Chapter 5
AUTUMN
Is this a joke?
It’s a cruel one if it is.
Other than the dry throat, he sounded like himself and looked at me like . . . like . . . well, like the nurse I am and not the girl he’s known his whole life. It just doesn’t make sense that I am the only thing he can’t remember. Well, me and the fall that sent him to the hospital.
My eyes roll back without permission as I drop onto the chair behind the nurses’ station again.
Brandon was the one who pursued me. He was the one who asked me, and the jerk hurt me that night. I was a fool then for trusting him, and now he’s made me into a bigger fool by forgetting me altogether. As if the wound didn’t have enough of his salt already poured on it.
Rolling forward, I poise my fingers above the keyboard. How does he not remember me? More importantly, why does he not remember me?
Is there a black hole in his memories where I used to live, or has his timeline been stitched back together like I never existed?
I roll my shoulders and shake my head rapidly, my thoughts flying about like bees buzzing around a hive. I’m his caregiver for the night, not an old . . . whatever we were. Not that there is a we or ever was. Ugh. Nothing makes sense.
I’m not hungry, but drink the remains of the shake since Brandon scored my dinner for the night.
I have gum. I can survive the rest of my shift.
And Dolly will have a big breakfast waiting for everyone when I return.
She loves to start the day out on a full stomach, even if it is my bedtime.
I’m sure I’ll be falling into bed stuffed.
After entering the last of the data from the stack of files, I grasp the pile to my chest and walk down the hall.
Room 8 has me pausing, wondering what joke the universe is playing.
Brandon Culver is not only my patient but also appears to have a memory block where I’m concerned.
A wave of irritation usually drifts through me, but this time, the annoyance stays at bay.
This time, my heart clenches for him. He could have died.
Moving closer, I adjust the metal clip attached above his room number, where we place pertinent information like fall risk, and run my finger over the Maltese cross with crossed axes.
The added adornment is only used when first responders are patients, a small symbol to honor them so everyone who enters knows who’s on the other side of the door.
I glance back at the door. Me and the fall?
We’re the lost memories, huh? I can’t stop thinking about it, so I grit my teeth and chant the word “professional” in my head until it drowns out the noise.
I’m a darn good nurse and will nurse him back to health.
Then I can go back to pretending he doesn’t exist. “Oh, Brandon,” I whisper, then walk away to archive the files in the records room.
“Why do you always have to be my problem?”
What a tease destiny has become. Fate is either cruel to a fault or has some master plan in play. Either way, it’s a funny, not humorous, way of doing things.
On my way, I poke my head into the break room to see if there’s anything I need to straighten or clean. I spy the full coffee pot and a small box of donuts that were probably left from the morning shift almost twenty-four hours ago. If I’m desperate, I know where to come.
Continuing two doors down, I punch in the code and shoulder the door open, setting the pile in the archive bin.
I balk in the quiet room, my laughter bouncing off the wall.
“Why do you care, Autumn?” The words are exasperated.
I’ve thought about him more in the last few hours than I have in the past decade.
Whether he remembers me or not doesn’t matter because he’s more of an enemy than a friend.
I tuck my hand in my pocket and flip the bluebird token between my fingers a few times. The process has always helped me think through many issues in my life. I still my hand, my emotions settling as an idea becomes clear.
Turning on my heels, I head back out the door and down the short hall, knowing exactly what I need to do. Flip the script.
This doesn’t have to be a negative. It could be an opportunity. I’ve carried the weight of that painful night around for ten years. It’s time to cut myself free from the burden.
Pulling my chair up to my desk again, my fingers clank against the keyboard. When Brandon’s chart opens, I scan it until I land on the injuries incurred. How can I help him recover best?
Ice chips won’t help heal him, but it might comfort him as he recovers from the smoke inhalation.
I’ll get those if he wakes again. I maneuver around the desk, heading straight for Brandon’s room.
I’m slow to lower the handle and peek in, hoping he’s resting and I’m not the one keeping him up.
The hall light floods the small opening, giving me ample light to see him sleeping.
I slip inside and walk to his bedside. After being busted once, I’d prefer it wasn’t twice. Moving slowly and quietly, I adjust the pillow under his head to keep his neck aligned, hoping his airway is open and clear.
I look around for a humidifier, confident they had it going the first few days of his hospital stay. I don’t see the machine, but there’d be no way to put the mask on to treat him while he’s sleeping without waking him up anyway. I’ll hold off on that for now.
A concussion is touch-and-go. That he’s had one before, as noted in his chart, has me wondering if this second one could be the reason for the memory loss, even if minimal to most people.
As for the spinal contusion, I stand bedside studying every inch of Brandon.
