Page 27 of Protected by the Sinner (The Sinner’s Touch #2)

I blink a few times before opening my eyes. The light stings my pupils, and it takes a few seconds before I can focus on my surroundings.

It doesn’t take long to realize I’m in a hospital room. I try to remember how I got here, but nothing comes to mind.

I look around, searching for someone, and see a nurse sitting in an armchair across the room.

“Please...” My voice comes out raspy, scratching my throat, and I realize I’m incredibly thirsty. “Please,” I try again. “Can you tell me what happened?”

The woman startles awake. “Oh, sweetheart. We weren’t expecting you to wake up just yet. Are you in pain?”

Am I? I have no idea. I try to sit up and immediately feel breathless. “Maybe a little. What happened?”

“I’ll call the doctor. He’ll explain everything. Should I notify anyone else?”

“Like who?”

She frowns, giving me a strange look, then leaves the room.

I don’t know how much time passes before a man with a professional demeanor walks in.

“Ah, I see you’re awake, Miss Martin,” he says, and only then do I realize he’s talking to me.

“That’s my name?”

He studies me with concern and steps closer to the bed. “You don’t remember what happened?”

I close my eyes for a few seconds, forcing myself to remember, but it’s like my mind is completely blank. “No.”

“The accident?”

“I was in an accident?”

“You were hit by a car.”

“I don’t remember any of it.”

“What do you mean you don’t remember?”

His question—and the tone of it—makes fear crawl up my spine. It’s a horrible feeling. Like I’m a blank page. Not a single memory.

“Nothing. Not even my name or who I am. What can I do to get it back?”

“Your memories?”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes, with traumatic events, memory loss occurs, but it’s usually temporary. [7] Amnesia can be partial or total. Don’t be surprised if fragments start coming back.”

“When you say traumatic, you mean I hit my head?”

He seems unsure how to respond but finally says, “There’s nothing wrong with your head, Miss Martin.”

It’s strange to hear him call me that and have to take his word for it that this person is me.

“What’s my first name?”

“Amber.”

Amber , I repeat silently. “Do I...have any family? Has anyone come to see me?”

Again, he hesitates. “Your...boyfriend was here until not long ago, but I believe he left.”

So I’m alone. “He didn’t want to stay?”

“I’m not sure. He may have just gone home for a bit. He’s been at the hospital practically since you were brought in.”

“But he’s not here now, is he?”

He gives me a sympathetic look and shakes his head.

“That’s fine, doctor. I suppose I’m an adult, right?” I ask, trying to sound brave.

“Yes. According to your ID, you’re twenty-five.”

“Great. Then maybe you can tell me more about my condition. If there’s no one here with me, I’ll have to look after my own health.

When will I be able to leave?” What I don’t tell him is that I just woke up and I’m already terrified.

If I don’t have anyone besides a boyfriend who left me despite knowing I’m in the hospital, where will I go when I’m discharged?

“Don’t you want to wait until your boyfriend comes back?”

I do. Because I’m scared out of my mind.

“No, sir. I’d really like to know how I was hit.”

“It seems you didn’t see the car.”

He’s choosing his words so carefully it’s making me anxious, so I decide to be blunt.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re being careful with me?”

“All right. If you’re sure you don’t want to wait for your boyfriend, then maybe we can be more direct.”

“Yes, please. It’s awful not remembering anything.”

“My concern isn’t about the accident. It wasn’t as serious as it could’ve been. It’s because...you’re pregnant.”

“What?”

“We had to run all the standard tests when you were admitted, including bloodwork, and we confirmed the pregnancy. Congratulations!” He smiles as he says it, which doesn’t quite suit him. It feels like he’s trying to cheer me up.

After he leaves, the nurse comes over and offers me some water. I take a sip and ask if I can try walking a little, but she picks up the phone to call someone before helping me sit up.

I feel a bit dizzy, but aside from a slight ache in my ribs, there’s no real pain.

I walk slowly, unsteady, until I reach the window.

The sun is starting to rise, the sky a mix of orange and pink. It’s beautiful.

“What city is this?” I ask the nurse.

“Do you know what country you’re in?” She must’ve overheard my conversation with the doctor.

“The United States,” I answer without hesitation.

“That’s right. We’re in Boston, Massachusetts.”

I frown. “I don’t remember the state or the city...but I know I’m a Romani.”

“What?”

“I can’t explain it. It just popped into my head. I’m a Romani,” I repeat.

She smiles. “You might be, you know. You’ve got an exotic kind of beauty.”

“Could you take me to a mirror? I’m still a little dizzy and I don’t want to fall.”

When we reach the bathroom, there’s a mirror covering most of one wall.

“Wow . . . I look awful.”

She steps up behind me, and I don’t even notice when she picks up a brush and starts combing my hair. “Maybe you are a Romani, Amber. Beautiful and vain, just like one.”

“I like my eyes,” I say, touching my cheek just below them.

She smiles. “I’m sure that handsome man of yours does too, sweetheart.”

I don’t know how much time passes between naps and reality. Every time I open my eyes, I check to see if the nurse is still there. Somehow, it calms me to know I’m not alone.

But through all these half-dreams and wakeful moments, one thing never leaves my mind.

I’m going to be a mother.

I run my hand over my belly.

I’m going to have a baby! Probably with the man I love.

I wish he were here. The doctor said he already told him about the pregnancy, since he was worried about my mental state.

He asked me some weird questions about the accident—like he thought I’d thrown myself in front of the car on purpose.

That’s insane! Who would do something like that? Especially knowing they were pregnant.

Is my boyfriend happy?

The doctor told me his name is Beau LeBlanc.

Is that French? And how do I even know that’s a French name?

Then I remember what the doctor said—memory fragments.

I won’t panic. God willing, everything will come back soon and I’ll be okay. Me and my baby.

With their father, I hope.

If I went as far as getting pregnant with the man who, according to the doctor, made sure I was well taken care of, then we must’ve had a strong connection.

Maybe I’m just letting fear get the best of me.