“You’d micromanage every facet of my life if you could, and stare over Raquel’s shoulder if she let you. Which, by the way, is half the reason she moved away in the first place. Now, she enjoys her life of freedom, and she only ever calls to give you the highlights. Never the shitty stuff.”
“What shitty stuff?” I swing my eyes across and lock onto a pair of bright blues, the same as Raquel’s. The same as mine. “What does she tell you that she doesn’t tell me?”
“Literally everything that would set you off and make you act like…” She scrunches her nose and gestures straight at me. Then she pushes off her bed and grabs the duffel bag, holding it in two hands and offering it forward. “Give these to Jane, because doing so will make you feel better. And maybe having something to call her own will help her, too.”
I accept the bag, frowning and frustrated, and drawing a long breath, I stop in front of her and exhale. “I was thinking—to help Jane—that I could bring the news folks in. They’re already reporting the accident, but they don’t have her face, and they’re just…” I shrug. “Plainview local news, which means the story isn’t spreading very far. I thought, if we get her onto a few other channels and appeal to the public, maybe someone out there will be able to identify her.”
“It’s the logical next step.” She tilts her head to the side, intuitively searching my eyes. “So why are you hesitating?”
“Because someone might identify her.”Fuck, fuck, fuck. “They might come and take her away.”
“Which is literally the whole point.” A deep, concerned V digs between her brows. “If she has a life somewhere else, Ollie… a family, a home, a career… then that’s where she belongs. If putting her on the news helps her find her name again, then that’s a good thing, and if someone calls to claim her, weknowBilly and Ramone will search their record all the way down to their sixth-grade school reports to make sure they’re decent. No one will get to talk to her till they’re deemed safe.IfJane escaped a dangerous situation, you’ll get eyes on himlongbefore he gets eyes on her. But since we don’tknow,it’s entirely possible—probable, even—that she has a good, loving family out there, frantically searching for her right now. Robbing her of that family because you’re worried about thewhat-ifsisn’t fair.” She rubs my arm, softening her eyes. “You’re her doctor, Ollie, not her keeper. And you’re letting the Alana stuff cloud your judgment.”
“You’re reaching.”
She scoffs. “I’m absolutely not, and we both know it.” She steps in, wraps her arms around my torso and rests her cheek on my chest for a long, soothing hug. “You need to forgive yourself for the things that were never your fault, Ol. And for the love of God, don’t put Jane in this protective little bubble you insist Alana, Raquel, and I sit in. It wouldn’t be fair to her. And it’s definitely not fair to you.”
“I just don’t want to make things worse.” I cough, clearing the painful lump from the base of my throat. “She’s safe here in Plainview.”
She’s miserable. Sad. Scared. But fuck, she’s safe.
ROUND EIGHT
OLLIE
“Alright. It’s time.” I stride into Jane’s room the next day and toss the black bag onto the foot of her bed. “Get dressed.”
She startles and slams a hand to her heart, her monitors screaming into the otherwise silence. “Jesus, Ollie!” As her brain catches up, her terror turns to rage, and her O’d lips transform into flat, furious lines. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you walk into a room like a normal human being?”
“Because it’s time to get you out of that bed and back on your feet.” I tear the duffel open and take out Eliza’s sweatpants, palming the price tag before Jane can see it. Then I offer the folded bundle and meet her beautiful, multicolored eyes. “When was the last time you walked?”
“Twenty minutes ago.” She juts her chin forward, dismissive and a little haughty. “All the way to the bathroom.”
“When was the last time you walked out of this room?” I toss the pants onto her blanketed lap and come back to the bag for a shirt. “Got you layers, since it’s snowing out and I know you don’t like the cold. Put ‘em on and move your butt.”
She casts a sullen glance toward the mostly closed blinds. “Think I’ll pass.”
“That wasn’t an option.” I drag her blankets off and risk the way she balls her fists in my peripherals, then I grab the sweatpants and snap them open, carefully feeding her left foot through the leg-hole, then the right, before tugging the fabric to her knees. “It’ll be good for you, and I wanted to talk to you about something important, anyway.”
Just like that, she forgets her rage and crumbles into an anxious mess. “W-what thing? What happened?”
“Nothing happened.” I hold her hands and guide her around, stopping only when her feet dangle over the side of her bed and the pants fall to her ankles, then I take advantage of her frozen state and draw her closer to the edge. Closer. And when she can’t go even an inch further, I support her forearms and bring her down until her feet touch the floor and her cheeks become impossibly white. “Hold on to me for a second.” I place her hand on my shoulder and lower into a crouch, carefully fisting the waistband and drawing the fabric up.
Itouchnothing but the pants. Iseenothing but the blue and white stripes of her gown. And fuck, Isaynothing about the knock of her knees or her panicked breath hitting my chin as I rise again.
“You’re safe. I promise.” I search her terrified eyes and grab the shirt. But I can’t put it on her until she removes the gown, and I can’t take the gown without violating her right to… everything. Privacy. Respect. Autonomy. “Why don’t you take this to the bathroom and swap? I’ll wait right here for you to come back.”
“Can’t I just wear this?” Her voice crackles with fear. With nerves. Fuck, her chin trembles the way it does every time something new comes along and knocks her off her perch of precarious stability. “W-what thing do you want to tell me?”
“Nothing happened, so try not to panic so much.” I set the shirt back in the bag and grab Eliza’s four-hundred-dollar coat instead. Releasing the tight roll and allowing the puffer fabric to expand, I tap her shoulder and wait as she cautiously turns. “I haven’t talked to the cops today, no one has called about you, and medically, nothing has changed.” I carefully maneuver the coat and help her slide one arm in, then the other. “Your CT shows a reduction in the bruising on your brain, and the bleed has rectified itself. But,” I come around to stop in front of her. “Your memory hasn’t returned. Which really stinks.” I join the zipper at the bottom of her coat and drag it up. “Have you remembered anything since last night?”
She shakily swipes a falling tear from her cheek. “No. Nothing.”
I bring the zipper all the way to her chin, cocooning her in the warm material until her pale cheeks claw back a fraction of color, then I select a pair of socks from the bag and help her onto the edge of her bed. “Do you remember what movie was on last night?” The TV is off right now, but I tilt my head in its direction. “It was a good one. Bet you saw it when you were a kid.”
She takes a sock and folds at the hips to put it on, but then she hisses, remembering her stitches and the long, vicious gash taking up most of herleft side. She’s nursing more injuries than just her brain… but we barely have time to focus on those.
Lowering to one knee, I tug the sock from her grasp and roll it onto her left foot, careful of the deep graze spreading all the way from her ankle to the upper area of her calf muscle. That’s where she hit the road after bouncing off Barbara’s windshield, colliding with frozen tar, but instead of sliding, her skin gripped on and tore.