I’m a trained nurse. It’s perfectly normal to stare at a sleeping patient.
Routine even. Except that seeing him like this, really seeing the man he’s turned into, is not so routine.
I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip, freeing it, and then drag the tip of my tongue over it as I study how much broader his shoulders are these days.
There’s a layer of scruff that I don’t think I’ve seen on him before.
He’s usually clean-shaven. Not that I really noticed, but the change is more obvious to me now.
His brown hair is disheveled, and I wonder if he’s been brought a toiletry bag from home or if I should get the man a comb.
I roll my eyes when I turn to exit. Seeing this man—acknowledging how hard and built he is, handsome to some—not me, of course—but it’s obvious why others might find him attractive—has me realizing that this is definitely a good time to leave.
“Nurse?” I freeze with my fingers wrapped around the door handle, my breath stalling in my chest. I hear the slightest of shuffling, and then he says, “Autumn?”
Taking a breath, I hold it to regulate before exhaling and slowly looking back over my shoulder.
A smile slides so naturally onto my face when I see him that I wonder when I decided to betray myself.
What happened to the night at the lake? Seeing him with .
. . He doesn’t remember, and I wish I could forget instead of reacting like this is the time or place for a reemergence of old grudges.
I’m at work, for goodness’ sake. I’m a professional, and I need to act like it.
I release the handle and return to his bedside. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired.” A gruff laugh escapes his throat before he clears it.
“Your body has gone through a lot.” I reach for the water and top off the cup, then hand it to him with a straw. “Tired is normal, but pain is something I can help manage.” Running my hand over the rail, I add, “Or if there’s anything you need to be more comfortable, I can—”
“No. I’ll be fine.” His gaze dips to my left hand.
I drop it to my side, feeling exposed for some reason.
Exposed how? For being the single woman I am?
The Brandon Culver I’ve always known is well aware of my dating status.
The whole town knows basically every detail of my romantic life from that first kiss to the heartbreak I had at college graduation.
I’m glad last year’s hockey player stint didn’t last, or that would have been blasted through the grapevine, too.
Maybe it’s not just a fresh start with Brandon I need to accept.
Maybe it’s actually time for me to move on from Mountain Laurel Cove, too. My stomach twists into a knot, the subject one that’s too big to be thinking about when I have patients who need me more right now.
Lifting his eyes to mine again with a smile tipping the sides of his lips upward, he says, “I was just wondering, how long do you think I’ll be in here?”
I peek back at the whiteboard. “You’ve been here three days. Based on how you’re responding, I would think no more than a week max. But that’s not my decision to determine.”
The small smile he had manages to disappear as his fingers fidget with a pulled thread on the blanket. “Not the answer I was looking for.”
“I think it’s best to err on the side of caution.”
“In all things?”
I can’t get over how Brandon looks at me like he’s seeing me with fresh eyes instead of the girl he’s always known.
There’s a weird sense of freedom starting to meander through my veins.
I can be whoever I want to be with him. I can stay mad, or I can embrace the opportunity.
Knowing that his amnesia is temporary gives me a momentary reprieve from the anger and hurt I’ve experienced because of him. Freeing indeed.
“Well,” I say, a trickling laugh escaping with my mood lifting. “Not all things.” I roll my eyes when I catch him smiling. “That grin is going to get you in trouble.”
“It usually does. That, and when I say, ‘Hey, watch this.’”
A laugh that feels so right flows from my gut, tempting me to hold back.
Am I just supposed to forget everything that happened because he did?
Right now? Yes, Autumn. Take the weight off and enjoy the present.
I say, “You don’t even know how many ER visits we get after someone says that.
It should be outlawed to protect people from themselves. ”
“Sometimes people need to learn for themselves.”
Instead of staring into his brown eyes, I look at the IV and roll it around a few inches like it needed the attention. “Yep, some of us learn the hard way.” I glance at him. “Anyway, if you’re going to be up, I’ll bring you some ice chips for your throat.”
“I’ll be up.” His eyes are locked on mine, and he says, “I have too much on my mind to sleep.”
“I know the feeling.” I exit before either of us gets any deeper into the innuendos and areas that I’d rather skirt around than address with an amnesiac patient in the middle of the night, much less Brandon.
I peek in on the other patients who are sleeping, like they should be, on my way to get him a cup of ice.
Staring at the machine, I stand there wondering why I feel like I just gave up a piece of myself to laugh with him.
Did I? Or is it just a new stage we’re entering?
A new pair of shoes that needs to stretch out to fit just right?
This patient has really thrown me for a loop tonight. I came to work expecting the same boring shift I usually perform. Not tonight. Brandon Culver just flipped everything on its axis. And for the first time in forever, I’m not upset about not knowing what comes next.