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Alex.
Is that me? That sounds about right. It’s familiar anyway.
I pry my lids open. It takes a lot of effort. My vision is blurry. The room is dark, so it must be night, but there’s a light somewhere. It stings my eyes. I try to raise my arm to shield them, but there’s something heavy on top of it. Heavy and wet.
“There you are. I was getting worried.”
I try to turn my head toward the voice, but this makes lights explode behind my eyes. I groan.
“I need to check your heart rate and take your blood pressure.”
“Wher’mai?” My mouth is too dry to manage anything else.
“You’re in the hospital, dear. Do you remember what happened?”
This feels like a conversation I’ve had recently. I blink a few more times, clearing my vision. I search my mind for events, things, places, but everything is hazy, indistinct. Thinking makes the ache in my head worse.
A feminine moan vibrates through my hand. I glance down and notice there’s a girl—no, a woman—sleeping in a chair with her head on the bed. I’m cradling her cheek in my hand. She looks familiar, unlike the woman checking my heart rate.
“I would’ve moved your wife to the cot, but I hated to wake her,” the nurse says.
Wife?
I scour my foggy, sluggish brain for a wedding. It seems like that should be a monumental event, something I would recall, even as out of it as I am.
My wife rubs her face against my palm and moans, “Alex.”
I slip my hand out from under her cheek, wipe the sweat on the sheets, and stroke her hair. It’s soft. Waves of auburn tumble over her shoulders and across her neck.
Yes. This woman is mine.
My brain might not be online, but my body is. The agony on my right side lessens as I touch her, as if I’ve been dosed with morphine.
She lifts her head, lids heavy with sleep as she blinks. She swipes her hand across her mouth and licks her lips. “Alex?”
Her voice clears the haze. Memories trickle in, like the beginning of a rain shower.
A pink leopard-print bra.
A first kiss that started a quest to get her to date me; green tea lattes and cake she shouldn’t have eaten because it had dairy in it; my air hockey table; me outside her apartment, begging to be let in; a public declaration; a proposal; an engagement party—loving her, being inside her, wanting her, needing her.
I may not know how I got here, or what happened to put me in the hospital, but I know I love this woman more than is probably rational. I also still have zero memory of this apparent wedding.
“Baby? Are you okay? Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital,” I croak.
“Do you know how you got here?”
I go to shake my head, but those white lights burst into my vision and steal my thoughts, shattering them. I suck in a breath and groan, struggling to piece together the mosaic of fragmented memories again.
“Alex? What hurts?”
My wife puts a gentle hand on my cheek. It’s warm, soft. I lift the hand that doesn’t hurt to keep the contact.
“Everything.”
“Can we get him something for the pain, please?” she asks the nurse, running the fingers of her free hand through my hair.
“I’ll be right back,” the nurse says.
“Water?” One word seems to be all I can manage.
“Of course.” She disappears into the hallway, leaving us alone.
I look back up as my wife leans down and kisses my forehead. Then she dips lower and brushes her lips over mine. It’s brief, but it feels like love.
“Do you remember what happened?” She sits on the edge of the bed.
“No.”
“Do you know who you are?”
“Alex.” I rest my hand on her thigh.
She’s wearing jeans. They’re tight. She’s small—tiny even—but she’s curvy and gorgeous. God, she’s just beautiful. Perfect.
“What’s your last name?”
It takes me a second to find the information. “Waters.”
She threads her fingers through mine and brings them to her lips, exhaling a shuddering breath. “What do you do, Alex Waters?”
“I love you.”
She smiles. It makes her even more beautiful. “And you do it very well. But I’m talking about your job. What do you do for a living, other than love me?”
I close my eyes and think. My head throbs. “I play hockey.”
She releases another long breath. “That’s right. You play professional hockey. You’re the team captain.”
“For Chicago.”
“Exactly.” She kisses my knuckles. “Do you know who I am?”
“Mine.”
She nods, a soft smile curving her lips again. I return the grin, but it hurts my face, so it’s short-lived.
“What’s my name, Alex?” Her voice is so soft, I barely hear the question over the beep of the machines.
I keep my eyes on her instead of closing them. I see purple. Flowers. “Violet.” A single tear drifts down her cheek. I brush it away with the back of my fingers. “Don’t cry, baby. I know all the important things.”
