The Men On Fire: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set)

by Samantha Christy

  Justin points his fork at J.D. “See? Months,” he says to Brett. “Months, not years. Amanda is playing you.”

  Brett gets up off the couch and then curses when he walks using his sore toe.

  “You think she’s got something on the side?” he says defensively. “What are you trying to say, Justin? That she’s stepping out on me?”

  Justin holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m not saying that at all,” he says. “I just wonder how long you’re going to continue to be a doormat. You do everything for Leo. You handle the finances. You pay the nanny. You schedule his wellness visits. What is Amanda even contributing to your lives, other than her paychecks?”

  The alarm goes off, but it’s only for EMS. It has effectively ended the conversation, however. Brett stares at Justin like maybe something he said has gotten to him.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to see Joelle’s name and quickly get up, making my way to the bunk room for privacy.

  “Joelle, what’s up?”

  “She’s awake,” she says.

  “Sara’s awake?” I ask in disbelief. “As in, she’s talking?”

  “Well, she’s not talking, but she’s communicating with head nods and hand signals. She’s exhausted, but she seems aware.”

  “How do you know she’s aware?”

  “Because we’ve been asking her questions about her life.”

  “She’s cognizant?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Are you coming by today? I’ll explain everything when you get here.”

  I look at the clock. “My shift is over in twenty minutes. I’ll be there shortly afterward.”

  After we hang up, I stare at the clock.

  Twenty minutes have never gone by so slowly.

  ~ ~ ~

  Joelle is outside Sara’s hospital room talking with the doctor when I arrive.

  “What did you mean by she’s cognizant but she’s not?” I ask, walking up and interrupting their conversation.

  “Hi, Denver,” Joelle says. “We think Sara has experienced some memory loss.”

  “If she’s not talking, how can you know that?”

  “Because she’s able to respond to commands,” she tells me.

  Dr. Miller tries to explain. “We’ve asked Sara a series of yes and no questions. Easy ones like ‘Is my lab coat purple?’ or ‘Is the wall yellow?’ We instructed her to give us a thumbs up for yes and a thumbs down for no. Or a nod of her head vs a shake. And she’s able to follow those simple instructions.”

  “So how can you tell she has memory loss?” I ask the doctor.

  “Remember how I said the MRI showed damage to parts of the brain? Some of that damage was to the hippocampus—the area of the brain dealing with memory. Damage to this area of the brain is likely to cause some type of memory destruction, be it the inability to make new memories, or the inability to recall old ones.”

  “But won’t she remember things over time?” I ask.

  “If her trauma were psychological, perhaps. But being that it’s physical, it’s unlikely. In these cases, anything that does ‘come back’ is merely a confabulation.”

  “Confabulation?” I ask. “You’ve lost me.”

  “A memory error,” he says. “A fabrication of a memory based on what other people have said.”

  “So what doesn’t she remember?”

  “A lot,” Joelle says sadly.

  “We think she may have lost several years of her memory,” Dr. Miller says.

  “How could you possibly know that if Sara can’t speak?”

  “I asked her a series of questions about her life,” Joelle says.

  “Like what?”

  “I asked about Oliver.”

  “She doesn’t remember him?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Not even after I told her how they met. I told her as much about him as I knew. I told her we’ve contacted him, and I was sure he’s worried about her and trying his best to get here.”

  “How long did you say they’d been dating?”

  “More than a year.”

  “What else did you ask her?”

  “I asked if she knew Anna, the driver of the car. She doesn’t.”

  I sigh. “That may be the silver lining here.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Does she remember her parents’ deaths?” I ask.

  “Thankfully, yes. I’d hate to have to break that to her and have her relive it all over again. And she remembers Lydia. I think she remembers her fondly, so we can assume she’s not aware of their falling out a few years back.”

  “She lost somewhere between two and four years?” I ask.

  “Three as far as I can tell,” she says. “I showed her some pictures of her paintings I found on-line. She only remembers the ones she did before she started selling them.”

