Chapter 17
Present Day
SADIE
I’ve never related to Ebenezer Scrooge more than I do right now.
Not in the cold-hearted, miserly, I-hate-Christmas way, but in a is-this-real-or-am-I-dreaming sort of way.
I feel for the guy. It’s tough sorting through your past and present choices and seeing how they’ve shaped the direction of your life.
Trust me. I know.
Like Scrooge, I thought this was just a dream—more accurately, a nightmare. Any minute, I would wake up, and everything would be back to normal, exactly how I remember it.
But it finally hit me this morning. This isn’t a dream. It’s really happening. I’ve conceded to what everyone’s been trying to tell me.
I had an accident skiing.
I have a traumatic brain injury.
I was in a coma.
It’s a lot to take in, like the kind of stuff that makes you want to breathe into a paper bag because you’re hyperventilating.
But that’s not even the kicker.
The kicker is I live in Chicago permanently, and I’m Mrs. Nash Carter—life events I don’t remember happening.
See, that’s where Scrooge has me beat. There’s no ghost visiting me, showing me how I ended up married to my boss, who happens to be a complete stranger to me.
There are a lot of missing pieces.
Three and a half years’ worth, to be exact.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, searching my soul for the answers, for some kind of spark of a memory. It sounds deep, but really, I’m just staring at the unrecognizable reflection of myself.
I take inventory of the woman before me:
Pale skin, making my usually unnoticeable freckles stand out.
Gaunt cheeks—courtesy of the ten to fifteen pounds lost while in the hospital.
Overgrown eyebrows in need of a good tweeze.
A jagged scar that starts at the middle of my forehead and continues up my scalp past my hairline.
Older features.
I could blame this version of myself on the horrific fluorescent lighting in the hospital, but it would be a stretch.
Without warning, nausea rolls through my stomach, and I clutch the vanity for support.
“Sadie, you okay?” Annie peeks her head into the bathroom, smiling back at me. It’s funny how time has changed my sister too. The Annie I remember—that I expect—should be finishing her junior year of high school, sitting at the kitchen table in her cheer uniform. But she’s a grown woman now, studying accounting at Syracuse University.
It’s hard to wrap my head around the passing of time when everything in my mind has stood still.
“I’m fine.” I suck air through my nose. Drawing in a deep breath usually helps with the nausea.
“Let’s get you back to bed. You’ve been standing a long time.” Annie wraps an arm around my shoulders, leading me out of the bathroom. “These pajamas are cute.” She nods toward the red seersucker set with pearl buttons and a collar.
They are cute. Very candy cane, Christmas-like.
I don’t remember buying them, which shouldn’t be a surprise considering the other valuable information I can’t seem to recall.
“Thanks for bringing me clothes.” Clothes is a loose description. I’m stocked with mostly pajamas and sweats. “The gaping hospital gowns were getting old.”
“Don’t thank me. Nash brought them.”
Curiosity pulls my eyes to the open door. Nash stands just outside my room with my parents and Dr. Basu.
“He’s barely left this place since the accident. I’m surprised he was willing to leave to get you some clothes.”
I shrug her words away, glancing at the door again and the perfect view of my husband.
Husband.
The description feels wrong.
In my mind, Stetson Roeshine is my boyfriend. He’s the one that my future self should be married to—not this Nash guy who I don’t even know.
Talk about a life plan that went up in flames.
And I have no clue why or what led to it.
“At least Nash is a total babe.” Annie glances into the hallway, sensing where my thoughts are. “You could’ve woken up from a coma married to an ugly guy with back hair thick as a fur coat.”
“I don’t remember what Nash’s back looks like, so the verdict is still out on the fur coat.”
Annie’s eyes drop up and down his body in an appraising way. “Nah, he’s too good-looking for a home-grown Minky Couture blanket covering his skin.”
Is Nash good-looking?
I suppose I can admit that. Maybe even pat myself on the back for marrying such an attractive man.
