Chrysalis, p.4
Chrysalis, page 4
“I need to talk to you outside,” Gray finally managed through a jaw so tight that I worried for his teeth.
It was Devin’s turn to look slightly guilty. He opened his mouth and then closed it. In the end, he simply turned on his heel and exited the room without another word. Gray sent me an unreadable look before he followed with a terse, “Be right back.”
I nodded like a puppet on a string, my stomach in knots. I knew without asking that what Devin had said was true. That single statement made everything make sense. I didn’t like it, but that didn’t make it any less real.
Gray’s gentle murmur drifted in my ears. “He’s supposed to remember in his own time.”
Devin’s louder voice followed. “That’s fine as long as he’s not trying to kiss you, honey.”
Gray said something else, but I was stuck on that single word. Honey. God, that hurt. That hurt worse than when I first woke up with a scalp full of stitches. I’d rather experience that hurt a million times over rather than hear that Gray and I weren’t together anymore. No, worse than that. Gray had moved on with someone else.
Another memory assailed me, so sharp and fresh I could almost taste it. Gray and I were together on a beach at dusk, sitting on the sand. He was slightly in front of me, and even though we were about the same height, the way he was positioned allowed his head to notch directly under my chin. I buried my nose in his silky, long waves, taking a deep lungful of him. He smelled like salty sea air and clean sweat and passionfruit shampoo.
Fireworks went off suddenly, and we both jumped a little in surprise. Then we shared a laugh. You and me, Gray, I murmured in his hair. You’re the most important thing in the world to me. You know that?
I could feel his smile. I love it when you tell me things I already know.
I blinked, and the image faded. The beach was gone and the sound of the fireworks. I was back in my sterile hospital room, wisps and tendrils of what used to be slipping through the room vents like smoke.
The brain was a marvelous, horrible thing. I could remember exactly how Gray smelled at a random Fourth of July picnic, but not that we weren’t together anymore. And while I was filing mental gripes, I was still drawing a blank on who shot me in the head. Excellent. Way to determine what’s useful and what’s not, Brain. Keep up the good work.
Gray came back into the room alone. He stopped a foot short of my bed, staring at me as if he didn’t quite know what to say. His mouth was a little bruised as if he’d been kissed. Hard. Not by me. Never again by me. God, how could the hurt keep getting worse?
He ran a hand through his tangled mess of hair. My fingers itched to do the same, especially now that I knew I couldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.
He had nothing to be sorry for. He’d gone above and beyond for an ex that was confused and, apparently, stuck in the past. And even though I didn’t remember why we broke up, I had a feeling whose fault it was. Probably the guy who’d been dumped in the emergency room parking lot with nothing but the clothes on his back and a hole in his skull. Not Mr. Stability with the kind whiskey eyes and perpetually pink cheeks.
“We’re not together anymore?” I asked dully.
“No.” His voice was quiet.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Dr. Michaels thought it would be best if I didn’t. If you remembered on your own, great. But in the meantime—”
“In the meantime, what?” I shook my head in disbelief. “What if I never remembered? Would you bring the crazy ex along on your honeymoon so I wouldn’t feel bad?” A laugh burbled up in my throat at a situation that was in no way funny. “What is wrong with you?”
That ignited Gray’s temper as he shelved the remorse. “I’m pretty sure I should be the one asking that question,” he snapped. “You come in here, half-dead and out of your mind calling my name. You disrupt my relationship and my life, and I let you because you’re Christian fucking Cross, and I always drop everything for Christian fucking Cross.”
Yep. A camel storing anger in his hump. And I really didn’t like the way he said my name. “What? Nothing to say to that?” he demanded.
I raised an eyebrow. “Only that I hope my middle name isn’t truly ‘fucking.’ That will be awkward when I reapply for my driver’s license.”
He sighed, already looking a little less angry now that he’d emptied his rage hump. “Go ahead. Make your jokes. You always do.”
