Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JULIETTE
A bright light waves around in my eyes as the doctor checks me for the fifth time. Dean paces the room like a maniac, but I secretly love how worried he is for me right now. I’ve always had a crush on Dean, and the last time I saw him, he kissed me for the first time. Just thinking about it gives me butterflies.
“Your concussion was severe, Miss Gray. You’re suffering from some memory loss.”
“Memory loss?” I repeat. “Who is Miss Gray?”
That doesn’t feel right. Trust me, I can remember how Dean’s lips made me ache last night, how he wouldn’t do anything to help, leaving me to handle it myself while he watched.
“It’s only temporary,” the doctor assures me. “You’ll slowly start remembering everything over the next few days. It’s just a side effect from the very serious hit you took. However, it’s unusual that you’ve lost some of your long-term memory.”
“Unusual?” Dean asks. “Why?”
“With these kinds of injuries, we often see patients lose their short-term memory, specifically around the time of the incident itself. But I suppose if you were under a lot of stress, it could happen. It’s just a way your brain is trying to protect you, reverting to a time and place where you felt safe.”
I can feel my face scrunch up, but it hurts my head to do it. What is he talking about? His accent is too thick for me to clearly understand. Why isn’t Cian here taking care of me? My family never uses anyone but him. It’s been like that for generations.
“Where’s Cian?” I ask Dean. “And Mom.”
“Is Grandma coming?” the little boy sitting in the chair asks.
Glancing over at him, something stirs in my chest. He’s so familiar yet so strange. I feel connected to him, and I don’t know why.
“I’m not sure,” Dean answers.
I don’t know if he’s talking to me or the kid, but neither of us says another word. The right side of my head throbs. Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths, trying to manage the pain, but it’s hard when it radiates from my side too.
“If she has family, it may help her remember if she could see them.”
“My grandma lives in Vegas.”
That makes me pop my eyes open. “Aren’t we in Vegas?” I ask.
A string of fear prickles my skin. Dean’s eyes widen.
“I’m going to give you all a moment,” the doctor says, his wrinkled eyes bouncing between us. “I’ll be back soon.”
“What is going on?” I ask Dean the moment the door closes behind the doctor.
“Uh.” He scrubs a hand down his face.
I notice how he looks older than he did last night—stressed and tired. It’s like life hasn’t been kind to him in just a matter of hours.
“Dean,” I push.
Something is seriously wrong here, but what?
“We’re in Ireland,” he replies. “You moved here six years ago by yourself to have PJ.”
“PJ?”
“Mom, I’m PJ,” the little boy says, his eyes full of tears. He looks back to Dean. “You promised she’d be okay.”
Suddenly, the pain in my head increases, shooting through me. I’m overwhelmed and don’t know what to do.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “Dean.”
He’s the only light in all this, my only comfort. Before he can say anything, the door to the room opens again. My big brother pokes his head through. I’m elated to see him, but there’s just one problem.
“Shouldn’t you be dead?”
My eyes widen. Is the concussion making me see ghosts now? What. The. Fuck.
“What?” Warren says, his look to Dean full of confusion and fear. “What’s going on?”
Dean sighs, clearly not handling our questions well. “The doctor said it’s temporary memory loss. She’ll remember more over the next few days.”
“Yeah, but not remembering what happened is one thing. If she can’t remember me, you’re looking at losing years of memory.”
“I know,” Dean snaps. “She doesn’t know PJ either.”
They speak as if the kid and I aren’t sitting right here. Warren’s hands go to his head. It’s been a year since I’ve seen him, I think. He looks so much better now—sober. I wonder how he survived the shooting, but I don’t ask aloud. There are enough questions hanging in the air as it is.
I look at the little boy and find him staring back at me. The tears dripping down his face hurt me, but I can’t remember why. The longer I look at him, the more I see it. He has Dean’s eyes, my hair. He’s our son. But how? We only just got together.
Warren’s words come to the forefront. I’ve lost years of memories, years of time. I woke up to a life that isn’t mine.
A little hand slips into mine and squeezes it. Something about that makes tears burn my eyes. I want to sob, but I hold myself back. Every choppy breath hurts.
“P, why don’t you and me go downstairs?” Warren asks. “Let’s let Mom and Dad have a second alone.”
“I don’t call him Dad,” PJ mutters.
But I think I’m the only one who hears. His statement only adds another layer of confusion to this already complex mystery. PJ looks at me.
“Are you going to be okay, Mom?”
That’s a title I will never get used to, but something about it warms my heart. I can’t find the words, so I just nod. He squeezes my hand once more before leaving with my brother.
Dean and I are left in silence. He comes towards me and sits on the edge of the bed. It’s too far away if you ask me, but I’m starting to think that I don’t know anything.
“How you feeling, bluebird?”
I fight a smile, not wanting him to know how much I love that nickname too soon. Desperate is not a good look, but then again, we have a kid. Can it get more desperate than that?
