We catch each other’s eyes, but other than an eyebrow raise, he doesn’t speak to me at all. He knows I’m not meant to be here, but thankfully he doesn’t berate me. At least not now. He can, though. He’s been known to tell nurses a few things if they do things he doesn’t like. And he doesn’t like when people go against the schedule.
“Getting sick of looking at you,” Karter huffs, but there’s no malice in his voice as he speaks to his friend.
That’s something else I find refreshing. Friend or not, most people get short with doctors when they keep refusing to let them leave the hospital.
I get it. I do. No one wants to be here for longer than they have to be. And everyone feels well enough to go home before the doctor releases them. I’m sure Karter feels it more than others since he’s been here longer. Sure, most of that was while he was in a coma, but I fully believe the brain and body know what’s going on at all times when you’re asleep. Muscle memory and all that. And it knows when it’s been in bed for too long.
“Well, how about we get you out of here?”
“Really?” The perkiness in Karter’s voice has me turning to look at him, seeing the hope on his face.
“Sure. Fresh air’s good for the soul.”
Karter glares. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
Dr. Trooper chuckles. “Tell me something I haven’t been called before. But seriously, it’s a nice day. I’m sure Nurse Zimmer would be happy to take you.” He gives me a very pointed look before looking back at our patient. “I’ll have the other nurse on duty change out your sheets, and then we can take you down for some more lab work.”
Karter growls, and I swear I feel it below my waist. “Again?”
“You get that memory back and I’ll stop having you looked at. Fair enough?”
Karter doesn’t say anything after that. How can he? It’s the one thing that’s keeping him here, from what I can tell. He got shot and fell from a second-story building nine months ago, then woke from a coma with memory loss. Not all of it, but the important parts. Like that he had a wife. And a kid.
It was heart-wrenching to watch his daughter scream at him to remember her. Which is probably why she keeps glaring at me when she comes in. I would, too, if Nana forgot me.
I’m attracted to Karter. I can’t deny it. He’s devastatingly handsome with the older-man salt-and-pepper look. I never knew I was into older guys till I saw him. He’s chiseled in every place—trust me, I know. Who do you think gave him the sponge baths? I didn’t look at everything, not entirely, but I saw enough to know he works out. Or did. Some of the definition has faded since he’s been here, though not enough that it detracts.
Dr. Trooper had him on a strict physical therapy routine almost immediately; he wanted his patient to be in top shape no matter if his eyes weren’t open. We did what we could while he was asleep, but as soon as he woke up and was cleared to do more, the doctor signed off on it. Karter also pushes himself past his breaking point to get back to the shape he was before. More than once I’ve heard the physical therapists telling him to slow down and take it easy, which he ignores.
His striking jawline and straight nose make it even more unfair to the rest of the males in the world. No one should be this good-looking. I’m sure Karter’s daughter has dealt with many women throwing themselves at her father. And from her viewpoint, I’m sure I’m just one of many.
We get Karter into the wheelchair, which he grumbles about the entire time as I push him out to the small garden reserved for patients only. Mad Max follows in our wake as we go.
The garden isn’t big enough for long walks or anything, but we have several benches. I pick one and sit down, positioning Karter to look out as he sits beside me.
Mad Max keeps walking and eventually takes a seat four benches down. I raise an eyebrow at him, but he refuses to look at me, so I look at Karter, who shakes his head.
“He’s trying to give me space so I don’t start yelling at him.”
“You yell?” I ask with a small smile. I know he does; I’ve just never seen it.
“Oh, darling, I’ve yelled more than I’ve stayed quiet.” He looks away as if reliving a memory, and I sit in silence as he enjoys the moment.
He didn’t forget everything, but large chunks are missing. Apparently, his wife died over a decade back, which is what he forgot. The past. His entire life with her, and everything about her, including what she made with him.
I know there’s a lot about the brain we still don’t know. People spend their entire lives trying to figure things out and still don’t have all the answers. Amnesia is common with comas, enough so that no one’s calling Karter to document every part of his life on the matter. No specialized treatments have been put in place. They just evaluate and tell him to take it easy while also trying to remember what he wants.
Not sure how that’s the best advice, but I guess it’s better than what I have to give him, which is nothing.
“Thank you for sitting with me.”
I smile as I look at him. Having his eyes on me is always a privilege for me. One I cherish because I know ourtime is fleeting. There will come a time when he won’t be here. Then I’ll be just a memory for him when he goes back to his life. With or without his daughter. With a club, which I assume he’s in since everyone who comes to visit is, including his doctor.
One day he’ll leave, and I’ll just be here. And I should be happy about that. That means he’s well.
But there’s still a part of me that hopes he never leaves.
“It’s my pleasure.”
