Forgotten Promises (The Promises Series Book 2) (4 page)

“I need to see him,” I tell her through a sob as I reach forward and steal the napkin from under her drink to wipe my eyes.

“Come with me, sweetheart,” she says, standing up and letting her chair scrape against the floor. A young couple swoops in like vultures, takeaway cups and pastries in hand, waiting to descend on the table in the busy shop. “Let’s see what we can do.”

“LOOK WHO’S HERE to see you, Ethan.”

I lazily turn toward the door as Mom’s voice cuts through the antiseptic atmosphere of this hospital room. I hate it. The hum of the machines, the constant beeping of the monitors, the smell of alcohol wipes—the combination is making my head swim. I’d do anything for some fresh air to try and clear the fog I’m in.

Mom steps to the side as she enters the room and a captivating sight fills the doorway. I smile and take in the vision in front of me. Before I can manage to string a set of coherent thoughts together, she’s made her way over to the bed and thrown her arms around me in a firm yet gentle hug. Not that I’m not enjoying having her pressed against me or anything, but my eyes widen as I look at my mom. I’m not really a touchy-feely person, especially with people I don’t know.

Mom notes the confusion that must be pretty evident on my face, and the girl tenses and then leans back, looking at me. Her expression appears almost hurt, like she was expecting a hug back or something. This is awkward.

“Blair’s been so worried about you. She hasn’t been allowed in until now. I struck a deal with the nurse; she can only be in here a couple of minutes,” Mom says, watching for my reaction a little too closely.

“Oh.” I’m not sure what they’re expecting me to say; I have no idea why she’d want to be in here.

Blair moves slowly back from the bed and glances at my mom and then back to me, looking as confused as I feel.

“Ethan, you know who I am, right?” she asks scrunching her nose and causing her black hipster looking glasses to slip a little.

I shift slightly and shake my head. “Sorry, no. I have no idea, I’ve seen so many nurses come and go out of here today already.”

This is obviously not what she wanted to hear; her eyes glaze over, and she whirls around to look at my mom who’s staring at me like I’ve just grown another head.

“Sweetheart, this is Blair, your girlfriend.”

Girlfriend? I look back to Blair, who’s now wiping furiously at her eyes. Shit, she’s crying. I don’t do girlfriends, never have—I’ve always favored hook-ups; that way I can be in, out and on my way without any drama. I pinch the bridge of my nose and then chance another quick glance at her. I wish I hadn’t; my chest feels like it’s being squeezed as I take in how broken she looks.

“I, I don’t understand,” I manage but this just seems to fuel the poor girl’s upset emotional state even more.

“I’m just going to fetch a doctor,” Mom announces, leaving me here with Blair. I have no idea what to say to her. How can she be my girlfriend? I’ve never seen her before. I feel bad that I’m making her cry.

“I’m sorry,” I offer quietly. I don’t know why I’m apologizing, but it seems like the right thing to do. She gives me a sad smile, but it only makes me feel worse. She seems almost embarrassed as she lowers her gaze to the floor. I’m uncomfortable as hell with this whole situation, but I can’t take my eyes off of her. I want to make her feel better, but I have no idea how. She’s fiddling with the hem of her long sleeved grey t-shirt. I watch in fascination as she picks invisible lint from her shirt, then from her yoga pants. Her head is down but she keeps glancing in my direction, then diverting her eyes when they meet mine.

Mom marches into the room with Doctor Moss hot on her heels. She asks Blair to step outside with them and then all three leave the room. I can just about see their heads from the internal window that faces into the hall. They’ve gathered outside for privacy, no doubt while they talk about me. No one closed the door as they left, though, and I can hear every word they’re saying. They should have just stayed in the room. Now I feel like a dick eavesdropping, but they’re speaking about me so I’m straining to make sure that I can hear everything.

“You said everything had gone well with the operation and that he might be a little confused; that’s not confused! He had no idea who Blair was,” my mom says hurriedly.

“Mrs. Jamison, with all due respect brain injuries are very complicated. We often can’t perceive the extent of the damage until the patient comes around. It’s perfectly normal in cases like Ethan’s for the patient to be confused, or experience some short-term memory loss.”

I’m trying to process what that all means when I hear Blair’s voice interject.

“He had no idea at all who I was. How can he not remember me, yet he knows who Moira is?”

“Like I’ve said, head injuries are very unpredictable. There are different areas of the brain that house short and long-term memory. It’s likely that the swelling Ethan experienced from the accident has resulted in his memory lapse.”

