Chapter 12
brANDON
“Idon’t know if you noticed, but both of our names end with an N?” An unnatural grin wrestles Autumn’s expression, her eyes wide, troubled, and shifting like she’s been busted sneaking out. “Wild, right?” Nice distraction . . .
“That’s wild, alright. You know what else is a big coincidence? Both of our last names have six letters, and you know Tuck and my mom.”
“That is quite the coincidence,” she says, nodding like a bobblehead.
She seems to search for a diversion, her eyes hopping from the tree not ten yards away to the lounge chair, to the barbecue pit, to the top of my sweatpants.
“I appreciate the attention, but you won’t find the answer you’re looking for down here.
” I probably shouldn’t give her such a hard time, but seeing that pretty pink deepening on her cheeks was worth it.
Like she received her marching orders, she tipped her nose into the air and headed for the back door.
“Hey, c’mon. It’s not like you weren’t staring at me. ”
“I wasn’t staring at anything, Lieutenant Culver.”
Fuck, that’s sexy. I’ve made a grave mistake telling my nurse she could call me that. I can only pray she’ll say it again. Wonder if she has one of those white little dress uniforms tucked somewhere in her closet?
“Are you coming, Lieutenant?”
Close to it. I covertly bite my knuckles to distract my dick from standing at attention before lowering my hand to my side and glancing back where she’s waiting for me.
I’m positive scrubs aren’t supposed to look that good on someone.
Fuck. I’m so screwed over this woman. “Oh, I’m coming all right. ”
“I think you should rest.” She holds the door open for me as if I need it. I already know her well enough to know she’ll fight me on it if I argue, so I walk in and sit on the couch.
“You want to take my temp, too?” Dropping my mouth open, I hum, “Ahhhhhh.”
She laughs as she comes to sit on the chair closer to me. “I want to be honest with you.”
“I like honesty.” That makes her smile, which in turn elicits mine. “But I didn’t know you had been lying to me.”
Sitting on the edge of the cushion, she clasps her hands together. Her smile falters as she bounces her heel in forewarning. Not good. “I haven’t per se.”
“Per se?” What could she have been lying about? I’m her patient—“Oh shit, am I dying?”
“No,” she squeaks like a chipmunk, and then takes a breath. Sincerity shines in her eyes, putting my racing heart back at ease. “You’re going to be good as gold. I promise.” She points at me, not afraid to lay down the law. “As long as you listen to me and take it easy this week.”
“I graduated at the top of my fire academy training class. There’s a reason I’m called Mr. Reliable.
I’ll give you a hint. I’m damn good with directions.
” I shift my legs onto the couch and stretch out.
“But to circle back, you haven’t been lying to me on purpose, but you have been lying to me per se? ”
Scooting onto the back of the chair, she tucks her legs under her. “Lying is such a strong word.”
“When the shoe fits.”
Ire flashes in her eyes, a spark that could cause a wildfire. “The shoe doesn’t fit, Brandon.” I can see her anxiety rising with her chest as her breathing picks up. “I just, well, to tell you the truth . . .”
I can’t just lie here when the energy between us has changed.
The humor is gone, her smile faded, and my chest feels heavy, reminding me of when I first woke up at the hospital.
The same unknown weighs down her shoulders and darkens her eyes as well.
I shift my feet to the floor again, needing to be upright for whatever is about to be said after I ask, “What’s the truth, Autumn? ”
“I’ve known your mom my whole life, and I met Tucker when he brought people in during emergencies.”
“Your whole life? How is that?” My mind can’t wrap around that since I’ve done the same. Many times. “I’ve brought people to the hospital many times, yet we don’t know each other?”
“We do though.” Biting the inside of her cheek, she drops her gaze as she fidgets with a loose strand at the hem of her shirt. When her eyes lift to find mine again, she says, “We’ve met, but for some reason, you don’t remember me.”
I grin, catching onto the joke. “You almost had me there. Can’t fool me, though. If we’d met, I would remember you.”
“I’m not joking with you. As much as I’m flattered by the compliment, you don’t remember me.”
I’m still chuckling until I realize she’s not entertained at all.
“Why would I forget . . .” I shift my gaze to the wood-paneled ceiling while I try to pull something from thin air that seems to be missing.
Memories of her. “I don’t understand. Are you saying .
. .?” Concern streams through the lines of her forehead.
She knows. She already knows the answer. “I have amnesia?”
“You have selective amnesia.” Her voice is too calm for this revelation. But it’s also steady, keeping me from freaking out that I’ve lost part of my memories, and no one told me. Until now. I close my eyes, willing one image of her prior to the hospital to return.
