Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Wynter
“ N o! Jess, no. Oh my God, no. Not Mark,” I scream as I collapse onto the floor beside Jess in the hospital. A guy beside me scratches my back in circles, and it has a calming effect on me, yet I feel out of control. Why can’t I see his face when I look over my shoulder?
I hear, “I’ve got you.” It sounds far away like I’m in a tunnel. At the same time, I feel a hard pump of my hand. For a moment, I can’t get my bearings. I’m half-asleep, just stuck in a dreamlike state.
“Mark!” I cry out.
Again, the same steady voice says, “I’m here.”
When I open my eyes, Scott has a pained expression, but his tone comforts me. My chest is rising and falling fast, but the beeps slow down as he strokes my hair.
“Another memory?” he asks.
I shrug. “How can I tell?”
“Tell me about it.”
His eyes bore into me, making tingles go off inside me. “I was in a hospital, sitting by a girl named Jess. Her boyfriend had just died in a car accident. Mark.” Tears well up in my eyes. “It felt so real.”
He tucks his lips together, and his jaw trembles, so I squeeze his hand. “Mark was one of our best friends.” A tear falls from his lashes. “It was the worst day of my life until…”
“Until what?”
“Until the day I was called on a search and rescue mission, and it was you.”
Neither of us speak for a few minutes, then he says, “Do you remember Mark or Jessica? Or anything else about that night?”
“I remember collapsing around Jessica and someone rubbing my back. I don’t remember what Mark looked like but based on the memory, I loved him.”
“You did. We all did.” He shakes his head and finally sits back in the chair. “Mark was one of a kind. We’re part of a tight-knit friend group since… well, since forever. You and Mark were always the ones pushing the boundaries. Have you written in your journal?”
I release his hand and pull the journal from under my leg, and he chuckles. “My hiding place. I can’t just let anyone walk into my room and read my deepest thoughts. Wanna see?”
Even in the dark, I see Scott’s eyes light up. I open it up and hand it to him.
“Wynter Wilson. It has a nice ring to it. Do you like your name?”
“I do. I love the double Ws.” My voice is laced with a hint of playfulness.
He nods approvingly. “Your name suits you. It was meant for you and only you,” he mumbles as his fingers roam over the colorful pages.
“That’s as far as I got. No deep secrets yet but thank you for bringing it to me. Doodling helped me relax.”
Scott listens intently as he turns to the next page which has more Wynter Wilson doodles on the back, but the next page says how I love my baby girl. He turns to the next page which is blank and asks, “Do you feel like playing Hangman?”
“Hangman? Uh.. sure. You go first, and I’ll guess letters.”
He pulls the pen from the loop and taps it against the paper twice as he looks to the ceiling. Then he draws on the paper, and each stroke sounds heavy, the pen dragging across the surface as if it’s weighted with the gravity of what to write. Scott must take winning to another level. Well, I’m about to show him.
“How many letters?” I ask.
“Six. Are you ready?”
“Game on. A.”
He fills in two letters, and I raise my hands in a small victory.
“G.”
“No. G”
“S.”
No.
“T.”
“No.”
“No S or T. Damn, this isn’t Wheel of Fortune.”
He smiles, and my stomach does a somersault. I try to press down my feelings for him, knowing it’s wrong to be crushing on my friend when I’m married. But I can’ t help but feel what I feel. Scott is the epitome of someone you want by your side.
“You have a head, neck, and body hanging. Four more misses, and you lose.”
“I don’t lose. Move closer; maybe if I see the blanks, I’ll do better.”
As he scoots as close as he can, I ask, “Can you put the bedrail down, so I can see the paper clearer?”
“Sure, do you want me to turn on the lights?”
“No.” He doesn’t need to know that I’m swooning over the man who has been by my side nearly every minute I’ve been awake. He slumps a little, so his shoulder presses next to mine. Butterflies circle, and I have to close my eyes and take a soothing breath.
I stare at the six blanks with two A’s filled in, wanting to solve the mystery and show my rescue hottie that I’m smart. I guess another letter “R,” and a faint smile flickers on his lips as he drags the pen over the paper. There’s warmth in his eyes and in his touch. His forearms are roped and with each sweep of the pen, his muscles flex.
Despite having no memory of him, this moment feels achingly familiar—a string tying me to my past.
“E.”
Scott looks at me knowingly as he fills the letter e into the space before the letters r and a.
“Camera,” I proclaim.
“Shoot. I wanted to hang you. Another?”
“Yeah, but I get to decide the word and draw.”
Since the accident, I haven’t felt normal until this very moment in time. It’s so easy with Scott to just be a person. Not a wife or a mom-to-be. As he hands me the journal, his long fingers skim mine, and a jolt of electricity shocks me. “Ouch. Are you packing lithium batteries?” I joke.
