Page 9

Present: Eight Years After the Accident—Twenty-Eight Years Old

The spoon clatters to the ground.

“Shit,” I mutter, and begin the tortuous process of moving my legs off the bed.

“I got it, Lexy.” Taylor leaps off the leather couch, picks up the utensil, and hands it back to me.

A growl makes its way up my throat and a ball of fire gathers in my chest.

Ten months.

It’s been ten months since I woke up to a new world and a new reality and I still can’t grip a spoon with my right hand.

The same goes for leaning on my right foot, and heck, anything on the right side of my body.

“Dammit, Tay, let me do this or I’ll never get better!”

Taylor gasps then her eyes soften.

The outburst shocks me—it’s not me.

Not the old me, anyway.

I remember when I enjoyed dreaming, laughing, and letting life’s hiccups roll off me because I knew the clock was ticking and I shouldn’t waste any time focusing on negative events.

But now, these hiccups jolt me.

Not to mention, ever since I woke up, there’s a sinister thread of fear and lingering anxiety.

I’m always looking behind me, my heart pounding from the slightest surprise .

Like I’m afraid of something.

But what?

Lexy, get a grip on yourself.

Now’s not the time to indulge in your overactive imagination.

I snort, and Taylor looks bewildered.

Heck, I don’t blame her.

I feel out of control inside too.

“Sorry, Tay. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. You didn’t deserve it.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Alexis. Shit, if I were in your shoes, I’d probably be hurling plates and knives against the wall.”

A sharp spasm ripples at the base of my skull, and I wince.

Muffled screams. Headlights.

Water—so much dark water.

Clutching my chest, I focus on my breathing as my pulse riots inside me.

The same snippets again.

I’ve experienced these episodes a few times since I woke up, but I can’t make sense of them.

Nightmare? Memories?

“You okay?” Taylor pulls up a chair and sits down, her back against the large picture window in the long-term rehabilitation unit in Manhattan Memorial, my new home after I came out of my coma.

“Just the strange flashes again.”

“The doctor said don’t try too hard. You’ll hurt yourself. Let things come back on their own.”

“I know. But I don’t want to sit there and do nothing. There’s got to be something I can do.”

Taylor laughs.

“Man, I never thought I’d be the one lecturing someone on patience.”

She grins, her nose piercing, a red heart—something that’s definitely the adult Taylor—glints under the lights.

The last memory I had of her was when she was twelve and I was sixteen.

She just started at IPA and was all arms and legs, skinny as a rail.

It still shocks me every time when she walks through the door—and she visits twice a week, rain or shine .

She’s no longer twelve.

She’s twenty-four and a principal dancer for the top ballet company in the country, ABTC.

And I’m not sixteen anymore.

I’m twenty-eight—caught in limbo where I don’t feel like a teenager, but can’t quite accept I’m almost thirty.

Dr. Riordan, my neurologist, told me my body still matured while I slept, my brain too—quietly finishing what time had already started.

I may not remember the years I lost, but something in me feels older.

But still, I was robbed.

Taylor ticks off her fingers.

“Remember the rules: go to your therapy sessions, don’t force yourself to remember or it’ll backfire. I want to tell you more but—”

“We have to follow the doctor’s orders,” I finish for her.

My family and friends were instructed to avoid discussing my missing memories with me, as it may cause additional stress on my brain and also create false memories.

So other than basics—my age, my major in college, how I broke up with Dayton—they didn’t tell me much.

“My brother always told me we’re the hardest critic of ourselves,” Taylor says.

Her words. They feel…

familiar. I look at her.

Thick, raven hair piled up in a high bun.

Luminous gray eyes giving me a sense of déjà vu, but not because they’re her eyes.

I just can’t place it.

“Your brother? Which one?”

She’s an Anderson now—another development I’ve learned recently.

Lil’ Tay and her older sister, Grace, are Linus’s daughters from a passionate love affair long after his wife died.

But unfortunately, the Peyton sisters’ mom also passed away tragically a few years ago.

She shrugs. “Ethan.”

I tense up.

Images of the mysterious, brooding man who ran to my bedside after I woke up flash through my mind.

Nope. Not thinking of him.

Taylor narrows her eyes.

“What?” I look away, not wanting her to read me .

“You know I’m going to pry it out of you. You’re upset about something.”

I sigh.

“I should be thankful and happy. It’s a miracle. Nothing else can explain it. But I feel so useless.”

I punch my right thigh.

The sensations are there but muted, like the pins and needles I’d feel if I sat on my leg for too long and suddenly got up.

“My body isn’t my own anymore, and I have no memories of the four years before the accident. It’s just memories, but I’ve lost so much already, Tay.”

