Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“It’s nice to meet you, Autumn.”
She nods before letting the door close between us. I pop another cracker in my mouth and continue staring, hopeful she’ll return on her own accord since willing it didn’t work last time.
Nurse Autumn.
I could get used to her care.
Suddenly, being laid up for a few days isn’t so bad, not when I have company like her hanging around. Lying back, I stare at the TV, but like any other time I’ve been given too much room to think, my mind starts spinning. From the nurse to the night of the fire, images begin to blur as I eat another cracker stack. And before I have a chance to get invested in the highlight reel, my eyes grow heavy. Exhaustion commands I give in sooner rather than later.
Leaning my head back, I don’t have the energy or strength to fight this battle, so I close my eyes, letting darkness win another round.
CHAPTER 5
AUTUMN
Is this a joke?
It’s a cruel one if it is.
Other than the dry throat, he sounded like himself and looked at me like . . . like . . . well, like the nurse I am and not the girl he’s known his whole life. It just doesn’t make sense that I am the only thing he can’t remember. Well, me and the fall that sent him to the hospital.
My eyes roll back without permission as I drop onto the chair behind the nurses’ station again.
Brandon was the one who pursued me. He was the one who asked me, and the jerk hurt me that night. I was a fool then for trusting him, and now he’s made me into a bigger fool by forgetting me altogether. As if the wound didn’t have enough of his salt already poured on it.
Rolling forward, I poise my fingers above the keyboard. How does he not remember me? More importantly, why does he not remember me?
Is there a black hole in his memories where I used to live, or has his timeline been stitched back together like I never existed?
I roll my shoulders and shake my head rapidly, my thoughts flying about like bees buzzing around a hive. I’m his caregiver for the night, not an old . . . whatever we were. Not that there is a we or ever was. Ugh. Nothing makes sense.
I’m not hungry, but drink the remains of the shake since Brandon scored my dinner for the night. I have gum. I can survive the rest of my shift. And Dolly will have a big breakfast waiting for everyone when I return. She loves to start the day out on a full stomach, even if it is my bedtime. I’m sure I’ll be falling into bed stuffed.
After entering the last of the data from the stack of files, I grasp the pile to my chest and walk down the hall. Room 8 has me pausing, wondering what joke the universe is playing. Brandon Culver is not only my patient but also appears to have a memory block where I’m concerned. A wave of irritation usually drifts through me, but this time, the annoyance stays at bay. This time, my heart clenches for him. He could have died.
Moving closer, I adjust the metal clip attached above his room number, where we place pertinent information like fall risk, and run my finger over the Maltese cross with crossed axes. The added adornment is only used when first responders are patients, a small symbol to honor them so everyone who enters knows who’s on the other side of the door.
I glance back at the door. Me and the fall? We’re the lost memories, huh? I can’t stop thinking about it, so I grit my teeth and chant the word “professional” in my head until it drowns out the noise. I’m a darn good nurse and will nurse him back to health. Then I can go back to pretending he doesn’t exist. “Oh, Brandon,” I whisper, then walk away to archive the files in the records room. “Why do you always have to be my problem?”
What a tease destiny has become. Fate is either cruel to a fault or has some master plan in play. Either way, it’s a funny, not humorous, way of doing things.
On my way, I poke my head into the break room to see if there’s anything I need to straighten or clean. I spy the full coffee pot and a small box of donuts that were probably left from the morning shift almost twenty-four hours ago. If I’m desperate, I know where to come.
Continuing two doors down, I punch in the code and shoulder the door open, setting the pile in the archive bin. I balk in the quiet room, my laughter bouncing off the wall. “Why do you care, Autumn?” The words are exasperated. I’ve thought about him more in the last few hours than I have in the past decade. Whether he remembers me or not doesn’t matter because he’s more of an enemy than a friend.