“You don’t get to be upset with me, Gray,” I shot back. “You seemed to have no trouble finding my replacement. You’re not that heartbroken.”
“Excuse me?”
“Shit, I know the breakup is long over for you. But cut me some fucking slack. For me, it just happened a few minutes ago. And you were obviously outside kissing that guy.” I let out a breath. “Someone just dealt me a crapload of shitty-ass cards, and I’m trying to figure out how to play my hand.”
“You left me, Chris,” he said softly. “You don’t get to be upset about it.”
I left…. My mouth fell open. Just when I thought the shock was over. “I would’ve never.”
“Well, apparently, you could, and you did.” It was his turn to let out a deep breath. “Look. I don’t want to argue. I think we did enough of that near the end.”
I was almost grateful I didn’t remember what “the end” had entailed… and what I’d said to put that look in his eyes. I knew that when he left this time, he probably wouldn’t come back, and I felt an almost paralyzing loss. I looked at him wordlessly, trying to memorize his face. Those expressive eyes could be so warm and kind. His nose, straight and a little overlong. And his mouth, soft and lush and made for kissing.
I wished I’d kissed him. I wished that his boyfriend’s timing had been a little worse, and I’d gotten a chance to get that mouth against mine again without zero guilt, zero regrets…when I was still trapped in the delusion that he was still mine, and I was still his, and he was just being nice enough to let me.
“I’d better go,” he said, and I nodded because I knew that was coming.
“Can you just tell me one thing?” I managed.
“What is it?” he asked tiredly.
“Why did I leave?”
His jaw tightened as the last vestiges of friendliness fled his gaze. “I guess you’d have to ask someone else that question. Because you sure as hell never told me.”
Long after he left, closing the door softly behind him, I lay back on my flat pillow, staring at the ceiling. I pondered things I had no answer to. Who was I? And what happened to me? Would I ever get my memories back? And the most important question of all: what the hell could’ve happened in my life to make me leave the only person I’d ever truly loved?
The answers never came, but fortunately, sleep did.
5
DR. Michaels was a lying sack of shit.
He’d promised I’d be out of the hospital in less than a week, but here I was, two weeks later, still sucking down my weight in Jell-O. I’d been convinced when he gave me the all-clear that it was time to go home. I was wrong. It was time to begin rehabilitative therapy.
Fortunately, I was wrong about Gray never coming back, either. He stayed away for a few days after our disastrous conversation and showed up that Friday with a Snickers bar for me to try. We skipped the awkward rehashing of our breakup, and I informed him that I wanted to try a Payday bar next—I’d seen one on a commercial. So far, M&Ms still led the pack according to my tastebuds, but I was dedicated to my research.
I tried grilling Gray during some of our talks, but it didn’t take me long to realize that I hadn’t exactly kept in touch. That was unfortunate because he was the only person that I knew in the whole damned world…other than the person who’d tried to kill me, of course. I was pretty sure that person wasn’t in the market for a new pen pal.
Detective Myers had stopped by several times to update me on her progress. I had an old car registered in my name in police impound. After being properly ticketed to death, it had been towed from downtown. It was reasonable to think I probably lived in one of the four apartment buildings around where I’d parked. When she looked into that theory, she couldn’t find anything in my name.
She showed me pictures of the rundown buildings, which easily fit into the categories of Sketchy, Oh God, Condemn It Now, and When Does The Wrecking Ball Arrive? As I looked at the pictures, I could feel her staring at me hard, as if she could read the truth in my eyes. Truth was, nothing looked or sounded familiar. Nowadays, that didn’t mean much.
I began to wish they’d continued to lie to me. Waking up thinking I could be the prince of some obscure kingdom would’ve made the healing process a little more pleasant. Instead, I was a pauper who drove an old car, lived in a drug-infested neighborhood, and had broken up with the best thing that had ever happened to me. Oh, and Former Me thought kangaroo ankle surgery was more important than upgrading my old-ass Honda Accord.
Fantastic.
