Chapter 39
NOW
LAUREL
The wound buried in my scalp ached throughout my shower, and the pain grew even more intense when I tried to remember what had caused it. Everything was just . . . empty. Like a huge part of me had been carved out.
When I finished showering, I reached for a towel to dry myself off and discovered a dark strand of my hair from previous use.
I should have found that comforting but didn’t, and I padded into the walk-in closet, looking for something to wear.
There was a large hanging bag that caught my attention, and when I unzipped it, I wished I hadn’t.
It was a mountain of satin and lace—my wedding dress. I zipped it up before it overwhelmed me, then grabbed a pair of pants and a lightweight sweater.
While drying my hair, I leaned over and delicately finger-combed the strands until my engagement ring tangled. I righted myself slowly to avoid getting dizzy and examined it. The ring was simple but elegant.
I pulled it off, set it on the counter, and resumed drying my hair.
A few minutes later, Ryan appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in slacks, and a patterned button-down collar peeked out of the top of his sweater. He hadn’t knocked, which I disliked.
Was this habit?
“Hi. I’m Ryan,” he joked.
He was handsome, especially when he smiled, so why wasn’t there a single pang of attraction for him?
“I’m Laurel,” I said. “Or so you tell me.”
“Are you ready? It’s a bit of a drive to the doctor’s office.”
I nodded and followed him out, except he turned suddenly to face me, causing us to collide.
“You always forget to put it on after you dry your hair.” He pointed to the engagement ring that sat on the counter. It was a weird feeling, him watching me put it on like it was some sort of test. I must have passed, because he smiled.
Again, I felt nothing.
Maybe the woman he loved was inside me, but right now I simply struggled to go through the motions. Like I had some dance to perform but hadn’t been shown the steps.
We took the stairs off the kitchen down to the garage. He gestured to a sleek, black SUV and uttered, “We’ll take the Mercedes.”
It was a hairpin-turn, winding road down the cliff.
With every curve and tap of the brakes he made, my nausea grew until it was barely tolerable. He glanced over and looked stricken.
“Motion sick? Shit, I forgot this happened last time. Lie back. It’s the meds.” He rolled down my window to let in fresh air, and I eased the seat back as far as it would go. “The road gets better soon.”
The curves did cease a few miles later, but it didn’t do anything to help. I threw a hand over my forehead, utterly miserable. The words were in my throat to tell him to pull over when the car eased to a stop and he shifted into park.
“We’re here. Hold on, I’ll come around and help you.”
The windows were tinted, and when he opened my door, everything got worse.
The sunlight made my head throb. His cool hand grasped my wrist and guided me to my feet, although I wasn’t sure I could walk.
The world spun. Objects moved in unexpected ways.
I could barely focus on the arm slipped around my waist as he carried me across the sidewalk and through a glass door. Moments later, I was seated in a chair.
He sounded so concerned, it was almost heartbreaking. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I told myself out loud.
He didn’t look convinced, but he moved across the empty waiting room to the counter to check us in.
As my eyesight adjusted to the fluorescent lights and my vision began to steady, I took in the surroundings.
Like everything this morning, this was not what I had expected.
Sad-looking vinyl covered chairs displayed various states of wear.
The water stain on the ceiling hinted at a roof leak.
On a side table, the magazines were in a language I didn’t recognize, probably Croatian.
A warning flashed through me. This didn’t seem like a first-rate medical facility.
At the counter, a hand slid back the glass window, and a young woman rose into view, and after a quick exchange, she nodded to the door.
“They’re ready for us,” he said. When he sensed my hesitation, he added, “The doctor speaks English. You want to get those staples out?”
The doctor was a man in his late fifties, with white hair, a stocky frame, and kind, intelligent eyes. His accent was thick, but I was able to understand him.
I was lucky enough to have not one, but two types of amnesia—physical and psychological. Like Ryan had told me on the balcony, the accident was horrific enough I’d probably never remember it. But my long-term memories would return, the doctor promised.
It could be as little as a week, or “bad case scenario,” he said, a few months. The oldest memories would surface first, and the rest should come back in a linear progression.
It turned out the young receptionist was also the nurse.
While the doctor pulled the staples from my scalp, she held the plastic cup he dropped them into, one by one.
Ryan held my hand during the procedure, but I found his touch unsettling rather than soothing.
I was weirdly relieved when his phone chimed with a text and he had to step out to make a call.
As soon as he was gone, the doctor and nurse exchanged a look. She asked him a hushed question in their language, but he silenced her with a quick, disapproving-sounding retort. She cleaned the tray, dumped the trash and her gloves in the garbage bin, and scurried from the room.
The doctor plodded to the sink to wash his hands, and I seized my opportunity. “The accident,” I asked. “Can you tell me about it?”
“Car accident,” he said.