“Confused. And my body hurts.”
He closes his eyes, trying to stay calm. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Arnie. He managed to give a concussion and fracture a rib before I got to you.”
“That explains why I’m in so much pain. But who the fuck is Arnie?”
Dean smiles at me, and I swear I fall even deeper in love with him right there. I’ll never understand why he picked me when he could have anyone. He could have my sister, Vivienne—she’s like a model. But he chose me. He kissed me. He wants me. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.
“It’s so tempting, Juliette.”
“What is?”
“To lie to you. You know how badly I just want to say fuck Arnie and tell the truth?”
I shake my head, instantly regretting it because of the pain.
“But if I do that, then I’m not better than I was six years ago.”
“Are you going to explain anything, or will I be decoding riddles for the rest of my life?”
“There’s that spark,” Dean replies. “I was worried you’d lost it.”
“Dude, start talking,” I tell him. I should know he’s never been a patient person.
“Arnie is your boyfriend, or was,” he starts. “He attacked you tonight.”
Yeah, now nothing makes any sense. My mind hears what he’s saying but can’t process it. It’s like my brain is just done today.
“Why?”
He lowers his head. I don’t like it. Dean is never like this. He’s never scared, never worried. He carries himself like he’s a thousand feet tall.
“Because of me. I taunted him at dinner.”
“Taunted?”
“You left me,” he croaks.
An entirely new pain goes through me. “I left you?”
“It was my fault. I broke your heart, but yeah, you left. You came here and built a life… without me.”
“Oh.”
It’s all I can say. If I thought I was confused before, I don’t know the meaning of the word. Nothing makes sense. Do I even have a brain left after all this? Someone should check; it might be melted by now.
Dean blows out a rough breath, grabbing one of my hands and holding it. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Is it?”
“There’s a light at the end of a tunnel.”
“Are we looking at the same tunnel?” I ask. “Because I’m not seeing the light.”
He laughs. It’s hoarse. His calloused thumb traces circles on the back of my hand.
“I’m glad you’re going to be okay. I almost killed Arnie.”
I furrow my forehead. “You didn’t?”
Dean shakes his head. “My grandpa wouldn’t let me.”
“Why didn’t Declan do something?”
“We’re not in Vegas anymore, remember?”
“Right.”
Nope. Not right. No, I don’t remember, and honestly, I’m not sure I do. I’d like to have the memories of my son and his first days back, but everything else? Everything that tore up my dream life and led me to Ireland? That shit can stay forgotten.
“This is so weird.”
“I know,” Dean replies. “But the doctor said all your memories will come back.”
“In my head, I’m eighteen. The last memory I have is of you kissing me for the first time, which was just last night—or it feels like it was, but it wasn’t, was it?”
He squeezes my knuckles, pressing a kiss to each one. “That was about six months before you left six years ago.”
Guess I’ve got a thing for the number six.
“Do you remember it?”
“Kissing you for the first time?”
I nod, laying back on the pillow.
“I remember everything, Bluebird. I couldn’t forget if I wanted to.”
“Do you?”
“What?”
“Do you want to forget? I mean, if we aren’t together and haven’t been for six years, I assume you’d want that.”
Dean’s hazel eyes find mine. There’s a fiery blaze of love and adoration in them. “I never want to forget. You’ll always be the love of my life.”
“Would this be a bad time to ask you to kiss me?”
Dean makes a strangled sound. “You don’t know what you’re asking. If you had all your memories, you wouldn’t be asking.”
I shrug. “So?”
“I can’t do that to you.”
“Don’t they say that true love’s kiss can bring memories back or something like that?”
“Bluebird,” he warns.
My body may hurt, and my brain is definitely missing. I’m lost and confused, but I want him to kiss me. Maybe it’s because the memory of it is so fresh and I just need to feel his lips against mine again. Maybe it’s because they’ve been telling me for the last six years I haven’t loved him when I know I have. No matter what happened, there’s no way I’d ever stop loving Dean Walsh, right?
“Kiss me,” I tell him again.
He stands from the bed. For a second, I really think he might not. Maybe I still love him, but he doesn’t love me? No, that’s not right. Why is the only thing important to me right now Dean when I’m lying in a hospital bed with a kid, apparently?
“Are you sure?” he asks.
I feel the warmth of his breath tickling my lips. My eyes slide closed.
“Yes.”
“If I kiss you and you get your memory back, you don’t get to be mad about this, okay?”
“Cross my heart and hope to?—”
Dean’s lips are on mine before I can finish my sentence. The pain in my head grows with the pressure, but I ignore it, choosing to focus on the way his tongue dances with mine. It feels like it’s been forever since I kissed him. His kiss feels like a promise written in stone, like he’s swearing to me that he’s never going to leave.
I want to believe him. I do, but I can feel it—the fear, the worry that something I don’t know right now is going to emerge. Something that will rip everything from me.