Chapter 15
Fifteen
FOUR DAYS AFTER THE ACCIDENT
The orthopedic surgeon whose name I’ve already forgotten stands, arms crossed, at the foot of my bed. In some ways, with his arms in that tight fold, he’s reminding me of Coach.
My head feels fuzzy—which I suppose makes sense. I’ve been in and out of it for four days.
“The second surgery was complicated,” he says with a long sigh. “Success is yet to be determined.”
I narrow my gaze, thinking about what he said. I peer around, looking at my Mom, Dad, and Callum. Thinking about who isn’t in this room.
“His career—” Cal says.
Dr. What’s-His-Name looks at Callum, his expression too serious for my liking. “I can’t say yet. The soonest he’d be back would be six months from now. But it’s hard to tell at this stage.”
Callum looks at me, and when everyone gives space for me to speak, I do. “Where’s Rosalie?” I’ll worry about my leg and my career later. I’ve always bounced back quicker than trainers and doctors think. I’m not worried about that. I need to know where Rosalie is.
“Uh—” Callum looks at Mom, who looks at Dad.
“Is she okay?” I attempt to sit up straighter in this bed, but while they’ve informed me that I’m on pain medication, I’m not sure I believe them.
I throb with the small movement throughout my entire body, but especially my leg.
Oh, do I feel it. I groan, stifle in a breath, and return my gaze to Callum. “Where is she?”
“She isn’t hurt, sweetheart,” my mother says, but there’s a tremor in her voice. She reaches out a hand, covering my own, attempting to comfort me. But no one has told me why I need comforting.
“Where is she?” I ask again.
Dr. What’s-His-Name clears his throat. “I’ll be back later tonight. I’m sure you’ll have a list of questions for me then.”
I hear him, but I don’t look at him, nor do I watch the man escape the room.
“Give me a minute with Cal.” I may be nearing thirty, but my sweet mother will never stop trying to coddle me. I need the person who’s going to give it to me straight.
“Sure, okay, son,” Dad says. “Come on, Mallory. I’ll buy you lunch in the cafeteria.”
“You’re sure, sweetheart?” Mom’s forehead wrinkles—it may never ease out. She’s going to be permanently worried. “You just woke up and—”
“I’m sure. Bring me back a brownie.”
Mom smiles at the task I’ve given her. It’s something she can accomplish. She can’t fix my leg, she can’t get me out of this bed any quicker, but she can bring me back something to eat.
The door hasn’t yet closed behind my parents when I clench my jaw and steer my eyes back to Callum. “Tell me, Cal.”
He sits in the chair beside my bed, scooting it as close as he can, until the arm of the chair hits my bed’s handrail.
He runs a hand over his five o’clock shadow—something he rarely has, but I’m guessing he hasn’t left the hospital in four days.
“Physically, she’s fine. Your mom was right there. But she isn’t okay either.”
I shake my head, my heart thumping. “I don’t understand.”
“She doesn’t remember us.” He gulps in a bout of air. “Retrograde amnesia—something like that. She’s lost six years—the team, Stella, Maggie…” He swallows. “You. We’re all lost to her.”
“Wait.” I push myself up a little, again feeling it in my splinted tibia. “Amnesia?”
“Yes.”
“She doesn’t remember me? But—she loves me.” She just agreed to marry me. It’s like a knife in the heart, killing me slowly, painfully, torturously.
“She does love you. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
“Doesn’t know it? This isn’t a Michael Bublé song. This is my life.” I’ve said too much. I can hardly breathe now. “This is Rosalie.”
“I know. I know.” Callum stands as alarms sound from the machines they have me attached to.
“Then take me to her.” I throw back the blanket covering me in my hospital gown.
“Whoa,” Cal says, standing and tipping his chair right over. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m seeing Rose, and I’m seeing her now. You can’t stop me.”
“Zev,” he barks, above all the ringing. “She doesn’t want to see you.”
I freeze at his words. They can’t be true.
The door to my room opens and a woman in blue scrubs steps inside. She takes a shot of hand sanitizer from the wall dispenser in my doorway and walks over to the machines going off. “Your heart rate shot up, Zev. You okay?”
No, I’m not okay. Rosalie doesn’t remember me. Rosalie doesn’t want to see me.
She peers down at my bed and my blankets pushed to the side. “You have a catheter in, honey. No getting up for you. Not yet.” She hits a couple buttons and the machines fall silent. Then she’s listening to my heart with a stethoscope and looking at my pupils. “Did you get a little overexcited?”
I still don’t answer. I can’t.
She swings my blankets back over my legs. “I’m going to bring you some juice. And I want you to down every last drop. Got it?”
When I say nothing, Callum nods, stammering, “I’ll make sure he drinks it all.”
She steps away and I toss my head back against the propped-up bed. I’m not going anywhere. Even if I could, they wouldn’t let me.
“Let me explain,” Callum says. And then he does.
He talks and talks, telling me how Rosalie found out about her grandpa Kermit, about Robert—the scum—about Fran being married all at once.
He tells me about the panic attack that was so severe that the nurse had to sedate her.
He tells me how she made her family and Fran promise not to tell her anything more unless she asks for it. How she panics if they even try.
He talks and talks, until I’m blinded by tears and my heart squeezes with more pain at the news of this nightmare than my leg could ever possibly be in.