Page 11 of Yours Truly, Fall

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.

CHAPTER 6

BRANDON

The white numbers of the clock threaten my well-being. How can every minute feel like an hour and every hour feel like an eternity?

The surrounding walls are inhospitable after four days, and my patience has worn thin from boredom. With nothing but my thoughts to keep me company, which isn’t the greatest for keeping up a good attitude, the silence sends my mind wandering.

The ice chips have melted, leaving only water for a plant at this point, since I have my own pitcher right next to it. The glow of machines and the faintest of light sneaking in under the door illuminates the room enough for me to see, to study every scuff, outlet, and fraying edges of the blanket from too many washings. But I keep coming back to the question of how my body could possibly be healing when all I’m doing is lying here all day and night. My lungs aren’t being pushed to any meaningful capacity, even by a casual walk around the floor, and my heart rate only peaks when a certain nurse enters the room, which should be taken as a good sign of healing, given my natural reactions. So will continuing to lazily lie here for days on end really make a difference in my physical recovery?

I’m doubtful. Nurse Debbie mentioned keeping an eye on me, but what exactly are they monitoring? My blood pressure? It’s great. My breathing? Better every day. My strength? Other than a few movements that cause some discomfort, I feel stronger despite the aches and pains.

Glaring at the door, I know what would be much more entertaining than constantly thinking about me and this room, and I have no doubt healing for me in a lot of ways—Autumn’s company. I could invent fifty reasons to keep her coming back to visit me, but I don’t want to create a reason. I’m drawn to more than her smile or how she fills out her uniform. Her beauty is obvious, but behind her green-eyed glances, I can feel something more between us, even if I can’t quite put my finger on it.

I keep a constant reminder on loop—she’s checking on me, not visiting. I’m her patient, not a date. But would it be crossing a line to see if she’d be interested in seeing each other outside the blandness of these walls?

I turn my eyes toward the window where I hoped to see light brightening the edges of the blinds, but I’m disappointed. Summer likes to linger into fall, but the sun itself is struggling to rise this morning.

Night lasts forever in a hospital. The occasional voices heard in the corridor slip in through the cracks around the door, wheels that need oiling screech in protest when pushed past my room, and the occasional ping of a call light echoes down the hall. None of it inspires me to sleep. But I know the best way for time to pass is by getting through it.

It takes memories of the rain dancing across my roof, the smell of dew that comes after, and the view of the tops of green trees leading into the blue of the ocean to get me to relax again. I take a few deep breaths before being dragged deep into the heaviness of my body again.

Orange colors the inside of my eyelids, the invasive light too bright to escape. I can hear voices traveling into my room from the corridor before I’m aware enough of reality to join the present day. I open my eyes, then clamp them shut again. The room isn’t bright, but the sun’s rays sneak in around the curtain to remind me it still knows how to rise.

I blink a few times, then turn toward the light around the window, but find Tuck scrolling on his phone, like he has time for such nonsense with me out of commission. I swallow before my coarse throat works out, “Isn’t there a fire you should be extinguishing?”

He looks up with a grin already spreading across his face. “Fortunately, no fires.” Standing, he moves closer to get a good look at me, I suppose. “Wasn’t sure if I should come back.”

“Back?”

“I came by two days ago, but you weren’t seeing company.”

I laugh, which takes a lot of damn effort, and reply, “I wasn’t seeing anyone since I was asleep. Good to know you care.” Another laugh escapes the rawness of my throat. “What brings you by?” Tucker Travis is a year behind me in the firefighting journey and has become a good friend.

He chuckles without much humor involved. I can see where this is going. The wasteful worry over me. My mom was the same when I saw her the other night. Concern carved into their faces like I’m on the brink of death. They’re not getting rid of me that easily. I grin.

Tuck says, “You never woke up the other times I was here. Thought I’d try again today.”

“Here I am, despite the fire’s best efforts for my demise.” Maybe it’s a poor joke, but if I don’t jest about what happened, the reality of what did will start to haunt me again. Glancing at the window, I ask, “Want to crack some light into the place? It’s all gloom in this room.” Autumn shouldn’t come to mind, but she’d brighten the place up again without trying. I’m grinning behind his back. Don’t want him to think I’m enjoying this hospital stay because I definitely can’t tell him that the smile is from thinking about the gorgeous redheaded nurse. “How’s it going down at the station without me? I’d like to think I’m needed, but I’m certain life’s gone on without me.”