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“I’m sorry I can’t release information on him.”
“But you have to! I was there with him when he fell. I need to know he’s okay.”
“I’m sorry, only immediate family are allowed in.”
“It’s okay, Lisa. This is his wife.”
I jerk at the answer. My gaze cuts behind me and I see one of the paramedics, from earlier, standing there.
“You’re his wife?” a nurse standing beside the receptionist asks, and I swallow nervously. “I’m so sorry! If we had known, I would have taken you straight back.”
It’s a moment of decision and a moment in time that I know I’ll never get back. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her the truth, but I don’t give it to her. I keep quiet. I just need to see him. I need to see for myself that he is okay. Maybe I need to plead with him to not sue me, and beg him not to have me arrested. That might also be on my mind; but then, I’m only human.
“Yes…I’m his wife,” I answer, the lie almost sticking in my throat. My voice is hoarse as I force it out. The nurse comes out from behind the counter and immediately wraps her hand behind my back, directing me back through a door. She’s rattling on and telling me things about Aden’s health and I know I need to concentrate on what she is saying, but I can’t really understand her. I can’t hear her over the beating of my heart that is echoing in my ears. My palms are sweating and my nerves only get worse with each step I take.
“He’s very disoriented. So, please, just keep that in mind,” she adds, opening the door. Those are the only words I’ve heard her say really.
The. Only. Ones.
Which is bad…because I really, really should have been better prepared.
Aden is lying in the hospital bed, he still looks pale and his forehead has been cleaned up and bandaged, but even so you can tell it’s swollen and discolored around the wound. His dark eyes go to us immediately and his gaze looks confused.
“There’s someone here to see you Aden,” the nurse announces. I try and brace myself for the yelling. I just know he’s going to lay into me over the railing. I’m prepared for him to mention suing me. Honestly, at this point I’d rather hear that. It’s much better than, I’m having you arrested. There was a part of me expecting him to have the police in his room, ready to arrest me. I have to admit that I’m breathing easier when there doesn’t seem to be any police in the room.
“How are you?” I ask, stepping gingerly into the room and forcing the question out when he doesn’t speak.
He looks at me strangely, his face going to the side, as if he’s studying me. I prepare myself. I wait because I’m aware he’s probably going to strike out verbally. I’m shocked when he doesn’t. Instead, he clears his throat.
“I feel like I’ve been tackled by a four-hundred-pound linebacker.”
“I’m really sorry about the railing,” I whisper the words, guilt and fear colliding inside of me.
“The railing?”
“The one at the pool that broke with you?” I half-answer and half-ask, mostly because he seems genuinely confused about it.
“Oh. It’s not your fault,” he says, surprisingly, and for the first time since the accident I feel like I can breathe.
“I was really worried about you,” I answer, because now that I’m not afraid he’s going to sue me or have me arrested for assault—not to mention the fact he’s alive so I can’t be charged with murder—I feel much better, and I can admit I was worried he was seriously hurt. He looks fine though, and he sounds good too. In fact, his voice has that same gravely tone he used in my dreams last night that set my body on fire—and was the main reason I was demanding he leave today. I can’t have sex with him again, no matter how much my body and brain seems to crave it. Maybe Daria is right and human beings aren’t made to go years without sex.
“You were?”
“Of course I was. I know things have been strained between us,” I start, giving him the understatement of the year.
“They have?” he asks, sounding surprised and I figure he’s about to comment on the reserved statement. It didn’t seem quite right, however, to announce in front of the nurses and the doctor that we hate each other with the blistering passion of a million fire ants biting white flesh in the hot sun.
“Well, yeah, but—”
“I… Who are you?” he asks, his voice sounding more than a little lost, and my body stiffens. My gaze moves up and cuts to his face instantly. That’s when it finally hits me. Aden has no earthly idea who I am.
