I frowned. No, that wasn’t it at all.
Let’s go, Swiss Cheese, I snapped at my brain. His dad was the one who’d picked up and left. I had a vague picture of his mother in my mind. She was on the plumper side with the same ash-blond hair as Gray and a sweet smile. She always called us “boys,” and sometimes we had…brunch? I rubbed my head. I had no idea which memories were real and what I was concocting on the spot because it sounded nice.
Whatever Gray told the detective made her send me a pitying look. She clapped him on the shoulder and headed out of the room, her sensible pumps clicking on the floor as she marched down the hallway.
High-ho the dairy-o, the cheese stands alone.
Gray’s gaze was unreadable as he lingered in the doorway. If his body language was anything to go by, he was uncomfortable. He probably didn’t want to get close for fear of hurting me. Or maybe the amnesia was throwing him off. Whatever it was, I’d waited too damn long to have his arms around me again.
“Come here,” I said gruffly. “You’re much too far away.”
Hesitantly, he pushed off the door frame and came across the room. Even scrubs couldn’t disguise his physique—he was tall, broad-shouldered, and lean-hipped. Even though he was far from out of shape, his middle was a little soft, the result of too many meals out of a vending machine eaten on the go. An observer couldn’t see all that in his slightly loose scrubs, but I knew that body. Knew it as well as my own.
I wasn’t sure what was different, but at the core, one thing remained the same—everything about him spoke to me. Every single thing. It was disturbing and comforting all at the same time.
He stopped a few feet from my bed. “You’re looking good, Chris.”
Liar. “And yet I haven’t developed super-long arms.” I beckoned him even closer. “For God’s sakes, Gray, I don’t have anything contagious.”
He smiled faintly as he came closer still, resting his hands on the bed rail, right next to my cuffed one. His eyes were rounded and turned down at the corners, which always gave him the look of a perpetually sad dog. Those whiskey-colored eyes were usually filled with genuine warmth and caring… everything that made him such a great doctor and an amazing partner.
And then it hit me. That’s what was different. His eyes. They were usually so open and honest and warm. They weren’t like that now. Instead, they were wary and slightly hard. I gazed at him silently, wondering what I’d done to make him look at me that way. I knew without even asking that he wouldn’t tell me. Dr. Michaels had already bent my ear about remembering things in my own time and how damaging it could be for someone else to try and fill in my blanks.
I sat up slowly, wincing as my body protested. I didn’t care. I had a feeling a kiss from Gray was worth the trouble. But when I stretched up to meet him, his eyes widened, and he stepped back. He cleared his throat as he reached out with a gentle hand and eased me back down. He could teach Nurse Brenda a thing or two about knowing your own damned strength.
“You need your rest,” he said, rubbing my shoulder in soothing circles.
Why don’t you want to kiss me? I couldn’t push the words past my suddenly raw throat. And was that a burning sensation behind my eyes? Was that…usual for me? Christ, if I was a bloody crybaby by nature, I was going to ring for Brenda to jab me with that needle again—this time, in the throat.
Once I had myself under control, I let out a slow breath. “Why do I feel like there’s a lot you’re not telling me?” I asked quietly.
His hand stilled, but he didn’t look offended. A slight smile crossed that soft, expressive mouth again. “Because you’ve always been a suspicious bastard, Chris, and clearly, that hasn’t changed. Now get some rest. There will be time enough for all your questions.”
“You won’t go anywhere?” I asked.
“Not until you fall asleep.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he bit his lip instead. “I’ll be right here.”
I looked at his hand and then at my cuffed wrist a little forlornly. “I wish I could hold your hand.”
He paused, and I wondered if he’d finally say what he wanted to say. No such luck. After a few moments, he went and pulled the visitor’s chair close to my bedrail. When he sat in it, he was perfectly positioned to take my hand. I sighed with relief once his hand was secure in mine.
“I’ll see what we can do about this cuff tomorrow.” He brushed my dark, lank hair back from my forehead—it could use a good wash. Now that I thought about it, my body could use one, too. Maybe that was why Gray suddenly found me repulsive. “Right now, just rest, baby.”
He looked surprised even as the endearment crossed his lips, and that confused me even further. How far apart had we drifted? I closed my eyes, suddenly exhausted beyond belief.
Maybe I didn’t know some things, like where I’d been or where I came from. Or who had tattooed Maxim behind my ear and why former me had found that hilarious. I didn’t know what foods I liked or what I did for a living…. I furrowed my brow. All right, there was a lot I didn’t fucking know right now. But I did know this: whatever I had done to make Gray so hesitant with me, I would fix. No matter what.
I fell asleep with his hand secure in mine. I squeezed it, reassuring myself, even half-asleep, that he was still there.
He didn’t squeeze back.
4
When I woke, it was well after five in the morning, and Gray was gone. So were the handcuffs, so I acknowledged—albeit begrudgingly—that he’d made good on both of his promises. He hadn’t left before I fell asleep, and he’d assured Detective Pitbull that I wasn’t a flight risk.
My morning was full of the usual hospital fun—bloodwork, vitals, and another meeting with Dr. Michaels. He seemed pleased with my progress even though my mind still resembled Swiss cheese. The counselors at Camp Don’t You Wish You’d Just Died decided a fun pre-lunch activity would be removing my catheter. I stumbled to the bathroom several times afterward, slow as molasses but glad to be up and moving. “Up and moving” was two steps closer to getting the fuck out of here.
Gray didn’t show up again until after I’d finished lunch—and by lunch, I meant I’d sucked down two kid-sized containers of cranberry juice cocktail, a bowl of grapes, and another dry-ass turkey sandwich. I had to admit that I enjoyed every dry bite of that sandwich.
I was starting to figure out how the hospital cafeteria broke your will. One day, you’re shoving aside your tray with disdain, praying to the Food Gods to rain a little something down on you from Cheeseburger Heaven. By day three, you’re pathetically grateful for anything that showed up on a tray. I was now eagerly marking the time until I could order a cheese omelet for breakfast. They’d said no to bacon and sausage yesterday, but today was a new day. I planned to renew my request for pork products because hope was a stubborn bastard, and apparently, so was I.
Gray was still on shift, dressed in another pair of blue scrubs and a long-sleeved white shirt underneath. He had two coffees in his hands and gave me one before sitting in my visitor chair. Across the room. I stared at him pointedly over my coffee cup as I sipped. After a few moments, he let out an exasperated huff. I raised an eyebrow, and he finally gave in. He stood and scooted the chair closer to the bed… the end of the bed.