Gray popped in around lunchtime and spent it in the chair at the foot of my bed. I was fairly sure he was only stopping by because he felt sorry for me, but I was too pathetic to tell him to stop. I finished playing with my Jell-O and looked up to find him watching me with another unreadable look.
“What is it?” I asked self-consciously. He was looking at me as if a map of Atlantis could be found in the creases of my face.
“Hmm? Nothing.” He shook his head. “I just…I can’t believe you got plastic surgery.”
“I did no such thing.”
“I know your face, Chris. I know it as well as I know my own.”
“I did not,” I insisted. I mean, granted, I didn’t even know my name, but I knew I wasn’t vain enough for plastic surgery. When I said as much to Gray, he frowned.
“Plastic surgery isn’t always about vanity,” he said firmly. “Life is already hard enough. If a small cosmetic change can make someone feel more comfortable in his skin, I’m all for it.”
You don’t seem all that thrilled about mine. “Do you have a picture of me before?” I asked hesitantly.
He stared at me for a long moment, like he didn’t want to admit such a thing. That pause told me that he did before he even let out a sigh and pulled out his phone. “Hang on.”
“You have a picture of me on your phone?”
“I haven’t taken the time to delete everything,” he said defensively.
“You said we’ve been broken up for four years.”
“So?”
I knew better than to pry. He turned his phone around so I could see the picture. I reached for his phone, but he pulled it back. “Can I see?” I asked frustratedly.
“You see with your eyes, Cross,” he said pointedly. “Not your hands.”
“What’ve you got in there?” I demanded, hiding a smile. “Nudes? Dick pics? ’Cuz I’ve seen your dick.”
“You don’t remember it,” he shot back.
“So you admit there are dick pics,” I crowed.
He bit down on his lip, fighting hard against a smile as he tapped his phone to keep the screen from going dim. “Just look at the damn picture, Cross.”
So there were other pictures of me in there. Or at least us together. I knew that deep in my bones, so I didn’t press. Instead, I stared at the picture of us in happier, amnesia-free times. We were up in the stands of a ball game, dressed from head to toe in green-and-white gear.
I gasped. “You should’ve told me I was a fucking Jets fan, Laurie,” I said in stringent tones. “That should’ve been the first damn thing out of your mouth.”
I got a small smile for that. “You were a fair-weather fan at best. When they were doing good, you were on board.”
“So…never?”
He snorted. “You’re missing the point.”
I stared at a face that was familiar and not at all familiar all at the same time. He was right. I was handsome before, but with a lot of rough edges. My nose had been a little crooked, with a slight bump on the bridge, like I’d been in a fight and it hadn’t healed correctly. My cheekbones were a little different and my ears less prominent. The differences were small individually, but put together, I’d had a lot of work done. I didn’t know why I felt so bad about that.
The phone went dark, and I was glad. He turned it around for the Face ID scanner, and I waved him off. “Don’t. I saw.”
At my tone, his brow crinkled in concern. “Are you okay?”
Define okay. I’d gone fucking Photoshop on my face.
“Sorry,” Gray said apologetically. “I didn’t mean to upset you. But you see what I mean.”
I resisted the urge to touch my ears. “You think I look… bad?”
He snorted. “The nurses certainly don’t. They seem to have no trouble finding reasons to come into your room. And we both know it can’t be for your sparkling personality.”
He didn’t seem to share their enthusiasm over my nicked and tucked face…or my personality. “You didn’t answer my question,” I said.
“I liked you the way you were.”
It felt like a one-two punch to the gut. I released a breath. “Man, you’ve gotten better at hurting people’s feelings.”
He turned his face away. “I learned from the best.”
A quick knock at the door was a welcome reprieve. I looked over as it opened, expecting Dr. Michaels or one of the nurses, and was surprised to see Detective Myers. I fell back against the pillows with a sigh. Jesus Christ. Had no one been murdered lately in this godforsaken city? She wasn’t alone, either. A man appeared in the doorway behind her, all tall and blond and classically good-looking. Her equally-as-unwelcome sidekick practically filled the doorway like a blond Superman.