Apparently, I was found submerged in the Hudson when I was twenty after a car accident on a rainy day.

I suffered multiple broken ribs, a punctured spleen and liver, a traumatic brain injury, and almost drowned.

Lucky for me, an anonymous Good Samaritan fished me out of the river before my clock ran out and called 911 from a pay phone.

They placed me in a medically induced coma after a bunch of surgeries, but I never came out of it.

Persistent vegetative state.

For eight years.

No one expected me to wake up.

The odds of anyone waking up after a year were slim to none.

I often wondered why Charles and Liam never pulled the plug.

God knows my parents couldn’t have cared less.

They only visited three times since I woke up, and Mom acted like I was hospitalized for a brief stint, not someone who woke up after a life-altering accident.

But the fog has lifted.

I’m no longer pursuing their approval.

Life is too short to care about people who don’t feel the same way.

Tay squeezes my hand.

“You were asleep for so long. Look how much you’ve achieved since you woke up. You can walk now. You’re writing with your left hand. You can eat solid foods. And you shit just fine.”

She snickers and I chuckle.

She’s grown up to be snarky with a dry sense of humor .

“I swear, I love this no bullshit side of you, but I still find it hard to imagine you were the sweet Lil’ Tay Tay from back then.”

Taylor stills, a strange flash of darkness appearing over her features.

The hairs prickle on my forearms.

“Is everything okay? I’ve asked this before, but did something happen while I was in a coma?”

“You’re overthinking.” She strains a smile.

“No one can stay an innocent little kid forever. We all have to grow up. Shit happens.”

“Tay, I—”

“Just drop it, okay? I’m fine. More than fine, I swear. Let’s leave the past in the past.”

The steely edge in her voice stops me from asking more.

She’s undergone something painful, and I don’t want to push her to tell me until she wants to.

Perhaps I have no right to know about her experiences, but I don’t want to leave the past in the past. Almost a decade of my life got stolen from me, and if you include the four years of memories before the accident, that’s twelve years.

Almost half of my life.

I want to know what happened to me in those four years—they were mine .

“So, your schedule today—physical therapy, then swim lessons?”

“Water therapy, not swim lessons. Even though I’ll be signing up for those as soon as I get out of here.”

The thought of going back into the water sends my heart racing.

The same nightmares I’ve had since I was a kid fill my nights—me in the water, my lungs burning, but I can’t move.

But this time, the dreams are more vivid.

Intense. Real.

The pain charring my nose as I gulp down water instead of oxygen.

The darkness surrounding me—so dark I can’t tell which way is up or down.

Fear. Bloodcurdling fear.

Just like the random visions I have.

I shake myself to dispel the thoughts .

I won’t be helpless.

Maybe if I knew how to swim all those years ago, I would’ve gotten out of the car myself.

Taylor gnaws her lip.

“Shit, I forgot to tell you. I have practice and can’t stay with you today. Charles is swinging by to pick me up.”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t need you to babysit me.”

Taylor rolls her eyes.

“Who said I was babysitting you? I just missed you and am reclaiming my lost time.”

My lips curve into a grin.

There’s a closeness and comfort I feel with her I can’t explain.

“Have you found anything on Summer?” My fingers twiddle with the blanket on my lap.

“No. That girl has vanished. But don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll find her.”

Disappointment crests inside me—I remember Summer well.

My high school partner in crime.

I’m sure she was worried about me after my accident.

Knock knock.

We swivel our attention to Art, the physical therapist I’ve been working with for the last six months.

“Hey, Arthur!” Taylor grins.

“Art. Like the subject, Taylor. Arthur makes me feel like I’m a hundred years old.” He ruffles his light brown hair and flushes.

The man has a little crush on my friend.

Too bad for him, he doesn’t know that—

“Minx, you ready?” Charles murmurs from the doorway, his brow arching at the interaction.

A grin curls his lips and he strides in, his blond hair gleaming, and he hauls Taylor up in his arms before delivering a deep kiss like he needs her to live.

Another interesting development that happened while I was in a coma—Charles, my charming, workaholic, older brother, role model all rolled into one, is head over heels in love with a girl I used to see as my little sister.

They got engaged a few months after I woke up.

It took some time getting used to, but seeing him so besotted and actually taking time to enjoy life makes me grateful for Taylor.

“You know I’m not invisible, right? I’m right here and don’t need to see you exchanging saliva with my best friend.”

Huh?

My brows furrow. Best friend?

Where did that come from?

Taylor breaks the kiss, her eyes bright with excitement.

“Did you remember something?”

My mind draws a blank.

