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His light brown hair is slightly tousled on top, like he’s been running a hand through it all day, and a beard the same shade covers the lower half of his face. Sharp hazel eyes watch me intently, as though he’s trying to read me in these same moments I’m trying to get a read on him.
Dark ink snakes down his left arm, emerging from the sleeve of his shirt and trailing down to just above his elbow.
Who is this guy? Why is he here?
“I—what happened?” I ask. “Who are you?”
He crosses his arms. “Ryker,” he says. “You were in an accident. Your car went over Mariner’s Bridge last night. I pulled you out of the water.” Outside, thunder claps so loudly, I jump. Moments later, sheets of rain slam into the window.
My heart pounds.
It’s just a storm, Dahlia. Focus.
“Mariner’s Bridge?” Mind foggy, I can’t quite place where I know that name from. “Where is that?”
“Just outside of Stormwatch Landing,” he replies. “South Carolina.”
“I live in Charleston. I’ve never been to Stormwatch Landing.” I shake my head. There’s this cloud over me, a grogginess that’s making it impossible to fully process anything. “I don’t understand. None of this makes any sense.” I throw the covers off and swing my legs over to try to stand. “I have to get home. I have work.”
“Whoa, you aren’t going anywhere just yet.” Ryker rushes forward right as the door opens and a man wearing dark blue scrubs and a white coat comes in, a friendly smile on his face. There’s a woman beside him, a blonde with a soft, worried gaze, but instead of continuing toward me as a nurse would, she stops right beside Ryker.
“I’m Doctor Edwards,” the doctor says as he steps up to my bedside. Ryker and the woman take a step back. “Are you in any pain?”
“Yes.” I lean back onto the pillow again, mind reeling, body aching.
“Can you rate it on a scale of 1 to 10?”
A forty-seven. “Maybe a six?” I close my eyes a moment to give the pounding in my head a break. “I hate that question.”
He chuckles softly. “I can appreciate that. I can get you something to help, but I need to ask you a few questions first.”
Opening my eyes, I stare back at the doctor. “I need to get home,” I say again.
The man looks at Ryker, then back at me. “I completely understand, but you were in a serious accident, and we really need to make sure you’re okay.”
If I don’t play along, they won’t let me leave. So, I nod.
“Can you tell me your name, age, and what day it is?”
“Uh, Dahlia Swanson. I’m thirty-seven. It’s Monday?” The ache in my head grows, so I reach up and rub my right temple. Everything is foggy. What in the world was I doing on a bridge in a town I’ve never visited?
The doctor shares a worried look with Ryker, who doesn’t say a single word. “Can you tell me the date?”
His question is met with a momentary pause on my end. The date? Why can’t I remember—“I don’t know. The first of October? I just paid my rent.”
Another worried look.
“It’s October seventeenth,” he replies softly.
Head swimming, it’s all I can do not to vomit right here in front of both men. “No, that can’t be right. I just dropped my check off this morning.”
“It is,” the doctor confirms.
I look over at Ryker, hoping he’ll be the one who breaks and tells me this is all a joke. I don’t know him, but he certainly doesn’t look like the kidding type.
“Miss Swanson, after what you went through, it’s completely normal to suffer from acute amnesia.”
“Amnesia?” I repeat. “No, I—” The pounding in my head turns to a full-on hammering, and pain bounces around my brain like its sole mission is to destroy me.
