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wrapped in anguish

Ayla

I have the mother of all headaches and the beeping noise on the alarm clock might as well be nails piercing my temples.

“Make that stop.”

My hand is squeezed on one side and from the other I hear my name. “Ayla.” The tone is wrong.

Why would people be in my bedroom? God, what did I drink last night?

I open my eyes, immediately squeezing them shut against the lights. “Worst hangover ever.”

The chuckle that meets my ears is countered on my other side by a gasp and a hand squeeze that borders on painful.

“Ayla-girl, that’s no hangover, but glad you’re back.” Liam. God, I love him. It’s been too long since I’ve seen my brother.

Cracking my eyes open, I turn from his beautiful, ruddy-bearded face straight into the eyes of…

a tall drink of water. Scary, dark, and gorgeous.

He’s who holds my hand—the unknown man with an unknown face.

I study him. High cheek bones look to be chiseled in stone.

He has a jaw that could cut glass, and his rich, olive skin holds dark stubble that accentuates the hollows of his cheeks.

His eyes are piercing and nearly black like his hair.

He is all angles and planes, shadow upon shadow, both striking and forbidding.

I look to our joined hands before returning my gaze to Liam. “ Who’s this?” I lift the hand joined to the beautiful man. “And why am I here? Speaking of… Where am I?”

Liam turns to the stranger, his mouth popping open like fish, before closing it and turning back to me. “Ayla-girl.” He pauses for too many beats. “Christian’s your husband. Do you— I mean… What do you remember?”

Husband? What husband?

I don’t need to say anything because the beeping becomes a symphony of the macabre. Saved by the painfully shrill bells as the cacophony of beeps swells like a crescendo with my panic.

I try to lift both hands to cover my ears as I squeeze my eyes shut. Pinching in my hand tells me this is a bad idea. I open my eyes to see what I feel—IV tubes, waxy skin, and a hospital bracelet with the name Ayla Barone printed on it.

Ayla Barone.

Barone.

Black spots swim in my vision. The corners tunnel.

A roar mounts in my ears, and I fight. I fight the nausea that bubbles up in my gut, threatening to expel its contents.

No fight is enough, and my stomach releases yellow bile and sour vomit dangerously near the handsome man I do not recognize.

I fight my body’s betrayal and wish I could sink into oblivion.

Instead, I fight the panic that seizes me, nearly freezing me in place as the world rocks uncontrollably.

Medical staff swarms.

My head throbs.

My mind whirls as the two men stare back at me in utter confusion.

I’ve had a few minutes of reprieve—that is, if I can call being poked and prodded, cleaned up, lights flashing into my pupils, and more doctors and nurses in my face than I’ve been able to count, a reprieve—since Liam acted as a wrecking ball, and physically removed my husband from my room.

My husband.

On one hand, go me. That man has got to be the most beautiful specimen on the planet. On the other, what in the ever-loving hell? Who is he? What’s he like? Is he kind to me or is he cruel? But most importantly, at this moment, why don’t I recognize him?

I don’t have any more time to panic as he bursts into the room with my brother right behind him.

Liam, head nearly shaved bald, unruly rust-colored beard covering his baby face, solid build that would never be underestimated in a fight, looks around Christian’s back. “Ma and Dad are on their way. Ci will be here as soon as he can. I’m going to give you a moment.”

“No!” I extend a hand like he’s a lifeline.

Liam’s jaw goes tight as he and Christian Barone exchange a glance.

The tall man drops his chin once before he moves around the bed to my side.

Liam leans against the wall by the door, propping a black booted foot behind him, and pulls out his phone, tattooed fingers tapping away on the screen. I guess I’m getting my way.

“Ayla.” My name is wrapped in anguish.

Fear slides over me like a blanket. I look up into eyes that are beautiful and dark and completely too intimate for a stranger.

“Baby, what do you remember?”

I pull away as he reaches for my hand. The war on his face plays out before me—fear, anger, frustration, and hurt.

I stare at him, looking for anything that could be familiar and find… nothing. Not one thing.

He’s handsome, that’s not a question. If the watch and the shoes are anything to go by, he’s got money. Not that I don’t have my own. Or had… His wedding ring shines bright and proud on his left hand.

“Your brows are puckering in confusion. That’s a rarity. The Ayla I know is rarely confused.”

