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I’d kill her.
He can’t mean me? He must be out of it.
“Wren,” he says with as much conviction as he can muster, “two minutes.”
Wren nods, as he grabs his chart and takes one final glance at the monitor before ushering Caroline out of the room much to her protest. “Two minutes, and the
n we need to run some tests, so don’t get comfortable.”
“Not likely,” Bennett grumbles and lets his eyes flutter closed. “Fuck.” He sighs. “Everything fucking hurts.” His eyes open slowly and he smiles again when he meets my gaze. He tugs me gently and the quick movement sends a lightning bolt zipping down my spine. “Are you alright?” He asks as he runs his hand up my arm and massaging my forearm gently.
What the fuck?
“You were in a car accident, and you’re asking me if I’m alright?” I smile despite my discomfort over his touch and he chuckles slightly before wincing.
He lifts his chin slightly. “Give me a kiss.”
“What?” Did I hear him correctly?
He looks down at himself and then at me, cocking an eyebrow in that sexy way that used to make me wet instantly. “I was in a car accident, and I guess a coma? Come give me a fucking kiss, Olivia. I’m rather surprised you didn’t attack me the second I woke up. But that’s why I got rid of my mother.” He licks his lips, and I watch the muscle I used to be very familiar with in fascination until I remember what he’s asking.
I finally pull out of his grasp and my expression morphs into irritation. “You know what? I’m not doing this with you right now. I’m happy you’re okay. But I’m not going to let you manipulate me any more than you already have.” I shake my head and run a hand through my mahogany waves. “It can’t always be about you, Bennett.”
“Wait, what the fuck?” His face looks like I’ve slapped him, and maybe I should have left off that last part. I mean he is hurt. But I refuse to let him suck me into this based on sympathy. “Who’s manipulating anyone? Because I want my wife to kiss me?” He glares at me and I notice his jaw ticking meaning he’s gritting his teeth. I used to say his jaw was so sharp it could cut through glass and right now it looks like it’s ready to cut through me.
“Don’t call me that,” I say as forcefully as I can, though I fear it comes out more like a plea.
“Call you what? My wife? What would you prefer I call you?” The agitation radiates off of him in waves and I’m instantly affected. It’s how it’s always been. His reactions and his body language have the power to control my moods. It’s why just his smile could make me feel like I’m on top of the world, and when we’re fighting, which was rare when we were married, I could feel like I was literally underneath it. The same went for him, which is why I know he’s so agitated.
But why is he agitated over…this?
“I haven’t been your wife in quite some time, Bennett, can you not do this?”
His eyes widen and narrow in anger. “You take that back. How dare you say that to me.” His voice is low and filled with fury and washes over me, sending shivers down my spine.
I press a hand to my forehead, trying to rub away the stress lines that are forming. “Bennett, why are you acting like this?”
“Acting like what, and what the fuck is up with you calling me Bennett?” I can tell his patience is wearing thin and I’m not trying to poke the bear, but I’m exhausted and officially over this back and forth.
“Like you don’t…” I freeze, my mind slowly running through every TV show, movie, and book that involves head trauma. “Ummm…” I bite my bottom lip and clear my throat steeling myself for the question about to fall from my lips. “What day is it?”
“I don’t know? Tuesday? Livi, you’re acting strange as hell and in case you couldn’t guess, I’m kind of not in the mood.” He rolls his eyes and throws his head back against his pillow.
“Year.” I choke out.
“What?”
“What year is it?” I ask softly and realize I’m now holding my breath as I wait for his answer.
He looks around the room before settling back on me and I wonder if he’s figuring out where I’m going with this line of questioning because he takes a few moments before he replies. “Are you serious right now? It’s 2017, what are you getting at?”
It feels like the wind has been knocked out of me. The blood rushes to my ears and I take a step back, as I try my best to catch my breath. My hands begin to shake and before I can think, I’m bent over as I take slow breaths in and out. I’m vaguely aware of him saying my name, telling me to breathe, and calling for Wren but I block it out.
Two years.
He doesn’t remember two years.
Two years ago, Bennett and I were happy.
