Chapter 11
Jordan
Ican’t remember the last time I felt this incredible. Probably the last time I was with this woman. When Nora mentioned being creative, holy shit, she meant it. We’ve always kept things interesting, spontaneous, spicy, but last night fell into its own category. It felt as though we were exploring each other for the first time all over again. It was tricky with the whole arm sling and cast problem, but we pulled it off and then some.
I also told her exactly how much she means to me. Again, a little reassurance never hurts, and with our history, it’s warranted. I bared all, fearless and unconcerned about causing another retreat, and she took it with surprising grace.
Although she stayed silent, she didn’t retreat as I expected. Instead, she burrowed closer to me, love radiating from her body more than words ever could. That surrender alone tells me she feels something, if not the same as I do. That she’s leaning into her feelings and no longer pushing them away. It’s all I’ve ever asked and needed from her.
She stirs beside me, and I shift to give her space, but there isn’t much to give. Last night, we crashed on the small mattress tucked in the corner of the living room. If the neighbors had been out, they may have gotten an X-rated show.
Thinking about the memories we made and suddenly ready for more, I brush her hair off her shoulder and kiss the soft skin I adore. She groans. Not exactly the response I hoped for, but early mornings rival selfies in her book.
With a chuckle, I ask, “Do you feel as amazing as I do?”
“Mmm. Better.”
“Impossible. You haven’t had coffee yet.”
“Maybe you’re my new morning boost.”
Groggy, she rolls over and wraps a leg around me, accidentally jamming a knee into my cast. I wince on reflex, and she shoots up to an elbow, pressing a hand to my sore ribcage, fully awake with sheer terror on her face.
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
After a long inhale, I let the burning air out slowly while the knives jamming into my muscles and bones slow their assault. “Now, I believe you feel better than me,” I tease through gritted teeth.
“Not funny,” she scoffs and continues her survey. “How are the ribs?”
“Same.”
“Is that good?”
A chuckle rumbles and escapes with an exhale. “Sore but manageable.”
“Okay. Head?”
“Thank you for worrying, but I’m fine,” I say, hoping conviction will steady the words, scratching my throat on the way out. “Didn’t you hear me say how amazing I feel?”
“Your face says otherwise. What can I do?”
“You’re doing it already.”
“What am I doing?”
I bring her hand to my lips. “Looking at me like that.” With love in your eyes. But I avoid mentioning a topic of friction between us and settle on something safe. “Like you want to jump me again.”
“I didn’t jump you…far from it.”
“But you would have if my injuries hadn’t prevented it.”
“Of course,” she says to placate me, but I know better. She so would have ridden me like a bull.
“Are we staying in today or hitting the road again? If I had a vote, I’d say we—” She intercepts my lips on the way to her neck with a finger. Her eyes travel down my torso to my good morning greeting.
“We definitely need to get out of here.”
“I had other ideas.”
“So, I see. It would be in your…”
Her voice sounds hollow as it floats in the air. While I try to focus on her and the light she brings into my life, her beauty and the soothing sound of her voice drifts away into darkness.
◆◆◆
Nora
“Jordan.” I tap his cheek to get his attention and freeze when his eyes roll back. As he trembles, I line the wall with pillows from the couch and keep a close watch over him.
A quick check of the time: 7:34 a.m.
Each second that passes feels like an hour. I check again.
7:38 a.m.
The backs of my eyes burn at the implications of this moment. This seizure has already lasted longer than his first, and he shows no sign of calming.
7:41 a.m.
Tears pool and fall unnoticed, leaving glistening streaks down my bare skin.
“Please, Jordan. I can’t take this much longer.”
7:44 a.m.
I’m reaching for my phone to call an ambulance when the tremors cease, and I reach for him instead.
“Jordan, can you hear me? Jordan.” I hold his hand to my chest.
He groans and turns his head, crushing his eyes closed to the light, the pain, me. In the silence, I let out the dueling tension that had compounded since waking in his arms. He’s all right, and we can reclaim a normalcy…until the next crisis at least.