“The Ayla you know? How long have you known me?”

His gaze flickers to Liam before returning to me. His voice drops to a husky whisper. “You’re killing me, Princess. Do you really not remember?”

I shake my head slowly.

“Two years. Two amazing years. Our one-year wedding anniversary was two weeks ago. Do you not remember any of it? I don’t understand.” His jaw ticks, and his eyes roam me as if he can see the truth or a lie in my statement.

“No.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” His voice is harder than before, as if I said the wrong thing by telling the truth.

Try as I might, I struggle to find a recent memory. When too much time has elapsed and I’m frustrated because I can’t answer his question, I change tacks. “Different topic. Why am I here?”

“You fell. Out on the ridge at Beaver Brook taking photos. I— A good Samaritan called nine-one-one.” He looks away and squeezes his eyes shut. “They airlifted you out.” His eyes open to watery pools. “Airlifted, Ayla. I was destroyed. And now…”

He turns, silently calling for my brother. They wordlessly change the guard as the broody man prowls to the bathroom and the sound of water rushes to my ears.

“Do you really not remember?”

“It’s not an act, Liam. You of all people should know me well enough to know that.”

“You never were a great liar. Besides, that man”—he tilts his head toward the door—“dotes on you, spoils you, and is all ’round your ‘dream guy’.” He uses air quotes while rolling his eyes.

“I said that?”

“Yeah. And don’t ever make me repeat it again. My balls shriveled saying it that time.”

“I don’t want to hear about your balls again. Ever.”

“You gave us a scare. Still going to, I see. Glad you’re okay, though.”

“Okay is relative. I have a husband. My brain isn’t braining. My face hurts, and I’m in a hospital. I’d say I’m zero for four right now.”

The man in question stalks out of the bathroom.

Exhaustion lines his face. He seems angry or disappointed or inconvenienced.

Nothing gets me like someone acting like I’m inconvenient.

There’s rude and then there’s dismissive.

And something about the latter riles me up and sets my red-headed personality ablaze.

I can be as fiery as my hair. And I don’t give a single fuck about it.

Hell, I think it’s a strength.

I want to cross my arms over my chest, but the IV really cramps my style. Instead, I use my voice and let it rip.

“Why do you look angry?”

“Why am I angry? Hmm. Let me see.” Sarcasm drips from every word he speaks.

“You’re lying in a hospital bed, unable to recognize your husband, with no recollection of some window of time in your life.

We’re lucky after the kind of tumble you had that you’re alive and not braindead, but I want to be the asshole who puts an end to the early mornings, the steep climbs, and the risks that come with ‘chasing the light.’ And, Princess, to add to all of that, I’m at a loss. ”

He leans back against the wall, his hands stuffed into his pockets, looking the picture of calm, cool, and collected. Despite appearances, I know he is anything but.

“About what? Christian, right?”

His lids fall shut as if my words spear him.

His eyes are ravaged when he looks back to me.

“About what to do right now. I know what I’d like to do.

I know what I can legally do. But we’re…

” he pauses. “We’re new. At least to you.

So, I can do what I believe I should. Or I can do what my wife would want.

But I need to know what you need. Because the Ayla I know would want a choice. ”

He holds my gaze, lines creasing between his brows.

“You speak like I’m two different people. Like I have multiple personalities.”

Liam pulls out his phone, gives me a quick nod, and silently exits the room.

My eyes follow his back before returning to the stunning man standing in front of me .

“Multiple personalities? Two different people? Hell, I don’t know.

” He shrugs off the wall and begins pacing.

“I don’t know how to explain what it’s like to know someone intimately, inside and out, know their heart and soul.

Know their fears and failures, their highs and lows.

Know the sounds they make when they come.

” He stops his path and captures my gaze, holding me captive.

“To be with them in their worst moments and in their greatest ones. And to have that person… your person, the one who’s your in-thick and in-thin, look at you with no recognition. I’m dying.”

“Christian—”

“So I’m asking, Ayla, because I know what I want to do… What do you need right now?”

“What would the Ayla you knew want?”

The anguish on his face would be heartbreaking if I had any connection to the stranger at the end of my bed. His pain is obvious.

But, like walking into a dramatic scene in a movie when you have no history with the characters, it doesn’t move me.

“The Ayla I know. Not knew. We are not past tense, Princess. And we never will be.”