Shaking her head, she sighs. “No. He’s still working through it all. I’m shocked he even wants to see me.”

“Well you two are–”

She laughs. “Please tell me you’re going to end that sentence explaining what we are. Because I have no clue. We were hanging out. That’s all. Something casual, something fun. Then the smallest flicker of feeling started to come to life and he was nearly blown up.” Searching for her thoughts in the bottom of her second glass of wine, Jade shifts on the sofa, twisting to face me. “I was really starting to like him. To enjoy my time with him. And I think he felt the same way, too. But now . . . no, you know what? Forget it. It’s not that important.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” I wave away her easy dismissal of her feelings. “If he’s important to you and you’re important to him–”

A flippant laugh breaks through my mini-lecture. “Me important to him?” she jokes. “Are you kidding? Ian is the king of ‘this is nothing serious.’ I was nothing more than a fling for him.”

“Okay, that might be true of who Ian used to be. But now, he’s changed. His life has been thrown upside down and you’re one of the pieces he wants to hold on to. He wants you there. You can’t ignore that, sweetie. So don’t turn it around and say it isn’t important. Help him. Build up what you lost, no matter how small you thought it was, and learn to move forward together.”

Pulling me into her arms, Jade let’s out a deep sigh of relief. “You’re right. It’s just been so difficult.”

Holding her at arm’s length, I look into her dark brown eyes. “Yeah, tell me about it.” I laugh, a small humorless sound.

“So what are you going to do?” She adds more wine to my still somewhat full glass, after which she refills her own.

Shrugging, I offer her the only answer I know. “The same thing I just told you.” Taking another sip, I think about all the memories I have of me and David. Of his sweet, loving ways. Of his love for me and for his job. Of his passion for life. Deep in my heart, a sense of duty, born only from love rises in my chest. “He might not remember me now, but I’ll get him there.”

We clink glasses, toasting our joint promises to help the men in our lives become whole again.

“Good morning,” I chirp, opening the door slightly. Determined not to let his lost memories stop me from loving him, I walk into his hospital room bright and early, not at all deterred by my sleepless night.

Dangling a paper bag in my hand and a drink tray in the other, I announce, “I brought some breakfast. And real coffee.” My voice pulls his attention away from the window. Overlooking the city, giant skyscrapers almost touch the white, puffy clouds. It’s a serene view. The perfect place to heal. But as David turns toward me, he looks anything but peaceful.

He winces slightly as he adjusts himself in the bed. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a job? Somewhere else to be? Where are my parents?”

Ignoring the touch of meanness in his questions, I explain, “It’s Saturday. School’s closed. And your parents are home, sleeping. Probably for the first time in weeks. When I left yesterday,” I continue as I pull his coffee from the cardboard cup holder, “I let them know I’d be spending the night at Jade’s and that I could be here early.” Yesterday when I left, I asked his parents if they’d be okay with letting me have a few hours this morning with him on my own. I think they were so exhausted from the weeks of being here twenty-four seven and elated knowing he was going to make a full physical recovery they were all too willing to sleep in for once.

“Jade? I guess I’m supposed to know her, too,” he snips.

“So you’re a teacher?” His question, solidifying how much he doesn’t know me, slices through my heart.

Nodding, I swallow back the lump in my throat. “Yes, I am. High school English.” He doesn’t say anything, but there’s something in the tension vibrating off him that makes me continue to tell him more about me and the connection we share. “Your chief, Gallagher.” He nods, and I don’t dare ask if it’s because he actually remembers him or if he’s just accepting the information. “He’s married to my principal. You helped me land the job, so when you were injured, I was able to take a few days off. I never left your side in those days.” The anguish, the gut-wrenching sickness I felt in those days not knowing if he’d survive crashes into me, forcing tears to well in my eyes. “When you were stable, I went back to work. But I was always thinking about you here.”

Without saying anything, he nods again. My cue to stop talking about how much I love him, how much I care about him. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want to hear any more of it.

Settling into the chair at his side, I see the dark bags under his eyes. “You didn’t sleep well.”

“No,” he snaps. “I didn’t. My head is fucking throbbing.” Anger radiates off him, shocking me into silence. “I was up all fucking night trying to remember everything and before I knew it, the sun was up.”

“It’s okay.” My attempt to calm him is met with more anger. Bordering on rage, the look on his face is almost scary. “Just ask me what you want to know. I’ll try my best to help.”

“Who are you?” he grits out. “You left yesterday without answering.”

The air flies from my lungs. Why hadn’t I thought of this? Of him being angry and hurt over losing his memory. Of how he must feel like an alien in his own life. Gathering my strength, I lock my eyes with his, searching there for some semblance of the man I know is still in there somewhere.

“I’m Grace McCann.” Keeping my voice steady, I continue, “I’m your girlfriend.”

A look of surprise moves over his face before it changes into something that looks a lot calmer. “I figured it was something like that,” he states, a matter of fact tone.

Well, that wasn’t the reception I was planning on.

“Here’s your coffee.” I hand him a paper cup, warning him to be careful. “The nurses said you’re supposed to be on a liquid diet for the day,” I add, even though he’s not listening to me.

With an air of distractedness, he thanks me.

Stupid pride nearly bursts in my chest when he tells me the coffee is good. I want to tell him, all I did was make it the way you like it, but something inside warns me that those words will only make him angrier.

“Look,” he calls my attention as he places his cup on the table. The scratches and bruises that decorated his arm on the first day have now faded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so mad.”

“I understand. I mean I don’t. I don’t know what it’s like to be in your shoes. That’s not what I’m saying,” I ramble, trying desperately to backtrack over what was a monumentally stupid comment. “What I’m trying to say is that it’s okay to be mad. Confused and hurt even.”

He nods, turning his head back toward the window. The bright rays of sun bounce off the shiny windows of the building next to us, blinding almost. “At least I’m alive, right?” Sarcasm mixes with hope in his words.

Cutting through what would be my answer, another voice responds to his statement. “No thanks to me.”

“Ian,” I gasp, shooting up from my seat. “I . . . Jade said . . . You’re here . . .”

“Gracie girl.” Ian smiles at me and then looks up at the nurse pushing him into the room in his wheelchair. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Hugging him as tightly as I can, I feel the need to squeeze the life out of him. “I see you’ve lifted your no visitor policy, huh?”

“Well, when I heard this goon was finally awake, I knew I had to come down here.”

“Who’s this?” David chimes in from his bed, looking over at us.

Ian looks up at me, confused and worried. The only thing I can do is smile at him, offer him a touch of reassurance that it’ll be okay. Even if I don’t believe it myself.