Blue dress.
Flowers.
Those gorgeous eyes set on mine, though there’s no warmth to them.
I open my eyes, and the image is lost. “I thought the only thing I couldn’t remember was when I fell. I remember waking up at the hospital, but the in-between has vanished. So, when you say selective, you mean—”
“I mean, me and the accident. You appear to remember everything and everyone else.”
“That makes no sense.” Running my hand through my hair, I tug at the roots before asking, “I know trauma can pocket events away to protect us, but why would I forget you?”
The corners of her eyes soften, along with a condolent smile that feels temporary at best. “I don’t know.”
“Is that your professional or personal opinion?”
She’s stopped messing with her shirt, and her breathing seems to have regulated as we ease into the details. Although I may be wrong, I think I catch a hint of disappointment residing in her eyes. “Both.”
That same emotion takes hold of me. What am I missing? “I’ve been talking to you like we have no history, no past knowledge of each other existing, but you knew. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Because I can’t answer your questions without you knowing the full picture. And, personally for me, a fresh start felt like more than just an opportunity to reconnect. It felt like a chance to rebuild.”
It seems the holes in the story are too big to fill even for her. I still stare with more questions popping into my head than time to ask. “What are we rebuilding?” Her hesitation has my stomach dropping, but I’m tired of being oblivious to what she could possibly say next.
Her expression softens into a small but genuine smile, relieving my mind from working overdrive into the what-ifs. “We haven’t been friends in a long time,” she says. “Different paths. Different lives. Different circles until more recently.”
“What changed more recently?”
“You’ve become good friends with my brother-in-law, Dan—”
“Daniel?”
She catches her jaw before it hits her lap. “You remember him? Do you remember my sister, Summer?”
“Of course, I know Summer. We grew up—” How did I not remember, or connect the dots on their surname?
“Summer Season. Oh wow, You’re Autumn. I didn’t even put two and two together.
I also know your sisters Winter and Spring.
” This hits hard. How could I know her sisters well yet not recognize the woman in front of me?
I drop my head into my hands, clench my eyes closed, and dig through anything that could possibly lead me back to her.
The disappointment she felt makes more sense now. “How do I remember her and not you?”
“That’s what I figured back at the hospital. You can look straight into my eyes, but no memories of me return. It’s like I’m a black hole in your mind. Very odd.”
“Yeah, it is odd.” How did that make her feel?
I feel like an asshole for not recognizing her.
Maybe it would have been better if she continued lying to me.
I only feel worse knowing the truth. I stand, tugging at the sweatpants waistband that is determined to slacken around my hips, and walk to a window to look out again. “Will I ever remember you?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice is faint, as if she’s fading away, but when I turn back to check, she’s still where I left her in the chair.
She is looking down, her hair covering her face, hiding it from my view.
“I have some ideas to help with the concussion,” she starts, looking back at me, “but I don’t know how to make your memories return. ”
“When you said fresh start, I didn’t know you meant literally.” Worst-case scenarios have no problem populating like popcorn, but one word she said keeps returning. Rebuild. A piece of a different puzzle drops into place. “Did I hurt you?”
“Did you hurt me?” she asks, barely above a whisper, as if I’m intruding on her personal conversation. Picking at her cuticles, she exhales loud enough for me to hear where I stand. “We haven’t really talked in a while.”
“Different friends and circles, lives. I get all that, but this is a small town.”
“It sure is.” Glancing back at me, she says, “Too small sometimes.”
That shouldn’t make me chuckle under the circumstances. “You’re not wrong.”
The humor gives way to my spinning thoughts.
I shove my hands in my pockets and stare out the window again.
The leaves are starting to change, and the warmer weather will be replaced with cooler temperatures before I have a chance to heal if I don’t get on it.
But the progress I thought I was making feels like an illusion.
There could be things I don’t remember that she’s not even aware of. She would have known I didn’t recognize her the first time we spoke. But if I’ve lost my memories of her and the accident, what else am I missing?
Fuck. My memories could be swiss cheese for all either of us knows.
And here I was, getting my gear and uniform together as soon as I got home yesterday, thinking I’m only a few days out from returning to the station.
This is a wrench I don’t need, and one that’s concerning.
What I don’t want to do is worry my nurse, or I could be permanently benched.
Getting up, she comes to stand beside me at the window. Her gaze isn’t locked on the view, which I know she loves, but on me instead. “I’m going to help you through this.”
The noise in my head quiets under her reassuring words, and when she touches my arm, my heart comes to life again.