I rewind my words in my brain to see if I can trigger a memory or unlock a dormant part of my brain.

But nothing comes.

The familiar scorching sensation rises to my chest again.

Useless. So damn useless.

“No. Were we best friends, Tay?”

Her familiar dark eyes glimmer with moisture and she rolls her lips inward.

As if sensing her emotions, Charles pulls her to his side and presses a kiss on her hair.

“Yeah, we were close, Lexy.” Taylor’s voice is raw.

“You were the best and loyalist friend. The very damn best.” The haunted look is back in her eyes.

I want to ask her what she’s not telling me, but I know she won’t say anything.

Art clears his throat.

“Ready for therapy?”

I shove the ever present unease away and nod.

“Let’s do this. Box jumps, Art. I want to try the jumps again. No half-assing it.”

It’s a tough challenge to jump up a box a foot tall when you can’t really feel half your body.

But I got this. I have to do this…

for myself.

I need to get my life back.

“It’s so weird how I know how to drive, but can’t remember taking the stupid driving test. And now, I’m trying to learn to jump again,” I grumble.

Art chuckles. “The brain is interesting. Your episodic memories are stored in a different region than your procedural or semantic memories. But we’ll get you there. ”

I scrunch my nose.

Two out of three’s not too bad, I suppose.

It could be worse.

Swinging my legs off the bed with renewed determination, I grit my teeth and take my first steps with a limp.

I probably look more like I’m waddling—a toddler learning her first steps, but I find my rhythm.

Taking a deep breath, I force my lips into a wide smile before turning to face Charles and Taylor again.

“Watch me kick some ass next time you guys visit.” I wink.

Charles’s brows furrow and Taylor is wiping her eyes.

“You got this, Firefly.” Charles gives me a hug.

“You’re a Vaughn. Nothing can beat us.”

A lump forms in my throat.

I’m getting emotional again.

“I miss Grandma and Uncle Ian. It’s not fair I didn’t get to say goodbye to them.”

He stiffens and pulls away.

A pulse batters against his temple and his eyes cool to a glacial glint.

The same dread I felt earlier reappears.

“Charles?”

He flinches, the chilly expression on his face disappearing.

Squeezing my shoulder, he whispers, “I miss Grandma too.”

What about Uncle Ian?

Why is no one talking about him other than to tell me he died?

Why do I have a feeling something bad happened in those four years?

“My best friend’s going to destroy those boxes. They won’t know what’s coming,” Taylor quips and traipses over.

She rests her head on Charles’s shoulder, and he relaxes before handing me a small bag I didn’t notice he was holding.

“What’s this?”

“Ethan told me to give this to you. Thought you might be bored.”

I frown.

This time, I can’t shove the thoughts of him away.

The man radiated intensity and coiled tension.

I still remember how every muscle inside me seized when he crushed me into his arms after I woke up .

I couldn’t breathe. The fear.

The panic. The need to scurry away because everything felt too much.

Too overpowering. The blistering headache, followed by a sharp throb behind my rib cage when he pulled away.

Then there was the flash of pain in his eyes before a stony mask fell over his face—the same mask I see every time he comes around with my brother.

Nova.

That’s what he called me.

But I must’ve misheard.

Because I don’t know him.

Later, he apologized for being too forceful.

He told me Liam was distraught when I was in a coma and he was happy for his best friend that I woke up.

He’s shown up time and time again, usually with Liam, but he’s kept his distance, and likewise, I’m wary.

Something about him seems…

strange.

“What could he have gotten me? It’s not like he knows me.”

“Go easy on him, Lexy,” Charles murmurs.

“He’s not an easy person to know, but he’s a good guy. He also has a lot on his plate—a financial investigation is taking over his life.”

“You have a lot of stuff going on too, Charles, but you aren’t an ass.”

Charles chuckles and shakes his head as I peel off the wrapping paper.

A gasp tumbles out of me when I see the DVD.

The Notebook. Collector’s edition with commentary from the director.

A small piece of paper sticks out from the box.

I open it to find a Post-it note:

Alexis,

I heard you woke up from a coma and are in recovery.

I wish you all the best and hope you recover soon.

May this movie give you some distraction during a challenging time and may you reclaim what you’ve lost.

Best,

N.

S.

The author of the book behind the movie left me a note.

A personalized note.

My eyes cloud with moisture—a sudden urge to cry.

How does he know my favorite movie?

And then, there’s the personalized message.

It has to be a lucky guess.

He probably sent his assistant to get this.

Don’t overthink it.

A searing pain hits me behind my rib cage, and suddenly, I’m winded.

Somehow, I feel like I’ve lost something irreplaceable.