Page 5 of Yours Truly, Fall

“Ack!” Jerking my hand back, I shove off the railing, tripping backward over the wheels of the IV stand but catch myself before I hit the wall. With my arms spread wide to keep my balance, I catch the breath that had been flailing out from my chest. “Brandon!” Annoyance takes hold of me as I right myself and adjust the stand back into place. “That could have been bad.”

“Could have?” he rasps, but then winces as he shifts on the elevated mattress.

I come to his side to adjust the bed. “You can’t save everyone. You need to be careful.” I’m not sure if I’m madder because he scared the life out of me or almost lost his. It feels about equal right now.

And what’s with the jump scares tonight? First with Stacy and now him . . . let’s hope the rest of the night goes smoother and my heart remains intact where it belongs.

He clears his throat. “Some habits die hard.” His tone is breathless, tapering off at the end as he opens his mouth to take in more air.

The cardiac monitor screeches for attention, so I say, “You’re off duty, Captain, so lie back and try to relax. Resting is best for recovery and your heart.”

“I’m not a captain. I’m only a lieutenant.”

“I took a wild guess.” With a shrug, I grin at him. “You were a captain the last time we really spoke.”

He grins as if the response couldn’t be held in. The right cheek rises, but the left stays like the effort to lift both at the same time has taken too much of a toll on him. “Of the football team.” He chuckles. “I didn’t know you knew.”

I want to fuss about his pillow, but I don’t, keeping my hands to myself this time. Laughing under my breath, I say, “Hard not to know when a billboard was erected in your honor on the outskirts of town. How big do you think your face was?”

“A good ten feet. Big.” He chuckles, but his gaze drops to his hands in front of him. Peeking up at me, he says, “It was embarrassingly large.”

“Nothing embarrassing about a large head.” Oh gracious. “That didn’t come out right.” I debate whether I should just walk out and come back later like this never happened or ride it out. “I meant a big head is natural.” Oh my God. I clamp my hand over my mouth as if it can somehow stop me from making a fool of myself . . . a bigger fool than I already am, that is. I turn away because there’s no time for this kind of nonsense. I back toward the door. “I need to check on the other patients,” I lie, wishing I could evaporate instead of my cheeks heating like they are currently doing.

His brows pinch together with the absence of a grin as he stares at me. He reaches up and touches the top of his head.

Reaching out, I say, “Not your head. It’s perfectly normal.”

He tilts his chin down, and murmurs, “Thanks?”

“I should let you rest.” And shut my mouth, but I’ll keep that to myself, which seems to be something I’m not currently capable of doing. “Let me know if you need anything. The call button is on the remote tucked at your side.” With his eyes locked on me like I’m about to make a prison break, I open the door. “Oh . . .” Forgetting I’m here to do a job, I turn back. “I almost forgot to ask. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” he replies with a faint grin.

“I can imagine. I’ll check on you in a little while.” I start out the door when I hear, “Nurse?”

When I look over my shoulder, my expression lifts as if it naturally brightens when I see this man. “Yes?”

“Thanks for checking on me.”

My lips tighten, pursed to the side before I nod twice. “It’s my job.” I walk out of the room, confused more than anything else. I’m used to being called nurse. Nurse is perfectly acceptable, except when you’ve known the man your whole life. What the hell? My feet stop beneath me, a screech from the rubber meeting the linoleum flooring piercing my ears. Does he not rem . . .? No way. That’s not possible.

I may not have seen him a lot or given him much time of day, but we’ve been around each other, even in smaller groups at my house more recently. There’s no way he doesn’t know who I am. That would be literally impossible.

So why do I get the feeling he doesn’t remember my name, or me, at all?

I rush to the nurses’ station and drop into my seat, pulling myself to the desk on the wheels of the chair. He said it so politely. I scoff. Like I’m a total stranger. “Nurse?” I mimic, gritting my teeth. Are you kidding me? We’ve known each other too long to ever forget, but then the word from the chart shines like a sign at night in my brain. Concussion.

Wow . . .

Could he . . .?

“No,” I reply to myself. Is it possible?

Not a chance.

But . . .

It’s not as impossible as I’d like to believe. Does he have amnesia?