I trail my other hand over his hair before I shift to the couch to give him space. Watching his chest rise and fall with each labored breath, I realize I have zero control over this situation. There’s nothing I can do to prevent Jordan’s seizures or the pain I’ll cause when he remembers. For now, he looks at me with those mind-numbing eyes, and I lose myself. It’s not like me. I’m always in control.
But for the past several days, I’ve been anything but the master of my domain. At some point in the night, my heart told my brain to go fuck itself, and I don’t know what to make of it. Jordan, Sydney, Emily—these are the people who follow their every whim and heart’s desire. Not me. I don’t throw caution out the window and have…emotions. I don’t cry or lead with my heart first. I don’t allow myself to dabble in vulnerability. Nothing good ever comes from that.
UGH. In. All. Caps.
Who am I? I don’t recognize the woman I became the second Jordan showed up at VETS. I’m spiraling, and can only wonder: Where’s my rescuer? The one who shows up without being asked when my world is crumbling. Like when I scrape my mother off the floor, comfort Sydney during moments of uncertainty, and shelter Jordan. Where’s my person, waiting in the wings to talk some sense into me and pull me off the ledge?
Again, with the self-pity. It’s time to suck it up and get back to the only version of me I can understand in this alarming and muddled mess I’ve gotten myself into.
Glancing around, I look for something to consume my attention and cushion the walls of my wavering sanity. As if in answer, my phone alights, delivering the distraction I needed. I snatch it up and read the message.
Josie:I tried to call Jordan, but he didn’t answer. Everything OK?
Me:It was until about 10 minutes ago. Seizure. Longer than the first.
Josie:Oh no. Can you talk?
Me:Better not. He’s sleeping again, and I don’t want to leave or wake him.
Josie:Good idea. How was yesterday?
Last night jumps into my thoughts and my cheeks burn hot. I look down at my nude body, grateful this conversation is not a video call. I wonder how Josie would feel about Jordan and I reconnecting physically. Scratch that. I don’t have to guess. She’d be as furious as I feel guilty.
Slowly, I type out an answer to her question.
Me:We had fun getting out of the apartment, and he seemed to be feeling better.
Josie:Did anything happen to trigger it?
If he had any nightmares, I slept through them thanks to Jordan cleaning out the cobwebs and destroying my sex ban like a military attack—unrelenting explosion after explosion until nothing remained. Sleep came quickly after that, and I expected us both to wake up satisfied and relaxed. Not more troubled than before.
Me:Not that I saw. Hope it wasn’t from all the activity.
Josie: What did you do?
Drank a little wine, took a long adventure, and enjoyed a lot of sex. My body is spent from that last one since most of the effort was on me. But I had no qualms, and Jordan certainly couldn’t muster any. I settle on relaying most of the truth.
Me:Just took a drive and had some wine.
Josie:Wine + medication. That might have done it.
Me:I checked the recommendations. [frown emoji]
Josie:Don’t beat yourself up. It could be anything or nothing. I hate not being there.
Me:How’s the set up going?
Josie:Amazing. I’ve met so many people and remembered why I love NYC.
Me:Glad you have this opportunity. So is Jordan.
Josie:Thanks. Have any plans today?
Me:I thought we would go out again but probably shouldn’t now.
Josie:Please have him call me when he’s feeling better.
Me:Will do.
For the two hours that follow, I try to keep busy while he sleeps. After getting dressed and starting a pot of coffee, I settle on the couch to check my work email and research post-concussion syndrome. Apparently, his symptoms could last months. With a sigh, I close the laptop and wonder how Josie will manage on her own after his memory returns.
The thought of it makes me sick. To keep fear at bay, I pull up Netflix on my phone and tap on the first non-romantic show I see. It takes five minutes to realize the main character is a healing veteran.
“Nope.” Turning off the phone, I toss it to the other side of the colorful antique loveseat. “Now what?”
