She nods. “A few times.”

“Do they like me?”

“They love you.” There’s no sugary coating to her words as they tumble from her mouth without reservation. “They know I’m safe with you and they know I’m happy. I mean that’s part of it, but they know you’re a good man. To them, those are the only things that matter.”

Her hand covers mine on the table and I want so much to pull her onto my lap, bury my face in her hair and kiss her senseless. Since I’ll never be able to thank her enough for all she’s done for me, I let those words stay in my head. Sounding lame right now is not high on my priority list.

When her eyes lock with mine, something passes between us. Her lips pull at the corners and her smile is so soft and sweet. It makes me want nothing more than to taste her, take her, and make her mine. But I know I can’t take that from her. I can’t kiss her and muddle everything up. It’s selfish and wrong, but damn that doesn’t make me want it less.

“Let’s get back out there. I think I saw some brownies on that plate.” Letting the moment pass, she stands from her seat, handing me my crutches.

As we make our way out of the kitchen, we pass an opening into the living room. “Hold up,” I call her back when my eyes land on a few pictures hanging up and standing on a side table.

Following behind me, Grace and I make our way into the spacious room. There’s a gigantic television mounted to the wall, a feature my father insisted on I’m sure. But what draws my attention is a picture of me in a baseball uniform. Lifting it from its spot in the entertainment center, I hold it in my hands, staring at a younger version of myself that I can’t exactly place.

“You’re really good,” Grace fills me in. “At baseball, I mean,” she clarifies, a red flush heating her cheeks.

“You’ve seen me play?”

“Not when you were this young, but more recently yes. It was a charity game. You played against the police department.”

Flipping through the dusty files of my brain, I stop on something that feels familiar. “Ian was there. Wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” she croaks.

“And we lost?”

Nodding, a smile peeks out from behind her hand covering her mouth.

“That’s all I remember. The rest is kind of fuzzy.” Frustration settles in and I make my way over to the brown leather couch. Sinking into its softness, I try so fucking hard to remember more.

“You got hurt,” Grace supplies for me. “Pulled a muscle and hit your head on the ground. You put up a big fight about not having a concussion, but I think you definitely had one.”

“What happened?” Grasping for a piece of anything that will make the day come back into focus, I turn in my seat, letting my eyes fall to Grace and her beauty.

On a deep shuddery breath, she simply says, “I took care of you.”

And even though she doesn’t say it, I know she means that she always will, too.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” I’ve been on edge since we arrived back at Grace’s apartment after my parents’ house. It’s one thing not to remember everyone and everything, but to have all the things you should remember be thrown in your face all day—well, it’s unnerving. I couldn’t sleep now if I tried.

“Sure,” Grace agrees, offering to make popcorn while I pick something out. Of course out of the 500 channels, there’s nothing on.

“How about The Day After Tomorrow?” Grace suggests.

Since I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen it, I say, “Okay, what’s it about?”

“The end of the world,” she says in her best doom and gloom voice.

I laugh, “Real uplifting stuff, huh?”

“You always make fun of me when it’s on. Or you did. Shit,” she curses, trying to recover her words.

“It’s okay.” Taking her hand in mine helps settle her a little bit. “Tell me about it. I want to hear.”

With her eyes locked on our joined hands, she swallows hard and takes a deep breath. “Well, you hate this movie, but since you know I love it, you usually keep your mouth shut when I have it on. It was a joke between us.”

“Something tells me there are a lot of jokes I’ll have to relearn.” Squeezing her tiny hand settles us somehow.

Quietly, she mutters, “And I want to teach you.”

My body is immediately at attention, but the opening of the movie cuts through the moment. With our hands still joined together, we watch the movie. Her words echo around us, a silent reminder that she’ll be there to show me the way.

If I’ll let her.

And that’s the root of the struggle. Deep in my soul, I feel connected to her. I can’t deny that. I know it’s beyond what we once had. It’s about what we have today, what we had yesterday.

It’s in the lyrics of the song she sang to me when I was in my coma. The tune of her song is imprinted on my heart. But it’s all I can offer her.

That’s when the pain settles in.

She deserves more than a man who only thinks he loves her because she waited for him to wake up.

Guilt flows through my veins, setting me on edge once again. Grace notices it and wraps her fingers around mine even tighter. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I lie. “I think I’m just more tired than I thought. I’m going to go to bed.” Lamely, I push myself up from the couch. “Raincheck?”

She nods, handing me my other crutch. Side by side, we walk down the hall to where our rooms are. Stopping at my door first, I lean against the wall, searching for something to say.

The irony is that there are a million things I feel I need to tell her, but the only ones that come out are, “Goodnight, Gracie.”

After changing and settling myself in bed, my eyes begin to droop, weighed down heavily by my exhaustion. Everything about today swirls through my brain, pairing together her parents with their names and the stories she told me about them. The whispers I overheard of people asking her how I was doing and if I remembered anything.

Would this always be my life?

Hushed silence everywhere I go.

Linking my fingers together behind my head, I stare up at the ceiling as if it holds the answers to all my questions.

When the sound of Grace crying filters through the wall, I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut.

She’s crying. And I know it has to do with me.

Burying down my uncertainties about whether or not she wants me at her side, I make my way over to her room. My need to make sure she’s okay outweighs any concerns I have over her not wanting me there.

Lightly tapping on the door, I say, “Hey,” through the thin wood. Whoever built this place didn’t think soundproofing was much of priority. I can hear her sniffling through the door. “You okay?”

Her soft footsteps make their way to the door, but she doesn’t open it. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for waking you up.”

“Can I come in?”

There’s a pause, and I worry that she’s going to turn me away. But instead, she opens the door, allowing me into her room.

And the instant I’m on the other side of the threshold, I know that this used to be the room we shared. Where her nightstand is covered with knickknacks and trinkets, the one on the other side is bare, only holding a simple alarm clock and an empty phone charger.

Fuck. I’m the biggest asshole in the world, making her stay in a room that only reminds her of what she used to have.

It’s a wonder I haven’t heard her crying more often.

“I’m fine really. Just overwhelmed from today.” As she speaks, my eyes fall to her T-shirt, forcing a bubble of laughter from my mouth.

“Nice shirt.” Written in big block letters the shirt says she loves me.

Or at least the man who used to be David Andrews.

Shocked surprise washes over her as she looks down. “Oh, shoot. Sorry.” Then when she turns around, I read the back and laugh even more.

“Shut up over there. You got it for me, you know.” Waggling a finger in my face, she feigns authority over me. But all I can focus on is the way her cheeks turn pink.