. His brows pull into a deep V as he inspects my face. “Do you remember me?”
Even as I start to shake my head in an instinctive denial, my brain stops me.
Things are fuzzy. Confusing. Disconnected.
But this man?
He’s familiar.
Not just familiar. Somehow, reassuring.
I try to push myself up to look at him more closely. To look around, to figure out where I am and why I don’t feel like myself. But I’m too weak, and I only make it a couple of inches up before sagging back down.
“Here.” Another pillow appears from seemingly nowhere, and he carefully lifts the pillow I’m on to nudge the new onebeneath it. “Don’t try to move too quickly,” he says. “You’ve been out for a while. And with your head—” He stops. His features tighten with anger, but he quickly smooths his expression back into a concerned one.
“What—” My voice is little more than a croak. “What happened? Where?—”
“Do you want some water?” He reaches off to the side and comes back with a glass of clear liquid. “It might help your throat.”
I stare at him for a few seconds, debating.
My throatdoesfeel like the Sahara. And the very thought of cool water against it sounds wonderful.
Butisit water? Or could it be drugged?
“It’s safe,” the man says. He takes a sip and swallows, then flashes me a smile. “See? Just water.”
The instant he smiles, recognition slams into me.
I only saw that smile a few times, but I’ve never forgotten it.
And with the memory of his smile, the rest comes rushing back, as well.
“You,” I breathe. “But. What?—”
His smile drops. “Do you remember me, Bea? I know it’s been a while. And things must be confusing right now.”
Do I remember him?
Now that the puzzle pieces have slotted into place, I can’t believe I didn’t realize who he was immediately.
“Indy.” I stare at my former patient, one I was certain I’d never see again. “I—” My voice cracks. “I remember you.”
He exhales. “Okay. That’s good.”
I stare at him, searching his features. ComparingthisIndy to the one I knew years ago.
Despite the storm of confusion I’m caught in, looking at him settles me.
He’s the same—but different.
His eyes are still the same brilliant blue, but they’re not sad, like they used to be.
His hair is shorter; not short, exactly, but no longer the unkempt waves that reached nearly to his shoulders.
