Chapter 3
Chapter Three
SOFIA
Why is Nico here?
Though he hasn’t moved from the doorway yet, I can tell it’s him.
He’s bigger than I remember. Not heavier, but broader.
Taller. He seems to take up the entirety of the doorway, his shoulders nearly spanning the width of it.
His arms are crossed, showing off large biceps that pull at the fabric of his shirt, and the sleeves are rolled up, displaying well-muscled forearms.
With the lights in the room dimmed, his features are cast in shadow, but there’s enough light to see the distinctive lines of his jaw and Romanesque nose. His eyes are dark, the expression unreadable.
Unlike the Nico I knew long ago, still more boy than man, this one is confident. Authoritative. He doesn’t have to say anything for me to know. It’s all in his posture. The set of his shoulders. The lift of his chin.
The few photos he posted on social media didn’t do him justice, I decide.
Of course.
As women get older, they’re often considered less attractive. But Nico? He’s only gotten more handsome.
Not that it matters.
It’s just… he couldn’t have developed an unsightly wart on his nose? Or grown a beer belly? Maybe started wearing thick, horn-rimmed glasses that make his eyes look myopically big?
But the better question—the important one—is why is he here?
When I first opened my eyes to find him standing there, I actually thought I was hallucinating. After all, hallucinations are just one of the lovely side effects of a concussion, according to the neurologist who stopped by to see me once I was admitted.
“Sensitivity to light, nausea, dizziness, fatigue, blurred or double vision,” the specialist reeled off, like he was reciting a grocery list instead of all the unpleasant things I could experience.
“Those are all pretty common with your type of concussion. Temporary memory loss isn’t unusual.
Hallucinations can indicate a more serious brain injury, so if you see anything that doesn’t seem normal, let a nurse know right away. ”
So with that ominous warning still fresh in my mind, when Nico appeared in my hospital room doorway like a dark, avenging warrior, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to see him.
But then I watched a nurse nearly trip over her feet as she walked past him, and I realized he wasn’t a hallucination.
I’m still not happy to see him, though.
Not on my best of days, and definitely not now. Not when my head is pounding in nauseating waves, my shoulder is aching, and my body feels like it was just used as a punching bag. Which, given the multitude of bruises all over my body, it seems like it was.
Of all times for Nico to decide to finally reach out to me, this is right up there on the list of the worst possible times to do it.
But why is he here?
And who told him I was in the hospital?
I didn’t. That’s for sure.
I was conscious by the time I arrived at the hospital, so one of the nurses was able to ask me who I’d like them to contact, rather than rummaging through my wallet and calling whatever phone number they could find. And when she did ask, I told her I’d handle it myself.
She looked a little taken aback at that. Like, how could this poor, injured woman not want someone here to support her?
But I’m not dragging my aunt all the way here from Arizona. And I’m not calling Brian in Florida, either. If my mom were still alive, I’d have asked the nurse to call her, but we’re about five years too late for that.
Anyway, I’ve been doing just fine on my own. Or I was, up until I ended up in an alley on the Upper West Side, beaten up by two unidentified men, with no idea why I was attacked or how I got there.
Because, although I’m fortunately not hallucinating, I’m one of the unlucky ones with memory loss as a side effect of her concussion.
Not total memory loss. Thank God. I still know who I am, who the president is, the year; I know where I live and what I do for a living.
I know my mom died from an aneurysm when I was thirty, and my dad?
Well, no clue about him. But that has nothing to do with my memory and everything to do with him taking off when I was only six months old for parts unknown.
I remember almost everything, in fact, except for the attack and the week leading up to it.
Which means I can’t identify my attackers, if I even saw their faces.
I don’t know why I was in the city instead of home in my apartment, like I usually would have been.
I don’t know if the attack was a random mugging, an attempted assault, or if I was specifically targeted.
So that isn’t great.
Seeing my ex in the doorway of my hospital room with no idea why he’s here?
Also not great.
I could keep pretending I’m asleep, watching Nico through slitted lids until he finally gives up and leaves.
Or I could open my eyes and let him know I’m awake. Find out why he’s here.
The weak part of me, the scared and hurting part that’s still reeling from waking up in the ambulance after being attacked, wants to play possum until he goes away.
But the other part, the part that dragged myself out of the darkest hole I’ve ever been in and somehow cobbled a life back together again, resists.
I’m not a coward. And whatever he wants, I can handle it.