He’s dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeve gray henley, a classic design with a modern, slim-fit cut that rewards his efforts in the gym—I’m assuming he goes to the gym. Muscles like that don’t come from nothing. He combs both hands through his sandy-blond hair, interlocking his fingers at the nape of his neck as he listens to my dad talk.
It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to really study him since I woke up from my coma a few days ago. Avoiding him is part of not accepting this as my real life, and since my parents are enablers, it’s been easy to pretend he doesn’t exist.
Right on cue, Nash turns his head toward me, making eye contact. His lips lift into a sad smile—not that I have any clue about his different types of smiles, but it doesn’t take a fully functioning brain to see he’s having a hard time with all of this. Bloodshot eyes and overgrown stubble are the first clues.
I quickly lean back into my pillows, breaking the line of sight.
“Don’t you want to talk to him? You know, see if it triggers your memory?” Annie pulls at the damp towel wrapped around my hair, letting the wet strands fall to my shoulders.
“Can’t you just tell me what I missed?”
She places the towel on the dresser next to my bed and picks up my brush, gently combing through my hair. “I would if I could, but you and Nash are a mystery none of us understand.”
That’s not a good sign.
“Are you sure he’s my husband? Like, maybe he’s lying to all of us.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.” My shoulders lift. “Maybe for money. He’s blackmailing Dad.”
Annie laughs. “From what I can see, you and Nash are doing just fine on your own. He doesn’t need Dad’s money.”
“Well, there must be another reason he’s lying about being my husband. Maybe we should do some digging around.”
“You sound crazy.”
“I mean it.” I put my hand on her arm, pausing her brushes. “Has anyone investigated whether or not he’s telling the truth? Like that movie”—I snap my fingers, trying to recall the one I’m talking about—“you know, the one where she falls off the yacht and loses her memory, but he hates her, so he pretends like she’s his wife.”
“ Overboard? ”
“Yes! Maybe Nash is Overboard -ing me.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you are, in fact, married to Nash Carter. I’ve seen the wedding pictures.”
“Pictures?” The drop of my brows matches my frown. “Weren’t you at the wedding?”
She stops combing, sitting down on the edge of my bed. “No one was there. You eloped.”
What in the bizzaro world is happening? I would never elope.
For as long as I can remember—which I suppose doesn’t hold much weight at the moment—I’ve always wanted a big wedding. Everyone knows that.
“Why would I elope?”
“That’s what Mom, Dad, and everyone back in Skaneateles tried to figure out.”
“Didn’t I tell you my reason?”
“Not really. Everything happened so fast. One minute, you were engaged to Stetson, planning a wedding, and?—”
“Wait.” I sit up taller. “Stetson proposed?” The thought sends my heart into a frenzy. “We were engaged?”
“Easy.” Annie pats my shoulder, taming my excitement. “You were engaged for, like, a month before you called it off. Stetson and his family were devastated. We all were.”
Oh my gosh. I hadn’t even thought about Stetson’s family or his mom. Rebecca Roeshine probably hates me for what I did to her son. I hate me.
And what’s worse, my mind and my heart still love Stetson. I want to ask where he’s at right now. Is he married? Single? Still pining for me? Am I a horrible person if I ask that? Want that?
I shake my head, refusing to believe this narrative I’m being told. “I wouldn’t just drop Stetson without a good reason. We’ve been together since third grade. Our families are best friends. We’ve spent every summer and Christmas holiday together since I was little.”
“But you did.” Annie shrugs. “You dropped all of us. We haven’t really seen you the last three years.”
My mom said something similar yesterday when I asked where Tate was. She got teary-eyed and said Tate couldn’t be here, but then she changed the subject by saying it had been a long time since I’d been home—another piece to the puzzle that didn’t fit. I love my family. I’d never go years without visiting them.
“It’s like I’m a different person and lived a completely different life. Nothing turned out how I thought it would.” Moisture blurs my vision. “There has to be an explanation for it.”
Annie squeezes my fingers. “Maybe it’s time you start asking Nash these questions.”
My eyes flick to the door and the one man who holds the answers.
But he’s also the person I don’t want to talk to.