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“He stepped out.”
“Did he say when he was coming back?”
“Shh.” She glared at me while she pumped the ball, tightening the cuff. “Where in Ireland are you from?” she asked as she released it and typed something into her laptop.
“Um…” I scrunched my eyebrows. The name of my birthplace was right on the tip of my tongue, as they say, yet I couldn’t recall it. Just like I couldn’t recall much of anything else. I knew my name. And Smoke’s.
Wait. His name couldn’t just be Smoke. Like I couldn’t recall where I hailed from, I couldn’t remember his full name.
I rested my head against the pillow and closed my eyes. I opened them again when the woman’s cold fingers rested on my pulse.
“What is that?” I asked as she inserted a needle in the port of my IV.
“Your pain medicine.”
A warm sensation flooded into my arm and up through my chest. Why could I remember things like what an IV was called and even a port, but not the name of the place where I was born or the full name of the man I loved? I tried to fight against falling asleep before he came back, but was overcome by grogginess.
“Smoke…” I whispered.
* * *
When I woke, he was sitting in the chair beside me, studying something on his phone. His brow was furrowed. Did he do that often? Why couldn’t I remember?
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw one thing. Smoke, holding himself above me as I lay on a blanket on the beach. Somehow, I knew we were on an island. It was nearly dark, but I could see his face, his eyes. I could remember every detail of his lips on mine and everything that followed. It wasn’t just the memory of how our bodies felt, naked as the ocean breeze swept over us. It was more that I could recall every feeling I had from the first kiss until we lay in each other’s arms by the light of the moon and stars. In the face of not remembering anything else, I knew deep in my soul that I loved Smoke and he loved me.
I opened my eyes a second time and found him studying me instead of his phone.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Drugged.”
He smiled. Or maybe he smirked.
“What?”
He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. “You aren’t usually quite so…docile.”
“Docile?” I might’ve shrieked if my throat didn’t hurt so bad.
He laughed out loud. “There’s the Siren I know.”
I rested my head against the pillow. “There are so many things I can’t remember. In fact, I remember almost nothing. The nurse asked where I was from in Ireland, and I couldn’t tell her. I know your name is Smoke, but I don’t know if that’s your real name or your last name.”
“My name is Broderick Torcher, and my code name is Smoke.”
“Thank you.” I sighed. “Wait. Code name?”
“I work in the intelligence business. So do you.”
My head throbbed. “My name is Siobhan.”
“That’s right.”
“Gallagher. Siobhan Gallagher.”
“And your code name is Siren.”
“Siren,” I whispered. “Smoke and Siren.”
