Chapter 6
Brynley
No.
No.
No.
There’s no fucking way that’s true.
He’s gotta be fucking with me.
I would never get married.
And no one would ever wanna marry me!
Unless this is a whole mistaken identity thing?
Or am I being cat phished?
Siskospreadonacracker…this better not be a fucking cat phish situation.
I mean who would do that?!
Who would con a woman – a flat broke woman at that – in her hospital room in the middle of brain recovery shit?
Though, if you ask me , my brain is fucking fine.
All aquatic shit accounted for.
All daddy issues separated and segregated accordingly.
Fuck, the only reason I even think anything is missing is because they – the doctors and my mom – tell me it is.
But like… this isn’t what’s missing, right?
Like I can just magically forget that I’m fucking married.
That’s not something that the brain just erases.
This isn’t fucking “Conundrum”, which totally deserves a higher ranking on the all-time greatest episodes list.
“What do you mean she’s catatonic?!” shouts an unfamiliar voice. “She can’t be catatonic and have amnesia, Wes!”
He’s on the phone?
When the fuck did he get on the phone?
Why don’t I remember him getting on the phone?!
“Scientifically speaking, I believe she can.”
“ Dude. ”
“A quick Google search said-”
“ Wes! ”
“Look, one minute we were talking and-”
“Talking or flirting?”
“What does it matter?”
“ That could’ve triggered her to retreat inside! You know what Hamilton and Vickers both said in regard to how we approach the situation.”
“I do.”
“Then were you talking or flirting?!”
His choice in silence shifts my stare to where he’s running a frustrated hand through his hair as he mumbles, “ I didn’t mean to flirt, J.T. I just… ” he shakes his head in clear helplessness, “ I can’t help it. It’s…Bryn, you know? ”
An undeniable ache abruptly appears in my chest.
“Yeah.” The pause is followed by a loud sigh. “You’ve never been able to resist her.”
“Not for long periods of time.”
“And five minutes in her hospital room was too long, wasn’t it?”
“ I just hadn’t been this close to her – when she was awake – in days. ”
“That sounds creepy, Hottie of The Opera .” His gaze darts up to meet mine. “ Even for you. ”
Light chuckles from the other male on the video chat occur at the same time the man claiming to be my husband lets his black sweatshirt covered shoulders sag in relief. “ You’re okay. ”
“Define okay, McCoy,” sassily slips free.
“I know it’s not the time,” the other voice interjects, “but I just wanna put it out there that I’m glad she didn’t lose her love of the greatest show on earth.”
“That’s the Ringling Brothers tagline,” grouses Wes.
“And yet it should’ve been Star Trek’s ,” I effortlessly point out.
“Dat Mom?!” another, much smaller voice croaks, wrinkling my forehead. “Dieseemom?!”
There isn’t even time for the man holding the phone to open his mouth.
“ Dad dieseemommmm! ”
Dad?!
Mom?!
I’m married and have a kid?!
Hold the fucking warp drive for just a goddamn minute!
This has to be a joke.
Not a funny one.
And not the slightly cleverer type that the bouncers have come to expect from us bartenders.
No.
This is prank television worthy.
Except I hate those shows.
And I hate even more being in them.
Where are the cameras?
“ Dad! ”
“Wy-”
“ Pweaseeeeeee ,” begs the tiny human while my eyes sweep the small space. “ Pweaseeeeee… ”
Wes finds my stare once more and wordlessly implores that I humor the child.
Not sure whose child but definitely a child.
One hand is emotionlessly waved in his direction yet the second the device is turned towards me, revealing a small, light freckled face boy with messy hair and eyes I see every morning in the mirror, I mindlessly melt closer and coo, “ Hey, Little Fins. ”
“Mommmmm!” he shouts prior to practically smashing his face into the screen. “ Inissyou! ”
Unexpected tears get caught in my throat making it difficult to echo the sentiment. “ Miss you too. ”
“Still got ouchie?!” a small scratch to his neck beside his shark print bowtie is delivered. “No bedder?"
I shake my head on a choked, “ Not yet. ”
“Otay…” sadness slouches his whole frame alongside his heavy sigh. “ Soon?? ”
“ Soon. ”
“Otay!” The corners of his lips instantly widen to give me a toothy grin, and the sight strengthens the ache in my chest. “Iwuvyou.”
Thankfully, Wes intervenes by turning the phone back inward. “We love you too, Little Hero. Keep being good for your aunt and uncle, okay? I’ll be home for dinner.”
“Otay, Dad!”
About a beat later, the other male – that I’m assuming is Wes’s brother – states, “Keep me updated.”
A single nod is the dismissal action that ends their call and returns his attention to me.
“ We have a son?! ” barely manages to leave my mouth above a whisper.
“We do.”
“He looks…” my sore back slams against the pillows, “just like us.”
“More freckles.”
“He has so many freckles,” I warmly giggle.
“Yeah,” Wes bashfully beams, giving the back of his neck an uncomfortable rub. “I uh…I had many when I was his age too. Some of those will fade.”
There’s no thought to the statement that escapes, “ God, I hope not. ”
The man I practically know nothing about flashes me another, softer smiler prior to putting his phone away.
Okay.
I have so many fucking questions.
Because this clearly isn’t a prank gone awry.
That kid…is my kid.
Our kid.
He looks like us.
He feels like us.
And that in itself makes no fucking sense because I don’t remember him.
I don’t remember having him.
Or naming him.
Or being pregnant with him.
Why?
What the fuck happened to me?
Is happening to me?
“You called him Little Fins,” Wes cautiously begins, our eyes reconnected once more. “Why?”
“Idontknow.” An innocent shrug bounces my figure. “It just…kind of came out.” My lips briefly press together. “Maybe because I don’t know his name?”