So I grit my teeth, regretting it the instant pain flares through my head, and open my eyes.
In the doorway, Nico jolts slightly.
“Why—” My voice comes out on a croak. Swallowing to wet my throat, I try again. “Why are you here?”
Nico steps into the room. His forehead furrows. “What do you mean?”
I try to maneuver myself into a sitting position, but my muscles don’t want to obey. Which means I’m stuck, lying here, feeling at a significant disadvantage as he approaches.
Lifting my chin, at least, I answer, “Why are you at the hospital? In my room?”
Once he reaches the bed, he studies me for a few seconds. A muscle twitches in his jaw. He uncrosses his arms and shoves his hands into his pants pockets. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”
I hate having him towering over me like this, so I try to sit up again. I know it won’t resolve the height difference between us, not with me in bed and him standing, but if I’m at least sitting, maybe I won’t feel as vulnerable.
Halfway up, my arms wobble, and I sag back onto the mattress again.
Argh.
“Sofia.” His tone is scolding. “Maybe you should just lie down.”
Irritation flares. “Maybe I should do whatever I want,” I snap.
A moment later, I inwardly cringe. Great. The first time I’m talking to my ex in almost two decades, and I sound like a recalcitrant child.
“You have a concussion,” Nico states. “Plus a partial subluxation of your left shoulder. I don’t think it’s the best idea to try sitting up on your own.”
He stares at me for a moment, frowning. Then he asks, “Do you want me to help you sit up? If you’re determined to do it, it would be better if you had help. Or I can call a nurse, if you’d prefer.”
“No. It’s fine.” The very thought of Nico touching me, those big hands on my back, bringing back memories of—
Argh. Just stop.
I reach my uninjured hand up to push my hair behind my ear, a tick I fall into whenever I’m anxious. But the pull of the IV stops me, and I let out an aggravated sound.
“Sofia?” His frown shifts to something softer. More worried. “Are you in pain? Do you need the doctor?”
I snort. “Yes. I’m in pain. I have a concussion, as you mentioned. And my shoulder—” I stop as his previous words sink in. “Wait. How did you know about my injuries? We’re not family. They wouldn’t have told you.”
Nico’s gaze skitters away, just like it always used to whenever he got busted doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Like skipping school to spend the day on Coney Island or hacking into the school computers so he could find out how I did on the—
“Did you hack into the hospital records?” I ask.
“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t dying,” he retorts.
Ouch.
“Oh. How lovely,” I reply in a droll tone. “So glad to hear you didn’t want me dead. Or were you hoping I was?”
“Sofia.” Anger flushes his cheeks. “How could you say that? I would never. No matter what… I wouldn’t. Do you really think so little—” He glances over his shoulder at the door. “This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come.”
Guilt seeps through me.
No. I don’t think Nico would ever wish me dead. Just like I would never wish the same of him. I’m just feeling off-balance and snappish and I lashed out without thinking.
“I’m sorry,” I concede quietly. “I didn’t mean that. About wishing me dead. I know you wouldn’t.”
Nico’s shoulders sag. “I wouldn’t. But I should be nicer. Given—” He gestures around the room. “All this.”
“Given that I’m in the hospital with no idea how I got here?”
“What?” He blinks. “You don’t— What?”
“The doctor called it retrograde amnesia. It can happen with concussions. Especially ones that knock you unconscious.”
Nico crosses his arms across his chest again. “That wasn’t in your chart.”
“Well,” I reply testily. “In my chart or not, I don’t remember anything from the past week. Not what I ate for breakfast this morning, not what I did three days ago at work, and not what I was doing in the Upper West Side before I was attacked.”
“You came to see me. At my condo.”
“What?”
“My condo. According to Edwin—”
“Edwin?”
“The doorman slash security guard. He talked to you not long before the attack. You told him you were there to see me. That you knew me from high school and wanted to surprise me.”
“Surprise you?” Nico could have told me he just learned how to fly, and I’m not sure I’d be more shocked. “I came to your condo to surprise you?”
He smirks. “Well, it was certainly a surprise. But I’ll admit I’m curious why you decided to come see me now. After eighteen years.”
As if you wanted to see me sooner, I almost fire back. But exhaustion is setting in after hours of being poked and prodded and X-rayed, and I don’t have the energy to argue with him. “I don’t know,” I say with a sigh. “I don’t remember.”