To not wake Jordan, I decide to eat a leftover bagel for breakfast instead of cooking something more sustentative. The selection and prep wastes all of two minutes. If he doesn’t wake up soon, this day will not only test my sanity but destroy it.
As I make it back to the living room with hot coffee and a bagel, he stirs.
“Hi,” I greet, setting down the mug and plate on the coffee table and kneeling beside the mattress. Blood stops gushing through my veins with the icy way he stares me down. It’s the same cold indifference he had when he walked out of my apartment for the last time nearly ten months ago.
“Hi,” he finally responds, but remains still under the blankets.
“How do you feel?”
“Tired.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
“What?”
“Do you remember waking up…and the seizure?”
“Oh. No.” His eyes crush closed for a moment. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
“Jordan.” I place a hand on his stomach, and his muscles tense. “Never apologize.”
He takes me in for a moment. “You seem different.”
My hand slides into my lap before he feels my nerves. “I do?”
He nods slowly, his eyes still studying, his frown more pronounced.
“It’s probably because you gave me four orgasms last night. A record for us.” I push to my knees to place a gentle kiss to his lips, but he doesn’t respond. Sitting back, I reach for the bagel and try not to focus on his icy gaze. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
“You can have this after we get you up.” I set the plate on the mattress for incentive and hope it lifts his mood. Without thinking, I remove the blankets, revealing his nakedness I somehow forgot about. My eyes travel over him. At least part of him is happy to see me, I joke to myself.
I feel him watching me, waiting to see what I’ll do next. My mouth waters for another taste of him until his shiver in response to the cool room recalls my caregiver responsibility—the helpless feeling of seeing him disconnected and trembling is still too fresh to get the juices flowing. I toss the blankets back over him.
“You’ve had a difficult morning.”
“Feels like it.”
“We’ll take it easy today, and if all goes well, we can resume our travel itinerary tomorrow.”
He doesn’t protest. Instead, he sits up, using his good arm for leverage, and leans against the pillowed wall without my help. I watch him closely, searching for signs of an impending seizure, new pain, or reason for the sharp decline in his mood. His eyes close as he breathes deep and shuts me out.
Passing over the bagel, I rise to collect his clothes, the medication, and a glass of water. The plate is empty by the time I return.
“Well, you did say you were hungry,” I joke, expecting him to join in the banter, but he stays stoic, distant.
I drop to my knees in front of him and work the sweatshirt, boxers, and shorts into place. Unlike yesterday, there are no longing eyes meeting mine. No advances to touch me. No smiles, teases, or words of affirmation. Only heavy tension and disturbing emptiness until I reach for the prescriptions.
“I’m done with those.”
“Why?” I ask, still holding the three small bottles. “They’re prescribed for a reason.”
“Mainly pain, and I don’t like how they make me feel.”
“You wanted them yesterday.” Many things were different yesterday.
“It’s my body.”
“Fine.” I set them aside and shudder from the unyielding agitation in his tone. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“My phone. Please,” he adds, recognizing his answer sounded more ungrateful than he intended. My usual colorful response tickles my throat but doesn’t form. He’s been through a lot, and his head injury is undoubtedly affecting him more than either of us realizes.
I snatch his phone from the kitchen counter and hand it to him. “I’m going to freshen up. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” He raises his gaze to me, but it quickly falls back to the phone.
“I’ll help you to the bathroom when I get back. Don’t forget your PT appointment is later this morning.”
He nods but gives me nothing further to tell me he isn’t upset or falling apart inside. In a matter of hours, he’s gone from sweet, adoring boyfriend to tolerating my presence. The love I saw in his eyes the last few days has disappeared completely and since nothing happened to trigger it—quite the opposite, in fact—that could mean only one thing.
He knows.
◆◆◆
Jordan
Me:Would you have time to talk after my appointment today?
Jackson:Of course. Everything all right?
Me:I’m not sure.
Jackson:I’m here for you, buddy. Text me when you’re finished, and we can meet in my office.