17. ANASTASIA
Chapter seventeen
O ut of nowhere, a man’s massive, tattooed hand appeared in the doorway. It held a little teddy bear in an almost comically gentle way, making the plush little guy dance and swing from side to side as he wiggled it and kept the rest of himself hidden from my view. He made the bear bob up and down to the rhythm of the song I could barely place by Bob Marley, maybe. “Be happy, you’re awake and a beautiful sight. It’s gonna be a good day, no troubles to fight. Smile now, everything’s gonna be all right,” he sang, making up his own lyrics just for me and perfectly matching the bear’s antics. The playful and silly melody brought a smile to my face despite the terrible situation.
As I sat there in bed, tangled in too many wires and tubes, with my heart hammering in my ears, a storm swirled in my head. Everything was too much—too bright, too loud, too unknown. But as I watched the bear swing from a hand that was as big as a shovel and tattooed with small patterns that moved with every little gesture, it was hard not to chuckle. The absurdity of it helped keep my panic at bay. The corners of my mouth twitched with soft laughter, and I leaned back into my pillows, watching this odd little scene unfold.
When the man finally walked into the room, the air seemed to shift with his presence. The scent of his cologne—subtle but distinctly masculine—was familiar, like the sound of his voice and made me relax a little. I couldn’t believe the size of him. He was a mountain of a man, with muscles bulging under his tight shirt, each movement showing off the ink that swirled over his arms like a personal gallery of stories. This was the type of guy you’d think twice about crossing on a dark street. He moved with the kind of confidence that came from knowing he could take on the world and win. Yet, there was a warmth about him that hinted at a softer side.
Silently he walked toward the corner of the room, then shrugged off his guitar case and leaned it against the wall.
I caught myself staring, taking in every detail—from his shoulder-length dirty-blond hair half tied back in a bun to the blue scrubs barely containing all his inked muscles, down to the black boots on his feet. His appearance, so bold and imposing, made me self-conscious. Here I was, a mess, with tangled hair and a goofy-looking hospital gown draped over my body, and there he was, looking like some badass street fighter.
When he turned to face me, I dropped my gaze, embarrassed over how awful I must look. I dragged my eyes slowly back up to his face, tracing the lines of his tattoos along his arms and neck, over his chiseled jawline, and up to his eyes. When our eyes met, his breath seemed to catch for a split second, and his playful grin softened into something more intense. For a long while, he didn’t speak, just stared.
Then, shaking his head as if to clear his mind, he stepped closer. In a voice low and smooth like melted chocolate, he finally said, “When your gaze met mine just now, I found myself lost in those icy blue sapphires. They’re like the place where the tumultuousness of the sea meets the tranquility of the sky, stealing my breath and every word I had planned to say.”
His poetic words lingered in the air between us, and my cheeks warmed, the heat spreading across my face. I couldn’t help but be drawn to him, despite knowing nothing about him—or myself, for that matter.
Then it hit me—the voice. That voice had filled the silence of my dimly lit mind, had kept the haze of unconsciousness at bay over the last who knew how many days. I looked at him, really looked at him, trying to reconcile the voice with the man standing before me. He was nothing like I had pictured. How could someone so…threatening-looking carry such calm warmth in his voice? His presence had helped to pull me out of wherever I’d been trapped in my mind.
Tears sprang to my eyes. My hand flew to my mouth, emotions overtaking me.
His face melted into an expression of concern, and he closed the distance between us in two long strides, setting the teddy bear down next to me.
“I brought this little guy to make you smile,” he said, giving me a crooked grin. “Figured he’s less intimidating than I might be at first glance.”
I smiled, drawn in by his straightforward charm and unexpected tenderness.
“Yeah, maybe just a tad less,” I said with a note of sarcasm .
At this, the big guy laughed, tilting his head back slightly. “I’m Conan, by the way.” He stepped back to give me some space, though every inch of him radiated a protective stance. “I’m the nurse who took care of you when you came into the emergency department, and I’ve been here with you, playing music, hoping it might help somehow.”
“Nurse?! You…you’re a nurse?” I choked out. Looking down, I realized I was wearing nothing but a hospital gown. Oh, God, how humiliating. “Sorry, I just—”
“Don’t worry. No apologies are necessary. I’m used to it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and chuckling. “I’m a damn good nurse. Once patients get over the initial shock, they’re good with it. The ink actually can be a good conversation starter.”
“Oh, it’s not the tattoos, or your size, or—” I flailed my hands about like an idiot. “It’s just that I’m rather underdressed. Have no idea where my clothes are or when I lost them.”
“You have nothing to worry about. We’re all respectful of patients’ privacy. Besides, we’ve seen it all in the emergency department. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you were doing okay.” He dropped his head to the side and gave me a half smile. “Hope the music therapy has helped you these last few days? My brothers ride me hard over playing for anyone who will hold still long enough.”
