6. Braxton
Chapter 6
Braxton
One week later …
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel after turning off the ignition, uttering a silent prayer hoping that today is the day my wife’s memory returns. After the horrors of her waking up and not remembering me—or anybody, for that matter, not even her parents—things have been on a downward spiral.
I’ve been forced to return home each night without her. I swore I wouldn’t go back to the house unless she was with me, but that’s the thing—she doesn’t want me around. For the interim, anyway.
She practically had me forcefully removed from her room the first night. To her, I’m now a stranger, and that’s exactly how she’s been treating me. I’m pretty sure if Jemma had her way she’d even stop me from coming here during the day. I alternate between utter bleakness and determination; it hurts like hell, but I refuse to accept that this is the end for us.
She may no longer remember the love we share or everything we’ve been through together, but I do. Every moment … every second. I carry enough love for both of us.
Christine and Stephen are devastated by Jemma’s memory loss and, like me, are struggling to adjust to our new norm. It’s a tremendous blow to their already fractured lives. You can’t help but feel for them.
Jemma’s doctor spoke with me at length last night, before I left the hospital. He referred to Jemma’s condition as retrograde amnesia. He said it’s not uncommon for a patient to suffer some form of memory loss after sustaining a head injury. But unfortunately, there’s no magic cure. For now, it’s yet another waiting game. Her memory loss may be temporary, but there’s a chance—and this is my greatest fear—that it will never return.
Either way, I’m not giving up on us. Never . Optimism is all I have right now. We belong together, and in time I’m confident she’ll come to realise that as well. Our hearts belong to each other.
When the accident happened, I worried she would never wake up, and I would lose her. Not once did I contemplate the possibility that she would wake up and I would lose her anyway.
It’s only 7 am as I walk the long, familiar corridor of the hospital towards her room. I make sure I’m here every morning when her breakfast arrives so I can cut up her food. She’s incapable of doing it herself, with only one functioning arm. She hates it, I can tell, but she needs to eat. The old Jemma was strong-willed and independent. It’s something I’ve always loved and admired about her, so I’m glad that’s a trait she hasn’t lost. She’s still in there somewhere, I just need to find a way to bring her back out.
“Morning, Mr Spencer,” one nurse says as I pass.
“Morning.”
I’ve become a regular fixture around here. Jemma was moved out of the ICU four days ago and into a normal ward. They kept her in intensive care long enough for her to have the hip replacement, and the pins inserted into her broken bones. The operation was successful, and they had her up and walking—albeit slowly and with help—within twenty-four hours.
My stomach tightens the closer I get. The love I used to see in her eyes when she looked at me has been replaced by a blank stare; that’s if I can even get her to look in my direction. She spends most of her time pretending to be asleep so she doesn’t have to talk to us. She’s giving everyone the cold shoulder, including her parents. It breaks my heart, and not just for Christine and Stephen and me; I can only imagine how scared, confused and alone Jemma must be feeling.
“Good morning,” I say when I enter her room. She’s awake and staring at the ceiling. I hate that her face no longer lights up when she sees me, or that she no longer smiles.
She has such a beautiful smile.
Her eyes dart to me briefly before fixing back on the ceiling. “Hi,” she replies in a voice so soft it’s barely audible.
I force out a smile because I can’t let her see how much this is affecting me—I need to be her strength. I want to pull her into my arms and tell her to hang in there, and that everything is going to work out, but I know better than to do that. My hopes may be dwindling, but I refuse to believe that this is what our future holds.
“Is breakfast late this morning?” I ask, taking a seat near her bed and trying not to let this new awkwardness overwhelm me.
“I told them I didn’t want any.” She’s still refusing to look at me.
Sliding my chair forward I reach for her hand, but I’m not surprised when she jerks her arm away.
“You’ve got to eat, Jemma. It will help you regain your strength. I’m sure you don’t want to stay in this place any longer than necessary.” Her gaze moves to me, but she doesn’t speak. “Aren’t you itching to get home?” Because I know I’m itching to have her back there.
“Home? What home? I don’t have a home. How could I possibly be itching to go to a place I don’t remember?”
I’m stung by the bitterness in her voice and I go to reach for her hand again, but think better of it. “Your home is with me, Jem.”
The blank stare she gives me has me diverting my gaze to the floor as silence falls over us. The air is so thick in this room you could cut it with a knife.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be, like a job or something?” she eventually mutters. She doesn’t even wait for my reply before rolling onto her side and giving me her back.
“Let me help you,” I offer as she moves to rise from the bed. Today she’s leaving the hospital ward and checking into the rehabilitation centre. She has some intensive therapy ahead of her, but it means she’s one step closer to coming home. I’m still holding onto hope that this entire ordeal will soon be behind us, and we can move towards getting back to what we had before the accident. Without hope, a man has nothing. I’d even settle for something remotely close to that.
