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"Let’s give it a shot," I say before I lose my barely existing courage.
We arriveat the hospital that was listed on my discharge papers at ten to five. It’s not huge but larger than I anticipated for a place like Santa Rosa.
I’m so close to potentially getting answers.
But when I climb out of the Defender, I’m a mess. The need for answers that has kept me going for the last two-plus weeks has exited, and a sour taste in my mouth makes it hard to swallow. Do I really want to know? What if I’m making a mistake? Maybe I should’ve waited longer? Should I have talked to Heather and Tristen after all?
I’m convinced any shrink would diagnose me with some type of mental instability at this point. Though, would that be a surprise for someone who was kidnapped and had her memory erased? I can’t keep track of all my contradicting emotions, let alone keep them in check. I go from betrayal and anger to rage, to feeling safe, to fear and anxiety, to happiness, to uncertainty, back to anger, and now...dread.
What am I doing here?
Saliva is pooling in my mouth, which accompanies the nausea and cold sweats that started when we left the interstate ten minutes ago. Is this what a panic attack feels like? My breathing is erratic. Yup, I’m having a panic attack. All I can think isso much forno longer being the victim. Who am I kidding? I’m six years old.
Oh God, I’m going to pass out.
I’m next to the car, staring at the pavement, as the black spots appear in my vision. I brace myself for the impact with the ground, but instead, I find myself in a bear hug. My face is pressed against soft fabric.
I inhale deeply. Rhys! One arm is wrapped around my waist, the other holds the back of my head; I’m held immobile.
When did he get so strong?
His voice tells me to breathe, and I do as I’m told. In, out, in, out.
The nausea slowly subsides, and I lift my arms to return the embrace.
"There you are, babe. You scared me there for a minute."
Babe?
That’s the second time. Whatever. I’m safe.
We stand like this in the middle of the parking lot for several minutes until I’m back in control. I should be embarrassed by my breakdown, but as if Rhys can read my thoughts, he leans back so he can look me in the eyes, and all I see is understanding.
"You and me, remember?" he whispers, and I nod.
Without another word, he starts walking toward the entrance, and I fall in step beside him. That’s it. He knew what I needed, and as soon as it was over, it was time to move on. I marvel at how he does that time and time again—after years of being apart.
We stepthrough the rotating door into the foyer, and I stop abruptly. "Where do we go?"
Rhys turns toward me. "I figured we’d start with patient services or the admin department, whatever it’s called in a hospital."
That makes sense. "Okay."
He navigates us to the correct door before I can search for a map of this maze. I raise my eyebrows at him as we step off the second-floor escalator opposite two glass doors, but he just shrugs as if to sayI did my research.
With shaking hands, I push through, and Rhys murmurs from behind, "I’ll be back here if you need me."
By the time I glance over my shoulder, he’s leaning against the wall next to the door. His arms are crossed over his chest, and one foot is up against the wall. He isn’t wearing anything special, just a gray hoodie, faded blue jeans, and his worn black Frye Bowery Chelseaboots he bought years ago. However, his entire posture emanates confidence and strength. I’ve seen this abrupt change in him many times from afar in school. This is why the entire school puts him on a pedestal and follows his every command. He knows how to take over a situation, and currently, he’s giving me the strength to do this on my own. Some of my old confidence returns as I slowly move into the room.
A lone woman in her late twenties sits at one of the four desks. She glances up, and I immediately see that the last thing she wants to do so close to the end of her day is deal with me.
My mouth goes dry as I approach her desk hesitantly. "Excuse me?"
She looks up again, and up close, I can see that she is probably in her early thirties, not twenties. She has wavy red hair which is styled immaculately. So are her makeup and manicured nails. She doesn’t belong in a hospital. I glance at her nametag. Nina Farley should be in an ad for shampoo or some sort of beauty product, but not here.
When she waits for me to continue, I clear my throat. "Hi, uh...I’m looking for a nurse who signed my discharge papers ten years ago. I, um...I want to thank her for everything that she did for me back then."
Yeah, that sounds like utter bullshit even to my ears, and Nina is not dumb. Her eyes flick back and forth between Rhys and me.