“It did. You have no idea,” I said in a rush. Overwhelmed by embarrassment and the memory of lying here paralyzed and unable to communicate, I grimaced. The throbbing in my head started up again, and I dropped my gaze, reached over, and picked up the teddy bear. I ran my fingers over its little paw, avoiding eye contact with Conan. “Thank you. It’s hard… My mind is a blurry mess. I’m not sure what’s real and what’s not, but I do remember your songs. They’re the only thing that’s kept me from going completely mad. ”
“That’s good to hear. I love playing. Don’t stress over what’s happening. Brain injuries are tricky. It will take time for you to heal and for your mind to sort everything out. So tell me, are you hurting anywhere? How are you feeling otherwise?” Concern was etched onto his handsome face.
“I…I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice shaky. “I don’t even know what my name is. Sounds stupid, I know, but I only have broken pieces.”
I forced myself to look up at him and smile as best I could. I didn’t want him to think I didn’t appreciate everything he’d done for me. There was something about Conan that made me feel safe, even amid all this chaos and confusion.
“Hey, it’s all right,” he reassured me, his vivid emerald-green eyes locking onto mine. “I’ll help you figure this out, okay? I promise.”
“Thanks. Really,” I whispered. My heart sped up with gratitude and a feeling of a connection I couldn’t quite explain. The mechanical beeping of the machine behind me echoed the increased tempo.
“Any time,” he replied. His smile reached his eyes, lighting them up as he glanced over at the monitor. “And now that you’re awake, I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before your mind is able to reconnect all your memories.”
His assurance, simple and firm, anchored me. I nodded, feeling safer. I was strangely at ease with this giant with tattoos and tender eyes.
“Do you know where you are?” he asked gently.
I tried to think, but my thoughts were sluggish, as if I were trying to wade through a thick fog.
I glanced around. “A hospital,” I managed to say.
“Yes, you’re in a hospital,” Conan affirmed. “But do you know what city? ”
“New York City?” I guessed, plucking the name from the top of the swirling confusion in my mind.
Conan shook his head. “No, actually you’re in Tacoma, Washington. Quite a ways from New York. Does that ring a bell?”
I stared at him, my confusion deepening. “Tacoma? I’ve never been to Tacoma…I don’t think,” I whispered, the realization unsettling me.
Before Conan could respond, a tall man with dark hair and a white coat appeared in the doorway. It was a doctor. He leaned against the doorframe, frowning down at a chart.
Conan continued, “Do you know what day or month it is?”
I paused, a distant memory flickering to life in my mind. “Is it…May? My birthday month maybe?” That seemed right—and important somehow—but who knew? I was grasping at straws.
“It’s June fifth,” he said. “You arrived here on May twenty-eighth.”
The room spun a little as the panic started to creep in. That was a lot of days to be unconscious. Just how bad were my injuries? My breathing quickened, and I shouted, “I don’t even know my own name!”
Conan was quick to react, coming to sit on the edge of the bed next to me. He reached out, gently cradling my face in his hands, and pressed his forehead against mine. His touch was solid and comforting.
“You’re going to be okay,” he whispered, exuding a quiet confidence that reassured me. “I’m here with you. You’re not alone in this. In time, you’ll remember. You’ve been fighting a hard battle, sweet angel.” As he spoke, his breath brushed softly over my lips.
He leaned back, his hands falling on top of the stuffed bear. “You know what? I’m gonna call you Angel if that’s all right. I can’t stand you being called Jane Doe like you’re just some nobody. I think Angel fits because you kinda swooped into my life outta nowhere, and there’s this…ethereal beauty about you.”
The nickname, under the circumstances, touched something inside me. It was silly and sweet, and despite my inner turmoil, I found myself liking it. “Angel,” I repeated, smiling slightly. Deep down, regardless of my current helplessness, I knew I was strong—that I was no angel. But with everything so jumbled, I had to let that go for now and accept his help.
Conan’s tenacity, the solidness of his hands, the nickname—it all felt strangely right. “Thank you, Conan,” I whispered, trying to steady my breathing. “Thank you for being here for me.”
“I’ll be here as long as you need me, Angel. We’ll get through this together.”
The doctor, whom I’d forgotten was standing at the door, cleared his throat and stepped into the room. His cool, professional air contrasted with Conan’s more rugged demeanor.
Conan jumped to his feet, turned, and let out a breath, relaxing his shoulders. He stepped back, allowing the doctor to approach my bed.
“Good evening. I’m Dr. Atticus Thorin,” he said with a nod, his eyes scanning the chart briefly before meeting mine. “I treated you when you first arrived in the emergency department, and I’m also Conan’s older brother.” He glanced over his shoulder and flashed Conan a quick half smile.