“I guess we have chemistry,” he says, letting his eyes linger on my mouth. “Try to hang me.”
I tap the pen to my lips as I think of a good word. I don’t know why but the phrase hang gliding pops into my mind. Drawing the lines, I say, “Two words, eleven letters.”
He guesses the A, N, and the I, then misses RSTBD and E.
“You’ve only got one leg left, Scott. Choose your letter carefully,” I tease, half-flirting, and as much as I should feel ashamed, I really don’t. I know I can’t be that person who would cheat.
“Well, technically if you want to be anatomically correct, I have…”
“Stop.”
We both laugh so loud; Nurse Nancy comes in to see what we’re doing. She peeks her head around and says, “What’s so funny?” I think it’s rhetorical, and we don’t want to explain. “Whatever it is, keep it up. Laughter heals people. I’ve seen it.”
I give her a one-hand salute, and she leaves us alone.
Scott guesses, “G?”
“Of course, there’s a G. Why didn’t you guess it before?”
“There should be two, Hang Gliding,” he gloats, but it’s the smile and the flirtatious tone that has me feeling like warm jelly inside.
I ask, “Best of three?”
“Okay, my turn to draw.”
With the guardrails down, we’re sitting so close, touching, and I like it. If it were him in the hospital bed, and I wasn’t married, I’d crawl up in the bed with him. He grasps the pen, and I stare at the blank spaces that form the new Hangman puzzle. He offers me a teasing smirk. “If you can guess this phrase without any letters, I’ll get you Bojangles again.”
“Can I have a hint? Like a movie, song, person, place, or thing?”
“It’s a song.” His eyes, kind, and reassuring, urge me to take a guess.
“Four. Two. Three. Hmmm. Love is Big.”
The sound that filters out his throat causes me to swallow hard. His laughter is like a beacon calling me home. I wish I knew why. I know we’ve been friends for a long time and that we have a big friend group.
“Do you know a song called Love is Big?” he continues to chuckle.
“Give a woman with amnesia a little leeway. I’ll guess. L.”
He fills in the letter and shows me. I study it for a bit, and he softly laughs at more incorrect guesses. As we play, our bond continues to grow. I can’t explain how at ease I feel and when he catches me in thought, he says, “Are you tired? We don’t have to play.”
“No, I want to. I just felt like we’ve done this before. Have we?”
“Do you remember it or just feel it?”
“I know you’re not supposed to tell me anything. The doctor wants me to remember on my own. But…”
“Wyn, close your eyes and think. Where have you played Hangman before? Who with?” When I close my eyes, he says, “Relax, don’t try too hard but sinc e you feel it, maybe you’ll be able to grab a memory.”
I hum as his fingers trail up and down my arm gently. But the burden of recalling a memory is great. Heaviness settles deep within me and right when I’m about to throw in the towel, I see a man’s legs stretched out beside mine on a couch, and I’m holding a pen and paper.
Excitedly, I proclaim, “I remember. I remember.”
I open my eyes, and he says, “Keep them shut. Stay in the moment.” He maintains contact with my arm, sliding his fingers up and down. “Tell me everything you see.”
“I’m lying on the couch with Drake. He’s on one end, and I’m on the other. He’s massaging my feet, and I can see the paper and pen in front of me with the Hangman on it.”
He questions, “Do you see Drake’s face?”
“No, but…”
“No buts, just tell me what you can see. What color is the couch?”
“Gray with yellow pillows. I’m pregnant. I see my belly although it’s not as it is now. Am I remembering, or am I making this up?”
“It’s a memory, Wyn. Your couch is gray with yellow pillows.”
Then suddenly, a flash of me having sex over that couch flashes like an old-time movie projector.
“Oh. Oh.”
“What? What do you see?”
My body heats at least ten degrees, and I break into a sweat. My man is worshipping me from behind. His hands are everywhere, reaching between the apex of my thighs, playing with me. He’s talking dirty to me, but his voice is muffled, and I can’t make it out clearly. He bends o ver and kisses the small of my back. “Simply gorgeous. My wife.”
He enters me way too slow, and I demand for him to go faster and harder, but he chuckles as he tortures me with long, leisurely movements. My heart races, and the monitors go ballistic.
Nurse Nancy runs into the room. “Are you okay?” she asks as she takes my vitals.
“Yeah. Just overheated a little.”
“Wynter, you really need to stay calm, or I’ll have to restrict your visitors.”
“No, please let him stay. We’re just playing Hangman and evidently, I’m competitive.”
I mean, I better keep my memory to myself at this point. At least now I know l enjoy sex, and I’m not vanilla, and my husband knows how to please me. I just wonder why I can’t see Drake’s face or hear the sound of his voice clearly.