The doctor’s smile fades. “If you are not ready?—”
Shit.
“I—I am. Yes.”
“AJ, you can come in now.” The doctor turns the wheelchair toward the archway, but I struggle to focus on anything more than a few feet in front of me—a side effect of the head injury. So, I hear his firm, steady footsteps before I can see his face.
And then he’s in front of me. Frozen. Like I’ll simply disappear if he breathes wrong.
My stomach twists into a knot. There’s an intensity to his blue eyes that hits me like a punch, but not a single memory floats to the surface.
His dark brown hair is cut short, with threads of silver at his temples. Thick stubble rasps against the palm of his hand as he rubs his mouth.
“Grace.” His voice breaks on the word. “It’s really you. I…I never stopped lookin’, darlin’. Not for a single day.”
My eyes burn. Shouldn’t he be familiar? Seeing him should trigger something, right?
Every moment I don’t respond, a bit of the hope fades from his deep blue eyes.
“Grace?”
The first tears tumble down my cheeks. “I d-don’t…know you.”
He nods like he expected it, but his jaw flexes, and his eyes—those deep, desperate eyes—shine with something that looks a lot like grief.
“I’m…uh…AJ. I’m your husband. For eighteen years…now.”
Husband.
The word detonates inside my chest, but there’s nothing behind it. No memories. Nothing familiar. Just a growing ache and hollow panic curling around my ribs and squeezing. Hard.
“I brought pictures. Maybe they’ll help?” AJ pulls out his phone, taps it a couple of times, and turns the screen toward me. But it’s too small—too fuzzy—for my tired brain to make sense of.
His voice is kind. Gentle. I should be safe with him. So why can’t I ask him to come closer? I want—I need—to know if the vague shapes in the picture really are…us.
Just say something. Anything.
I dig the fingers of my right hand into my thigh under the blanket and find the tiniest bit of courage. “I can’t see…from here.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry, darlin’. Can I…uh…sit with you?” He’s so serious, his voice soft and almost…hesitant. I may not remember him, but I know the man in front of me is never this unsure of himself.
I think he’s trying not to scare me. Does he know I’m scared all the time?
“Okay.” The word is nothing but a whisper, yet it settles me in a way I can’t explain. As does AJ’s warmth at my side when he drags a polished wood chair over and sinks down next to me.
Dr. Reyes clears his throat. “Grace, I think you and AJ should have some time alone. But if you want me to stay, I will.”
I shake my head softly, and my brain doesn’t immediately zap itself sideways at the motion. Maybe it’s a sign. I want to trust AJ. I need to trust him. I just don’t know if I should.
He scoots a little closer, the phone cradled in his hands, and I catch a hint of his scent. Leather and something fresh and clean. It’s comforting.
“This was us on New Year’s Eve five years ago. We splurged on tickets to the big bash at the Four Seasons.”
He looks so…happy. Clean shaven, in a black suit, his smile wide as he leans in to kiss the woman in his arms.
She’s…me, but not. Her blue-green eyes aren’t haunted and bruised. Her smile isn’t forced. Her hair is shorter. She’s not skin and bones. Her red dress clings to her curves, and a blue topaz ring glitters on the hand pressed to AJ’s chest. This woman is confident. She wouldn’t be afraid to take this man’s phone—her husband’s phone—and look at some damn pictures.
Our fingers brush as he hands me the device. I can’t control my flinch. But it’s the anguish in his eyes that destroys me.
