“He thought we were in Mexico,” David interrupted. “That was months ago. He doesn’t remember his brother’s wedding. It’s amnesia, isn’t it?”
David was sure, for a reason he hoped he wouldn’t have to explain to strangers.
“As I said, not uncommon for head injuries. Everything other than the day of the accident will probably return as he heals. Don’t worry needlessly at this point. He may be back to normal in a day or two.”
It probably made David a terrible person, but he hoped Arlo wouldn’t be back to normal right away.
* * * *
Arlo cried.
David had seen him in tears before, of course. Not often, but they’d known each other since Arlo was eighteen and David nineteen. Practically children.
Only once had the tears been from physical pain, that time Arlo had shattered his shin bone in a fall on one of Axel’sExtreme Everythingadventures. His leg still ached when the weather changed.
So, when he came out of the CT scan shaking, two days after the accident, David said firmly, “He doesn’t need another test today. The doctor said he was stable.”
The staff was aware that David was a physical trainer, and his affiliation with the Minneapolis Mastiffs gave him some prestige. They agreed that Arlo could go home for a few days, as long as David was keeping an eye on him.
It was a strange feeling, watching your husband walk intoyour home and look around, identifying changes. The bed had a new comforter. Arlo sat on the bed and ran a hand over the burgundy fabric.
“Are you hungry?”
“I’d rather sleep,” Arlo said. “I only slept when they knocked me out. All the lights and noises and people moving around…”
“Of course. I’ll be in the next room, if you need anything.” David withdrew awkwardly from his own bedroom.
It occurred to him a second too late that he should have kissed his husband. He would have kissed his husband. But it was too late to turn back.
Arlo got into bed. The mattress felt familiar, but the pillow didn’t. He put a hand out and patted David’s pillow, in case they had gotten switched, but they hadn’t.
He wished David had come to bed. It was early, and probably David had fallen behind on paperwork while Arlo was in the hospital.
But still, Arlo was surprised: it wasn’t like David to pass up a chance to cuddle. He complained when he didn’t get cuddled enough.
Arlo slept by himself fairly often—when he was traveling with Axel, or when David was on the road with the Mastiffs—but tired as he was, he couldn’t fall asleep now. His body ached and his mind was restless.
Arlo got out of bed, wrapped himself in David’s robe—where was Arlo’s robe?—and went to the window.
The snow was quiet and cold and peaceful, the opposite of the hot, stuffy, chaos of the hospital with its constant beeping driving him out of what was left of his mind. He stood by the window and watched it fall, ignoring his chill. Soft, silent, blank. Finally, Arlo could think, or not think, uninterrupted, for as long as he needed.
He could remember David’s Best Man speech now, and dancing with David at the reception. Not the accident, or where he’d been going when it happened, but everything else.
* * * *
A long while later, when Arlo had grown very cold:
“Ari? Are you okay?”
“You’re not my husband.”
David froze, one hand reaching toward Arlo.
“I am,” he said when he could breathe again. “We’re just…taking a break.”
“Separated, David. Taking a break means you’re planning to come back.”
David flinched. “You haven’t filed for divorce,” he said doggedly.