I glanced from one to the other, searching for the resemblance but not seeing much. Dr. Thorin continued speaking, but I struggled to pay attention to what he was saying. “You’re experiencing what we call traumatic amnesia, likely due to the concussion you suffered. Which means you’ve lost memories formed before the accident. It’s caused by damage to the hippocampus, a region of the brain that plays a crucial role in the consolidation of information from short-term to long-term memory. It’s common in patients with significant head injuries. Essentially, your brain is protecting itself while it heals.”
His brow furrowed slightly in concern. “How are you feeling physically? Any discomfort from the seat belt, or perhaps pain in your arms and legs?”
I hadn’t thought about it until he asked. Hesitantly, I lifted the edge of my hospital gown, peeked under it, and caught sight of the dark greenish bruises marring my skin. I inhaled sharply—more from surprise than pain—while recoiling from the sight.
“The bruising may look severe but is expected, given the nature of your accident,” Dr. Thorin commented, making a note on the chart. “And your breathing? Any difficulty there?”
I hesitated as I considered this, aware of a slight tightness in my chest that I hadn’t noticed before. “My chest feels a bit heavy.” Swallowing hard, I grumbled, “And my throat feels like I drank razor blades.”
“That’s consistent with a condition you had upon arrival—right middle lobe atelectasis,” he explained. “It required intubation at the scene of the wreck, and you were placed on a ventilator to assist your breathing. It’s not uncommon for patients to feel some residual effects from the mechanical ventilation, such as soreness or a hoarse throat.”
All the details made my head spin.
Conan said gently, “Maybe we can go over this in bits and pieces, huh? Give her some time to adjust.”
Atticus nodded, his expression softening. “Of course. You’re in excellent hands here in the ICU, and the team has noted your good progress. If this continues, you’ll soon be moved to a private room and eventually outpatient therapy. You’ve made remarkable progress so far.” He turned to Conan. “Let me know if you need anything.”
With a final smile and a nod to me, he left the room .
Conan moved closer. “Don’t worry about all that right now,” he said. “Just focus on today, on this moment. We’ll tackle everything else as it comes.”
His words, simple and direct, helped ease my mind after the torrent of information Dr. Thorin had unleashed.
“So he’s your brother, huh?” I asked.
Conan chuckled, shoving a hand in his pocket. “Yeah, there’s three of us Thorin brothers. And you’re not going to believe this, but all of us worked with you just after your wreck. Braxton was the EMT who scooped you up and brought you to our ED.”
“Whoa. That’s a lot to take in.” I shifted slightly on the hospital bed, wincing from the dull ache that seemed to run through my entire body. “Tell me everything you know about me and what happened,” I pleaded, desperate for any information that could help me regain my lost past.
Conan dragged the armchair closer to me and perched casually on the edge. Hesitating, he rubbed the scruff of his beard before beginning his explanation. “You didn’t have any ID on you when you arrived. Police didn’t find a phone either. What we do know…well, it’s kind of a wild story.”
I chewed on my lower lip, bracing myself.
“You broke into a large home on an exclusive estate property,” he said, watching my reaction closely. “When the police showed up, you took off in one of the homeowner’s cars. It was a stormy morning and raining hard.”
I gasped. “Stolen?” I tried to imagine myself doing any of that, but my mind was blank.
He kept going. “You were driving really fast and ended up going off the road, wrapping the car around a tree. They had to use the jaws of life to get you out.”
I absorbed his words, an image of twisted metal and shattered glass forming in my mind. “Sounds like I’m lucky to be alive. ”
“Damn right you are,” he agreed, smiling. “And you were smart enough to buckle up. You might be the safest car thief I’ve ever heard of.”
Despite the situation, I chuckled. “Happy to be alive, but not feeling so lucky right now.” I knocked my index finger against my head. “Every part of me hurts, and I can’t remember who I am or much else.”
His expression softened. “I might know someone who can help you with what you’re going through. Atticus’s fiancée had a traumatic brain injury not long ago, after she dealt with some…pretty serious stuff. I’ll ask her to come by and talk to you. You’ll like her a lot. She’s a fiery little thing.”
Our conversation was cut short when Emily knocked on the door. “Conan, this isn’t normal visiting hours,” she said with a friendly yet professional demeanor. “We need to check on our patient.”
Conan stood, his large frame towering over me once more. “Right, right. Just so you know, Jane Doe is going by the name Angel now,” he told Emily, grinning widely.
Emily looked at me, a giggle escaping from her. “Is that the name you’re choosing, or is Conan choosing for you?”
Glancing over at him, I nodded. “Absolutely my choice.”
“Good night, Angel,” Conan said as he walked away, his voice making me all tingly inside. As soon as I lost sight of him, my face fell, and I slumped over, heaving a defeated sigh. Noticing my disappointment, Emily gave me a knowing smile.
“Don’t worry, he left his guitar. He’ll be back.”
After Emily left, I lay back, thinking about Conan’s return. The thought made my stomach flutter. Despite the dreadfulness of my situation, I found myself looking forward to seeing him again. The butterflies in my stomach seemed to agree.