“Are you ready?” Erika asks expectantly, looking ten times happier than she did before our kiss.
She thinks I’m remembering.
For her sake, I really hope I am.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Leon
“Right, I’m leaving for work,” Erika announces, dashing down the stairs in her scrubs, with her long hair piled on top of her head, wearing a pair of white Crocs, and holding her stethoscope in her fist.
I married a doctor.
I, a knucklehead hockey player, married a stupidly switched-on bright spark, and she loves me. I still find that hard to accept.
Erika hasn’t moved in with me; instead, she’s been toing and froing between my place, hers, and the hospital. The last thing I want to do is push her to move in with me, and I am waiting for her to suggest it from fear of sounding needy, but I want nothing more than for her to be here with me full-time. There’s a pull to her I can’t explain, but the more time I spend with her, the more I know that I want all her mornings and evenings, and everything in between. And that, to me, feels a lot like falling for her. I think I am. That might already be starting to happen. But I don’t know how to feel anymore. Everything seems so confusing.
Our situation must be more painful for Erika than it is for me because I’m not the one who remembers what we had, or how special it was, and no matter how many times she tells me howreal and true our love was, I can’t feel it, or see it, or imagine it. That’s the biggest tragedy of all because she deserves to be cherished and to be loved. She’s so fucking special.
“Do you really have to go?” I ask, not wanting her to leave.
“I do. I’ve had so much time off recently, and they’re short-staffed. It’s shit, I know. I’m sorry.”
I shove my hands into the pockets of my sweatpants, feeling a little lost in my own home. I recognize everything; the only thing I don’t is Erika.
“Your dinner is in the oven. All you have to do is take it out when the timer goes off. Stash is outside, but he’s there if you feel unsafe at any point.”
Someone, hell knows who, caught wind of my accident, and since then, I’ve been hounded by reporters who have taken up residency outside my house.
“Your mom and dad are on their way over and will be staying for the night, and as soon as I am finished work, I’ll come straight to check on you. Now, where did I put my stethoscope?” She feels around her neck.
“It’s in your hand.” I point to her other hand that’s clenched around it and laugh at her busy brain.
“Ah.” She loops it around her neck.
“That looks fancy.” It’s purple, and the metal pieces look iridescent.
“It was a gift from someone,” she says, sounding coy, examining the chest piece.
“Did I buy it for you?” I seem to have bought her lots of things. From books to dresses. It’s possible I did.
She flinches, like this is another one of my questions that hurt her. Every little thing I forget seems to sting her like tiny paper cuts, causing her pain over and over.
“You did,” she says, her smile fading before she paints on a fake one. Holding up the chest piece, she turns it around and says, “It tells me to listen to my heart.”
When it comes to her, I appear to be a sentimental fool. “And what is your heart telling you?”
“To fight for you. To move in with you. To be here for you. Always.”
Well, I wasn’t expecting her to say that.
“And what does your mind say?” I ask, not really wanting to know the answer because I can see how torn she is.
Erika exhales, her shoulders dropping. “My mind tells me to forget you because you’ve forgotten me, and it tells me to stop trying, when all my heart wants to do is fight harder to help you unlock the door I’m stuck behind. For weeks, I watched your lifeless body, not knowing what was going to happen when you woke up, orifyou’d wake up. I prayed to all the gods above to bring you back to me, and when they did, they delivered me someone who has no recollection of who I am, like I’ve been removed from your history.” She shakes her head. “This is not what I wanted for us, or you. It’s not what I asked for, and this is not how I wanted our married life to begin. When we got married, shotgun or not, I was so happy. Because I finally had you when that’s all I’ve wanted for years, then you slipped out of my reach just as quickly, and I will never forgive myself for booking that vacation. It’s all my fault.”
A surge of excruciating pain shoots through my heart, and the guilt feels almost unbearable. “It’s not your fault.” How could she think that?
“Yes, it is, Leon. This is my punishment for wishing for things that were too good to be true. Happiness isn’t meant for me. You…” she points at me, “were clearly never meant to be mine. Not fully, not forever, but when I did have you, they werethe best days of my life.” Her voice cracks, her eyes lined with unshed tears.
