Page 9

Dylan

I waved the nurse off with a weak shake of my head, the motion sending a dull throb through my skull.

“No meds?” she asked gently, tilting the cup of pills toward me like it might sweet-talk me into compliance.

“I want to be clearheaded,” I rasped, my throat dry as sandpaper. “For now.”

Her eyes flashed with disagreement, but she didn’t push. “How’s the pain?”

“It’s fine,” I said, despite my discomfort. “Nothing I can’t handle. I’d like to sit up, though.”

She nodded, adjusting the bed’s angle with a soft whir and checking my bandages. It felt good to sit up somewhat. “I’ll check in an hour,” she said, her voice fading as she stepped out. “Buzz if you need anything.”

I didn’t nod because any movement of my head made it throb. The room was quieter than I would have thought a hospital could be. Money couldn’t buy everything, but it could buy a level of physical comfort.

Not mental.

Nothing could buy that. I closed my eyes, trying to piece together memories. Faces, moments, feelings—but no timeline. No context. Like a puzzle dumped out of its box, edges missing.

Jennifer had left a few minutes earlier.

She hadn’t said she was upset, claimed she needed a breath, but I hadn’t imagined the panic in her eyes when I asked about her ring.

.. and that stuck with me. Her smile had faltered.

A flash cut through my mind’s fog: Jennifer’s face, younger, laughing under a sky too blue to be real, her hair catching the sunlight.

We were on my yacht. Then cuddled together on a beach on one of the Lofoten Islands, her looking up in awe at the northern lights—me realizing I’d never felt so at peace with the world or myself.

The memory faded, leaving a hollow ache. We were so happy. Why did it feel like a lifetime ago?

Something wasn’t right. My fingers twitched, itching to reach for something—her hand maybe, or another memory.

The door clicked as it opened. Steven stepped in, broad shoulders filling the frame, his usually crisp suit rumpled. Faint shadows under his eyes betrayed the vigil he’d kept.

I knew him well, although the details around how were fuzzy.

“You look like you’re feeling better,” he said, dragging a chair closer to the bed. The scrape of its legs echoed in the small room.

“Pain’s manageable.” I shifted slightly, wincing as my ribs protested.

He nodded, his eyes scanning me with that quiet intensity of his. “The nurse said you’re off pain meds?”

“It was making it difficult to think straight.” I met his gaze. “Whatever straight even means right now.”

A faint grunt of approval. “Yeah.” He reached over, grabbing the pillow under my head and giving it a quick, rough fluff—more force than finesse, like he was punching it into submission.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” he muttered, shoving it back under me.

The gesture was rough, but his hand lingered a second, steadying my shoulder before he sat back.

I studied him, the familiar lines of his face comforting me. “I don’t remember the accident.”

“That tracks. Most people block shit like that out.”

I met his gaze. “Is Jennifer okay?”

Steven didn’t answer right away. He crossed his arms, his silence louder than the monitor’s steady beep. “Seeing you like this is hard on her,” he said finally. “But she’s here. That’s what matters.”

“Why wouldn’t she be?” The question slipped out, jarring in a way I couldn’t name.

That earned me a look—not judgment, just an awareness. It was as if he saw the gaps in my mind and was choosing how to deal with them.

I frowned, a prickle of dread curling in my gut. “Steven, how long have you known me?”

“Seven years.”

“I’m twenty-nine years old.” It wasn’t a question. I knew it, just like I knew my name, but parts of my mind felt closed off.

“Yes.”

I let that settle, testing it against the fragments I could retrieve. “You saved my life.”

He shrugged. “I suppose I did.”

“I don’t remember much about what happened, but I know we’ve been friends ever since.”

He smiled faintly, a rare crack in his stoic front. “You pay me well to drive you around.”

I snorted, the sound loosening the knot in my chest. “Right. I trust you, though.”

“Correct.” His clipped tone reminded me of something else I knew about him. He was a retired Marine. No wonder he stood at my door like a sentry on duty.

“I need to know—how is it that Jennifer and I have been engaged for eight years?” The words hit like a misfired shot, jarring something loose. “It doesn’t seem possible that we wouldn’t already be married.”

Steven exhaled slowly, his gaze steady. “You’re the only one who knows why for sure. I could tell you what I believe, but I’ve been reading up on your condition.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, if I fill in the blanks, you might never know if your memories are yours or just my version of your life.” He paused, letting that sink in. “Your mind’s protecting you, Dylan. Pushing it could do more harm than good.”

I stared at him, the weight of his words pressing against the fog. The intercom crackled again, a distant voice paging a nurse. “So I just... wait? Walk around with Swiss cheese for a memory?”

“Pretty much.” He leaned back, unflinching. “But you’re not alone. You’re surrounded by people who care about you.”

“Are my parents here?” My voice came out quieter than I meant as I asked a question that felt heavier than it should have.

He nodded once, certain. “If you want them to be.”

“Of course I do.” I paused. “Unless it’s difficult for them. Are they ill?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

I searched my mind for why this conversation was unsettling.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw them.

I can see their faces in my head and hear their voices.

I remember our house and how happy we were there.

But nothing beyond that. Have you ever forgotten the words to a song?

That’s how this feels. Everything is right there, but without context or detail. ”

I swallowed hard as another memory surfaced: Jennifer showing my mother her engagement ring and the two of them hugging.

Jennifer could always bring out the softer side of my mother.

Then the scene blurred, slipping away like water through my fingers, leaving only the taste of regret behind. “What’s happening to me?”

Steven’s eyes held mine, steady but guarded. “I’m not in your head, so I don’t know. But I served with guys who came back from war pretty messed up—mentally, physically. They’d kill for what your accident gave you.”

“And what’s that?” I asked, sharper than I meant.

He didn’t flinch. “A clean slate. A chance to forget.”

I let that sit, the words echoing in the hollows of my mind. A clean slate. A chance to forget what? I glanced at the door Jennifer had slipped through, her absence a weight I couldn’t shake.

My question about her ring had spooked her.

I will find out why.