“Will this be permanent?” I hear Mom ask in an anxious voice.

“It’s too early to determine that, Mrs. Jamison. We’ll be running more tests over the next few days. It may be the case that his memory will return to normal in its own time.”

Fuck. I rub at my eyes with the heel of my hand and try relaxing my shoulders. How can this be happening to me?

Blair didn’t return to my room after the discussion out in the hall. I was kind of relieved at first, but now a little time has passed and I have an overwhelming urge to speak with her. How can I have forgotten my own girlfriend? I have so many questions that I want to ask her. How long have we been in a relationship? Where did we meet? Are we serious? I suppose I could ask my mom, but that just wouldn’t feel right. I need for them to tell me about the accident; I still don’t know what happened other than that it was a car crash. I’ve been back from my CT scan about fifteen minutes when my mom returns to my room.

“How are you feeling, honey? Did the doctors say anything more to you?”

“It was fine,” I answer. “I have to wait for Doctor Moss to come and explain the results.”

She takes the light blue leatherette seat by the side of the bed and rubs small circles into her temples.

“So, I’ve been talking to the doctors.”

“Okay, well by the sound of your voice, I’m guessing they didn’t tell you what you wanted to hear?” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and it confirms my suspicion. “Let me guess: they’ve realized my brain’s wired wrong?”

“No…they couldn’t find it!” she deadpans; it lightens the atmosphere for a nanosecond before the black cloud that seems to be following me descends on the room once more.

“Seriously though, Ethan, what can you remember? Did you not recognize Blair at all?”

“The last thing I can remember is practicing for the entrance exam for Eastman,” I tell her. “I don’t remember anything about Blair; I don’t even recognize her from school. Does she even go to West Point?”

“Yes,” is her only reply. We sit in an uncomfortable silence for what feels like an eternity.

“The doctors have advised me not to tell you any information about the crash; they think stress will hinder your memory returning. They want to wait and see if it starts to come back on its own.” I look at her and wonder if she’s joking for a moment, but her eyes are telling me that she’s not.

“This is bullshit!” I’m not sure why I’m raising my voice at her, but I’m beyond frustrated. “I have no fucking clue what I’m doing here. I’ve lost months of my life, and I’m not even allowed to ask why? Way to go on not stressing me out.” I know my heart rate has increased by the little machine displaying it at the side of the bed. I have an overpowering desire to smash the hell out of it. I feel so helpless. I hear my dad’s voice ring through my mind, telling me I’m pathetic and it stops my sudden rage-fuelled outburst dead in its tracks.

“Where’s Dad?”

Mom’s face falls; it doesn’t bode well and I’m positive it can’t be a good sign.

“I um…I’m not sure if the doctors would want me to tell you,” she says sheepishly.

“What the fuck Mom, just tell me where he is!” I shout, and she cowers back in her seat. I immediately feel like a prick. I’m acting like my father and I hate it.

“He’s in the hospital, too,” she finally concedes. “He was in the accident with you and Blair.”

Wait, what? Was Blair in the accident, too? “I don’t understand. Dad, Blair and I were all in the accident?” I ask.

“Yes, you were all in the car, your dad had come to collect you.”

I’m desperately trying to access some small memory, anything to tell me why we would all be in a car together. I hate the asshole; he’s the last person on earth I’d call to come and collect me from anywhere.

“Why hasn’t he been in here?” I ask. She runs her fingers over her hair, then leans forward resting her forehead in one hand. “He’s in the ICU too; he can’t come in here.”

I’m about to ask what’s wrong with him, but I stop myself when I realize that I don’t even care. “Oh,” is all I manage. It’s probably not normal for a son not to want to know if his dad is okay, but then again, it’s probably not normal for a father to beat his son whenever the mood strikes. I let out a long breath in comprehension of the fact that if I were told that he was dead right now I’d be relieved.

I squeeze my eyes shut and wish I could just remember Blair, even if it were just one tiny little thing, any minute detail; I’d take it. Her tear-stained face has been haunting me since she left the room this afternoon. I can’t shake the image from my mind, and it’s like her pain was tangible, a completely solid entity that I could have reached out and grasped. It dawns on me that she had an IV stand with her when she was in here earlier; I have an unexpected need to know if she’s okay. I’m not sure why, but her hug felt like the only thing that has made sense to me since I woke up in this nightmare. Considering the clusterfuck of a situation I’m lying in right now, I could really use another one.