Page 2 of Fire Island (Fire Island #2)

Two

CALLUM

B l—ee—p

B-ee-p

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Light cuts through the slit of my cracked-open eyelid. Blinding me. I raise a hand to shield myself, but something snags, sending a sting through the back of my right hand. The tight surface beneath me crunches.

I—

Something covers my legs and chest, holding me in place.

I’m trapped?

Forcing my eyes open, white nothingness swallows my vision. I slam my eyes shut. Flinging them open again, I make out the light-grey blind over a window, the sectioned popcorn-textured white ceiling.

Beep .

I turn my head toward the screech.

My mouth is full of sand. My head feels like a swollen balloon. Gripping the edge of the plastic mattress, I pull myself up. Dizziness sinks heavy behind my eyes. Groaning, I hold firm on the bedrail as I sit up.

What the hell?

I sway on my seat. My mouth waters, and bile rises.

“Fu-uck.”

Boat.

The dark waters of early morning.

The guy on the half-sunk vessel.

The thwack of hardness connecting with my skull.

Panic for something I can’t place settles low in my gut, edging my nerves something fierce.

Greyish blurs roll in, stealing the context of each piece of memory rushing me like a freight train.

A rescue gone wrong?

I reach for my head and find a bandage wrapped around it.

The pulse point at the tender spot on the back of my head thrums to life as I brush my fingertips over the material.

A dressing over my temple snags my middle finger as I let my hand fall.

With a little pressure over it, I can feel the telltale bump of stitches.

The hell?

I lean to one side, lifting the blanket. All that covers my body is a hospital gown. “Christ.”

The simple movement sends my head spinning. My stomach lurches upward. I panic, searching the small hospital room for something t?—

Grabbing the small bowl on the bedside table, I lose my stomach.

The door chooses this moment to open, and Iris breezes in like it’s the goddamn country club.

“Oh, you’re awake!” She’s by my side a second later, handing me a cloth, removing the bowl, and setting it on the bedside. Green eyes level with mine. “How are you feeling?”

I give her the foulest look I can muster, and she tilts her head. The happiness drains from her face as her eyes tighten and she forces a wobbly smile. “You scared me, Cal. If Em hadn’t go?—”

Her face breaks.

“Wha—what happened?” I croak.

Apparently, that’s the wrong thing to say. She sobs before she can tamp down the emotion.

“Em found you in a capsized boat. The both of you almost drowned, him trying to get you out.”

“Is he okay?”

Em. Emmett.

Guilt drowns out the next words I want to say. Did the man on board survive?

Did Emmett have to save us both?

“I’m just happy you’re both safe now.” Iris slides her hand inside mine, dropping onto the side of the bed. “But there’s someth?—”

The door whooshes open and a white-coat-clad man strides in, a nurse close behind.

“McCreary, you got lucky.” He holds a tablet up, tapping on the screen, not looking at me. I see nothing in this town’s changed. “A pretty bad concussion. How are you feeling today?” Still, he doesn’t look at me.

“Nauseous. Why do I have stitches?”

Now he looks up. “There was some damage to your temporal bone. A small plate was secured to patch it back up. The drain came out yesterday. No swelling. A good outcome. The stitches can come out in a few days. Like I said, lucky.”

The stone-faced doctor stares me down.

I don’t have the energy to put up a fight, so I lie down and close my eyes.

“Jamieson, can I speak to you outside?” Iris says, her voice far too saccharine. I suppress the smile that comes with the knowledge of what she’s going to do next.

“Of course.” He shuffles outside. The nurse stays, checking over the tubes sunk into my veins. Her gaze swings over the bandage and dressing on my head.

As the door swooshes closed, I watch through the large window as Iris spins back on the doctor. Her finger pokes his chest and her brows drop, the fiery little sister I’ve always loved serving Jamieson his own ass. It’s entertaining. Watching my favorite person in her element.

Where would we be without Irry?

I, for one, am willing to let her take the reins on this one. Relaxing into the bed, I let the soft warmth pull me into its embrace. A sting pinches my cock—the tip, to be more precise—and I grunt, jerking off the pillow.

“The hell?” I grind out, hands pulling at the blankets.

“Easy. You have a catheter. The discomfort should go away when we remove it. As soon as you are back on your feet.” The nurse offers a soft smile.

A catheter.

Fuck me. The thought of any woman handling me, surprisingly, has no effect.

I drop the blankets, and she sets them right before asking me my meal preferences for the day.

Nothing she rattles off the list sounds entirely appealing, so I go with traditional choices.

Fish and vegetables. Meatballs and spaghetti.

At least I won’t need her to feed me...

The bursting flavor of fresh tomato floods my senses.

Odd.

I don’t have time to analyze the thought as the nurse goes about her hourly observations. When she’s done taking my temperature, blood pressure, and so on, she reminds me where the nurse call button is and how to operate the television in the room via the corded remote to my left.

“Ah, thanks,” I grunt at her back as she leaves me to my solitude.