“Was it one car or two? Did it happen here?”
He froze mid-wash. “Not here. One car, I believe.” He resumed washing but hurried to finish. “You should be asking these questions to Mr. Juric, I think.”
“What about Ryan’s injuries from the crash?”
The doctor’s eyebrows knitted together like he wasn’t sure if he should tell me. He opened his mouth to say something, but then the door swung open and Ryan leaned in. The Croatian flowed as he motioned for the doctor to join him in the hall.
It meant I was left alone in the room.
Questions continued to pile up. It was reassuring my memories would return, but what about the relapse? Would it happen again?
I hardly noticed the nurse when she came back in and pulled something down out of a cabinet, refusing to look at me. As she left, she tugged the door closed behind her, but it failed to latch and swung open a few inches. Had she done this on purpose?
There was just enough space to give me a look at the discussion happening in the hallway.
Croatian sounded somewhat Italian as Ryan spoke. He was in control of the discussion, hardly letting the doctor get a word in, and the more he said, the more worried the doctor became.
And then something dark and cold was said that made fear fill the doctor’s face. He disappeared, only to return moments later with a handful of what looked like prescription bottles with no labels. He practically threw them at Ryan.
The whole thing was . . . disturbing.
My fiancé became a stranger all over again. He’d come off condescending and threatening—the complete opposite of how he’d been with me all morning. When he moved for the door, I swung my gaze away and pretended to look out the window.
“We’re all finished up here,” he said, carefree. Like the conversation in the hallway never happened.
“That’s it?”
“Staples out.” He shook the bottles of pills in his hand. “New medication. You want to go into the old city and see the beach?”
“Medication?” My voice was heavy with skepticism.
“This is supposed to be better. Fewer side effects.”
After the altercation in the hallway, I doubted I’d get any answers from the doctor. I reluctantly stood from my seat, let him take my elbow and lead me toward the exit.
The drive down to the beach was thankfully short. He parked beside a marina, giving us a view of the coast that was dotted with resorts along the white sand. A large yacht anchored offshore bobbed gently in the calm, blue water.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“This is the best beach in all of Croatia, but not too many people know about it.”
That made me shiver, although the heater in the car was on high. He pulled a water bottle from the cup holder, opened it, and retrieved one of the pill bottles from his jacket pocket.
“The doctor said an empty stomach’s best. I told him that wasn’t a problem for you.” He dropped the triangular yellow pill in my hand.
I held it and stared at the markings, unsure.
“What’s wrong?”
Everything. I had no idea who I was, and very little seemed to make sense.
“I’m sitting on a beach in Croatian with a stranger who just handed me drugs. I’m trying hard not to run screaming into the ocean.”
“Please don’t do that. I don’t have a change of clothes for either of us.” The way he said it, I couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not. “I know this is hard for you, trust me.”
“It’s hard to trust someone you don’t remember.”
The statement didn’t seem to hurt him. “Have I done something to make you think I’m not trustworthy?”
My curiosity won out over my desire to avoid confrontation. “I heard you talking in the hall with the doctor. It seemed like you . . . upset him.”
“I did.” He looked strangely relieved. “Because he was trying to shake me down for more money, and I wasn’t having it.”
The little yellow pill was burning a hole in my hand. I rolled it around on my palm, not sure how to react.
His tone was soft and colored with embarrassment. “What you saw was me losing my temper. I can’t stand being manipulated. I’m sorry.”
I took a breath. Shouldn’t I feel relief? Because I didn’t. “The language barrier makes it hard to tell what’s going on.”
He nodded. His gaze drifted down to my hand, like he was impatient and trying not to show it.
“I can’t stand this feeling. You’re going to have to tell me.” I popped the pill into my mouth and took a swig of the water bottle to get it down. This was my concession, and now it was time for his.
“Tell you what?”
“Everything.” Judging by the look on his face, he didn’t like this idea, but I didn’t care. “I have to know.”
He went quiet and stared out through the windshield to the water in the bay. Was he not going to say something?
“You weren’t single when we first met,” he finally admitted. “And you didn’t want anything to do with me. You made that crystal clear. But I was persistent.” He looked guilty. “I wore you down, and eventually you gave in.”
I sensed there was more coming.
“Your ex was overprotective, and he didn’t want to let you go. Let me tell you, he was less than thrilled when I showed up. He’s the one who caused the car accident.”
Down the beach, a toddler was dressed in warm clothes and dug in the sand with his father’s help. It was a normal scene, yet at this moment I felt so far removed I could have been on Mars.
Someone had tried to kill us.
“That’s why we’re here?” I asked. “You think he’ll try to kill us again?”
“No.” He wore the same cold expression he’d used with the doctor. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
My heart thudded, already sensing the reason. “Why not?”
“Because he’s dead.”