“That’s the nickname you gave him.”
Huh.
So…maybe…my brain isn’t as broken as I think it is?
As no one is telling me it is?
“What’s his…actual name?”
“Wyland.” The word search booklet I don’t recall knocking away is thoughtfully relocated to my bedside. “Wyland Wayne Wilcox. Three Ws are…sort of the unspoken family rule for sons.”
“Which is why you’re Weston William Wilcox.”
“You remember my middle name?”
“No, you just look like one.”
To no surprise, the comment causes him to slightly smirk.
“So, what’s actually going on with me? I mean, the doctors have all said, I may be experiencing severe memory loss but that sounds like an unnecessary sequel undersell.”
“Cautious phrasing is being used due to the reaction many patients exhibit when they hear the word…amnesia.”
“I have fucking amnesia?!”
“ See. ”
“What?! No.” A frantic headshake is attached to more denial. “ No. That shits not real. That’s TV shit.” More head whips are delivered. “I know who I am! I know my name! I know where I grew up! I know what I went to college for! I know when Steinfeld orders a double vodka and sprite, he means double soda, not liquor!”
“The way it’s portrayed on TV is certainly TV shit, but I assure you, Brynley, it’s a real thing. A very real thing that we are getting a second opinion on whether or not you are currently enduring it.”
My mouth moves however nothing comes out.
I mean…what should come out?
Thank you for making sure they don’t fuck up?
Sorry I don’t know you better?
That I don’t remember falling in love with you or having your kid?
“In reality, the…type you have…you don’t tend to forget all of who you are…just…a fraction of time.” His burn covered hands fold together in his lap. “And that fraction of time you’ve forgotten happens to be the time you’ve been with me.”
“ Ouch. ”
“Yeah,” Wes quietly concurs. “Tell me about it.”
“What…caused this?”
“Intensive head trauma.”
“The accident that put me in the hospital to begin with?”
“Correct.” He nervously swallows, noticeably holding something back. “The…blow…to the head from that combined with your previous concussion from a couple years ago…seems to have triggered this…episode.”
“Episode?” My eyebrows pinch tightly together. “Like this shit isn’t permanent?!”
“I can’t answer that until we have a second opinion.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“ Both. ”
A gag of annoyance precedes me giving my unbrushed hair a ruffle. “ Fuckme, Ineedadrink. ” I throw my hands playfully up in the air. “Shot-o-clock?” Mischievousness meanders its way into my expression. “I won’t tell, if you won’t.”
Wes struggles to fight his instinct to smirk. “I don’t drink.”
“In hospitals?”
“At all.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
“Mmm,” contemplatively echoes around the room, “you don’t drink or won’t drink?”
“ Can’t. ” A small shift in his seat occurs to allow him to retrieve something from his pocket. “Sober for over three years.” The small round black and yellow chip is presented on the tips of his fingers for my viewing. “You custom ordered this to commemorate it.”
Not smiling at the familiar logo is impossible. “It’s the Bat symbol.”
“It is.”
“And I’ve got a Bat signal light right here,” I pull the blanket back to expose the tattoo, “on my inner thigh.”
The beastly growl I heard earlier threatens to make a second appearance. “ You do. ”
I allow him another moment to drink in my toned thigh – something he appreciates given the slow lick of his lips he takes – before flipping the covers back in place. “And our son’s middle name is Wayne after Bruce, I’m assuming?”
“Yes.”
“So…do we like have a Batman thing, Mr. Wilcox?”
“We do, Mrs. Wilcox.”
“Wow,” I airily croak, “that’s weird.”
“Is it?” Panic doesn’t hesitate to overwhelm his stare. “Would you prefer me to call you Ms. Winters for now?”
“Oh no, I meant the Batman thing.” Impishness thoroughly floods my voice. “Why wouldn’t I go for a Trekkie?”
“Thanks to you and…my best friend-”
“The dude on the phone? He’s your best friend, not your brother?”
“Only biologically speaking.” He slips the chip back into his pocket. “Between the two of you – and now his wife – I definitely dabble in the lifestyle.”
“Dabbling in it always gets you closer to dabbling me, doesn’t it?”
Redness ruthlessly rips across his cheek, yet, his opportunity to speak is abruptly severed by a large, blockheaded unexpected visitor. “ Boss, we have a problem. ”
“What kind of problem, Lurch?” I playfully investigate, receiving the paler male’s full glare.
“You remember me?!”
“ Holyshit, is that really your name?” Disbelief darts my eyebrows down. “I was just making an Addam’s Family reference.”
The short-haired, sand color skin toned man’s expression instantly falls. “Oh.”
Curiosity has me leaning slightly forward. “Is your name actually Lurch?”
“No.” He struggles to wedge his stoic expression back into place. “It’s Hurst. ” His eyes cut Wes a glance for approval before adding. “Lurch is…just what you’ve always called me, Ms. Winters.”
“ Bryn .”
Hurst nods in acknowledgement but doesn’t speak it. Instead, he resumes speaking to Wes. “We need to move her.” His body angles itself to prevent me from seeing the seriousness on his face. “ Now. ”
“What?” Bafflement floods his voice and glare alike. “ Why? ”
“The threat level has become elevated, sir.”
“What threat?” My body naturally gravitates closer. “What’s threatening me? Who’s threatening me? Why am I in danger?! How much danger?!”
Wes doesn’t even bother offering me a single look. “ Explain. ”
A folded piece of paper is presented to him; however, I scramble to see the typed message before he can hide it from me, before more of life can be kept out of my reach without my permission.
Unfortunately for me, it’s just two words.
Two words that are probably the last thing I need to read in my fragile mental state.
I’m coming.