She’s gone without a word, and my focus drifts to where I last saw Irry. But the window is now empty. No scolded doctor. No feisty little sister.

The man is an island.

And the island is the man.

But who is taking care of the lighthouse?

“That’s it, good.” The young, tall rake of a guy to my right nods, a hopeful smile plastered over his face.

I repeat the motions he set for me. Tests, all of them. My mobility—the subject of this inquisition. So far, so good. I’ve walked up and down the rails with no assistance. Passed every reflex test.

Next, the mental assessment.

And as I turn back to find Iris leaning on the doorframe, a resting place close to my own heart, something in my gut flips. Like I should be the one leaning, doing the watching...

“Shouldn’t you be at the café?” I call toward the redhead holding up the doorjamb.

She pushes off and moves to where I stand in the clothes she brought me. “Nope. Paige has it covered.”

“Who?” What? Did I lose my memory on that sorry excuse for a boat?

Iris sighs. “She’s new, started this week. Paige, you know her, Errol’s granddaughter.”

“Good lord, Irry. Dancing with the devil now, are we?”

She huffs a laugh. “Yeah, well. She’s a good kid, works hard. Is taking a break before she starts college in a year or two.”

“You paying her?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Of course.” She slaps my arm. Skinny guy snaps his head up from his tablet, and Iris meets his stare with a glare. “Toughen up, bud.”

“Montgomery, this is my sister, Iris.”

Monty, the nickname I gave him two minutes ago, looks more afraid than enthusiastic about meeting my little sister.

“I was looking to take in a boarder in my spare room above the café, too, help pay for the new Fresnel, but no bites yet.” She shrugs the handbag on her shoulder up, eyes studying my face.

For a reaction? When she finds none, she looks around the physical therapy room like she might discover something I can’t see.

I don’t say a word, and she turns back with the fake smile she’s been giving people since the day our parents died. “Anyhoo, I’d better be getting back. I dropped your phone and a change of clothes on your bed. Text me when you get your results, will you?”

What’s that all about?

She’s back to looking down at Monty. Poor guy’s face is crimson, his eyes trained onto the screen.

“Yep, should be all good here,” I say.

Iris nods. Her smile is soft, but it doesn’t reach her eyes the way it usually does. Like something is up, and she’s not telling me what it is.

She’s . . . worried.

I rack my brain for what could be wrong. But apart from me being away from the lighthouse, I can’t grasp what could have her looking like she’s passing a kidney stone every time she comes to visit.

“Bye, Irry,” I call out as she crosses the threshold.

She turns back and waves before disappearing.

“Right, well.” Monty slips into view. “I’ll take you back for your next evaluation.”

“Sure,” I say, following him back to my room.

He nods, holding the door open, and I walk in, feeling more like a child than a grown-ass man who kept himself alive for the past twenty years on a literal island.

Damn .

It’s as if I’m just waiting for the penny to drop. And I hate it.

My skin’s too tight.

A soft knock pops through the still silence of my room.

“Come in,” I offer without looking at the door.

Jamieson enters, tail appropriately between his legs. I see he’s been properly reprimanded by my little sister. Serves him right. So much for being a professional. I know I haven’t been the town’s favorite since Ava, but hell, he’s one of the few doctors we have. That ought to count for something.

He gestures for me to sit, so I sit on the side of the bed as he pulls the only chair in the room closer. “Right, so you’ve done really well on the physical assessments. We just have to check your mental capacity now.”

I give him a glower, and he shakes his head. “You two are peas in a pod. But, Callum, I can’t clear you to leave until I’ve assessed the impact of the concussion on your mental functioning.”

With a sigh, I say, “Go on then.”

“Okay, what year is it?”

“2022.”

Not missing a beat, he says, “Okay, next. Who is the president?”

“Joe.”

“How old are you?”

“Just turned forty.”

Jamieson looks up from the tablet, his face blank. “Right, and what’s the last thing you remember before the accident?”

“I . . .”

“Take your time.”

“The greenhouse. I finished the extension that houses the back end, for herbs and edible flowers.”

“That’s fine, thank you. Give me a minute.” He rises and leaves the room.

I wait as he moves to the nurse’s station. Surprise fills the nurse’s face as he speaks to her, and she grabs the phone receiver and turns to make a call.

Jamieson returns, shutting the door behind him, and sits back down. “We’ve called Iris back. There’s some things we need to confirm with her. If that’s okay with you?”

“Ah, sure. Is there something wrong?”

“A few small discrepancies. If we can pinpoint them, we can evaluate the impact better.”

“So, there is something wrong.”

“Look, Callum, brain injuries are a very individual thing. What’s normal for one person can be detrimental to another. Someone who knows you as well as Iris will help shed some light on the assessment is all.”

He pats my shoulder like he’s my best fucking friend, giving me the most pathetic smile I’ve ever seen scrawl its way across a man’s face. He leaves me to the silence he broke before his mind-bending stupidity.

Hope Iris hands him his ass twice when she gets here.

Fuck me.

Then I realize he never told me if I passed.