“There you are,” he exclaimed. “I’ve been worried sick.”
My eyes widened. And who, exactly, would you be? I couldn’t ask, not with that kind of greeting. He strode across the room, broad and muscled in his jeans and polo shirt, and I resisted the urge to shrink back against the pillows. I knew he was going to hug me. Touch me, at the very least. Maybe even—
“Mmph!” It was about the only sound I could manage before his mouth was on mine. He pulled back, and I didn’t look at Gray, my face burning. The man enfolded me carefully in a hug, and I was glad he was aware of his own strength—he was chiseled in places I didn’t think you could be chiseled.
His hug was about as different from Gray’s as it could be. Even when Gray was angry with me and he’d given me a pity hug that I’d begged for, it felt like warmth and safety and…home. This guy was cold from his icy-blue eyes to his toes. God. What had I done?
“I’ve missed you,” the man said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His hand landed on my shoulder, and I instinctively jerked back. He didn’t seem to take offense. Instead, he smiled as he drew back. “You’re so jumpy. I guess that’s to be expected, though. You’ve been through so much. May I sit?”
“Of course,” I said, finally finding my voice. “I hope you don’t take offense at this, but…will you tell me your name? Is it Maxim?”
He raised an eyebrow as he shook his head slowly. “Where’d you hear that?”
“The tattoo behind my ear,” I mumbled, a little embarrassed because clearly, that wasn’t his name. I was more than a little tired of this amnesia shit. It was like everyone in the world knew the end of the movie but me…only the movie wasn’t playing anymore, and no one would tell me what happened.
“I have the same tattoo. We got them on vacation. There was this amazing art exhibit….” He cocked his head at my blank stare as if assessing me. “You really don’t remember anything, do you?”
“Not much, no. Sorry,” I added on lamely because how did you adequately apologize to your partner when you didn’t remember anything about your relationship?
“But you remember Gray.”
It wasn’t a question. Once again, I was tempted to offer a lame sorry. But was there any way to apologize for not only not remembering your current partner, but remembering just about everything from a prior relationship?
“His recollections are spotty at best,” Detective Myers felt the need to say as she stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest. “I’m hoping you’ll be able to fill in some of the blanks.”
He ignored her. “My name is Andy. And we’ve been together for five years.”
The sound of a chair scraping back had my gaze shooting over to Gray as he stood. He looked a little stiff as he nodded at me. I didn’t miss the implications of a five-year relationship with Andy. From the hurt that crossed his face, neither did Gray. I guess we finally figured out why I left him.
I felt lower than scum.
“I’ll give you two some privacy,” he said.
I watched him as he walked out of the room. I didn’t want privacy. I wanted him to come back, but I couldn’t muster up the chutzpah to ask. Not after what we’d just learned. But damn, I wanted. I wanted our quiet nights talking long after visiting hours were over, whenever he had a break to pop in my room. I wanted him to come back and eat his dinner in that chair and harass him until he let me try some of his food. I wanted impossible things. I didn’t want him to leave me with this, this…stranger. A stranger that I’d given up the love of my life for.
Get a hold of yourself.
This was what I’d wanted, wasn’t it? It was just that nothing about him seemed familiar. Not his scent. His smile. Nothing. I wanted to cry. Jesus. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been pinning my hopes of something familiar jarring my memory.
Dr. Michaels came in with a smile that faltered when he saw my two visitors. “Detective, I thought you’d asked all your questions of my patient.”
You tell ’em, Doc. He might look young, but he had a pugnacious attitude, and he had no problem saying no. I’d learned that the hard way when I’d made my breakfast order. I’d called food services in the morning with high hopes and an eager request for bacon. I was turned down so fast it made my head spin. I didn’t know what that little dictator-in-training had written on my chart, but they treated me as though I’d asked for a spoonful of succinylcholine.