“I’m not an invalid!” she snaps, snatching her arm out of my grasp.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, stepping back. I shove my hands into the pockets of my trousers so I’m not tempted to reach for her again.
Once she finally manages to stand, she turns to face me. I hear her sigh before she speaks. “No, I’m sorry,” she says, bowing her head. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me. I apologise for the way I’ve been treating you, it’s uncalled for.”
I take a step forward. “It’s okay.” I’m hurting for her. This is hell for me, so I can’t even imagine what she is going through.
“I just feel so …” Her focus is still planted on the floor, but I don’t miss the crack in her voice as she speaks. I place my finger under her chin, to gently bring her gaze up to meet mine. A lump rises to my throat when I see tears pooling in her beautiful eyes. “I feel so lost.”
“Oh, Jem.”
Instinctively I pull her into my arms. This is the first time she has allowed me to hold her since the accident, and I’m so grateful she doesn’t pull away. I need this just as much as she does. I feel like we’re both drowning and neither of us knows how to come up for air.
“What time does your flight leave tomorrow?” I ask Rachel as we take a seat in the hospital cafeteria.
I’m thankful to have her and Jemma’s parents here to lean on. They’ve been a godsend. This is where we usually hang out while Jemma undergoes physiotherapy. The food isn’t great, and the coffee is mediocre at best, but that’s all they have on offer. I’m not leaving the hospital just to find something better. Being near Jemma is far more important, so for the interim, this home away from home is our reality.
I spend my entire day here, from sun up to sun down. I’d be here twenty-four-seven if Jemma would allow it. I vowed to love her during sickness and health, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.
“The flight leaves at three,” Rachel replies as her gaze moves down to the table.
She falls silent and I watch as she nervously picks at the napkin in front of her. I know that leaving isn’t easy for her, she’s also hurting that Jemma doesn’t remember their friendship. Reaching across the table, I place my hand on hers.
“Don’t feel guilty for leaving, Rach. You know I’ll take care of her. You have a life in New York; Jemma knows how much your career means to you.” I pause briefly. Well, the old Jemma did. “She wouldn’t want you to stay and risk losing everything you’ve worked so hard for.”
“She needs me, she needs you … she needs all of us,” Rachel says as she covers her face and starts to cry. “She may not know it, but she needs us, Brax.” I stand quickly and move around to her side of the table, pulling her off the chair and into my arms. “If it was me lying in that hospital bed, she’d be right by my side.”
“Go,” I say firmly. “Everything will work itself out in the end.”
It has to.
I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince more, her or me. Rachel wraps her arms tightly around my waist but doesn’t reply.
We are jolted apart when we hear a loud cough from beside us. I’m shocked by the intense glare I see in Lucas’s eyes as his gaze moves between me and Rachel.
“Am I interrupting something?” His attention locks on Rachel as he speaks.
Her hands drop by her sides, and she glances down at the floor. I don’t know what is going on with these two, but something has happened. They used to be close, to the point that Jemma and I hoped one day they’d end up as a couple. They’re our best friends, and the four of us have done so much together over the years, including trips away, both here and abroad. The animosity that has become ever-present when these two are in the same room makes little sense.
Rachel doesn’t make eye contact with either of us as she reaches for her handbag. “I’m going to see if Jemma is back in the room.”
“Don’t leave on my account,” Lucas snaps as she walks around us, heading for the exit.
“What in the hell was that all about?” I ask Lucas when Rachel is out of hearing range.
“You need to watch her,” he says, flicking his head in her direction. The hate, or maybe just the anger he’s feeling towards her, is rolling off him. These two were tight, right up until our wedding. They seemed fine on the day; they even danced together.
“Watch Rachel? Why?”
“Just be careful,” he replies, undoing the buttons on his suit jacket and taking a seat at the table.
“What happened with you two? Seriously, man, talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he answers, brushing me off and signalling the waitress over to the table.
There’s a lot more to this than either of them is letting on, but I give him the reprieve he so clearly needs. “How’s business?” I ask. “I feel bad I’ve lumped you with all of it.”
“Don’t even think about it. The contracts are being drawn up as we speak.”
“Great,” I say, smiling. Even if my heart’s not completely in it, I’m truly happy for us; we’ve worked hard to get to where we are … to signing this big deal. If things were different we’d be out celebrating—the three of us: me, Jem and Lucas. “I’m sorry you’re left to deal with it all on your own.”
“Stop saying that. You’re where you need to be. I’m pretty much the brains of our company, anyway.” He says it with a straight face, but I know he’s just trying to rile me up like he always does.
“Whatever, arsehole,” I snap.
He barks out a laugh because I always bite. Always.