  “Maybe if you show her pictures of Oliver and Anna,” I ask.

  “I don’t have any. I guess we could try to find some. Do you think that would help spark her memory, Dr. Miller?”

  He shakes his head. “It’s unlikely, but not impossible. As I’ve said a dozen times, brain injuries are all different. Sometimes what you think will happen, doesn’t. However, I wouldn’t go getting your hopes up—or hers, because I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  “But it wouldn’t hurt to try?” I ask.

  “No. It wouldn’t hurt to try. I’m sure she’ll have a lot of questions about her life. To Sara, yesterday was three years ago. She’ll want to try and piece together everything she missed. Any photos or letters or videos you have may help her not feel so disconnected from her life.”

  “Can I see her?” I ask. “Did you say anything about me?”

  “I told her the firefighter who rescued her had come by to check on her.”

  I motion to the door. “Would you mind?”

  “Go right ahead. I’ll come with you in case she gets scared.”

  “I’m not that ugly, am I?” I joke.

  She laughs. “No. You’re definitely not that ugly.”

  I approach Sara’s bed with caution. They have the head of the bed elevated, but they have bumpers on either side of her to keep her in place. It makes me wonder if she’s regained any muscle control at all since my brief visit yesterday morning. Her eyes are closed, but I see they’ve taken the soft restraints off her wrists.

  “She’s been sleeping most of the time,” Joelle says as we make our way to the bed. “Her PT sessions are very tiring, as is the increased time off the vent.”

  Joelle catches me noticing that the ventilator is not breathing for Sara at the moment. “Over four hours,” she says. “She’s going for the record.”

  That a girl, I think as I look down at Sara.

  Then her eyes flutter open. They are glassy at first, but as she looks from Joelle to me, her eyes seem to gain focus. I see the numbers on the heart monitor over her head go up as her heart rate accelerates and she fully wakes.

  Her eyes look into mine and, suddenly, I’m taken back to the aftermath of her accident when we were staring at each other in the small mirror on the visor. Only this time, she gazes into my eyes like someone who is happy to see me. I think I even see the hint of a smile. But she doesn’t even know me. Still, the look she’s giving me …

  She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She closes her mouth and licks her lips. Then she tries again. I lean closer because it looks like she has something to say.

  “Oliver,” she says, in not even a whisper. It was more like she mouthed the word, but the force of her exhale that came with it seemed to produce the slightest sound.

  I look from Joelle back to Sara.

  “No, Sara,” Joelle says. “This isn’t Oliver. This is Denver. Denver is one of the firefighters who rescued you. He’s the one who’s been sitting with you all this time.”

  Sara closes her eyes briefly. She looks sad.

  “I’m sorry I’m not him,” I say. “
I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

  I don’t tell her that I suspected he might be at the bottom of the river. I don’t tell her that I called my buddy at NYPD and he said that was unlikely. I don’t tell her that as soon as I leave here, I’m going to leave a rather strongly worded message for her so-called boyfriend.

  She continues to stare at me. She doesn’t look at Joelle or even at the nurse who is in here changing her IV bag. She only looks at me.

  I walk closer to the bed. “Are you scared?” I ask her.

  She shakes her head.

  “Do you know where you are and what happened to you?”

  She nods.

  “Good, I’m glad they told you.”

  She shakes her head.

  “They didn’t tell you?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and then she points to me. She can barely lift her hand off the bed, but her intention is clear.

  “Me? I told you?”

  She nods. Then her eyes close and the ventilator machine beeps.

  Krista reconnects her to the ventilator. “Almost five hours this time. She’s really improving.”

  I lean over the bed and whisper in her ear. “Did you hear that, Sara? You’re still a rock star.”

  Sara doesn’t open her eyes, but I could swear I see a little smirk turn up the corners of her mouth. Then her hand opens and searches around for something on the bed. I don’t know what she’s searching for. The call button maybe? I put it in her hand, but she immediately lets it go and grabs my hand instead. Then she relaxes her hand in mine.

  I turn and ask Joelle, “Did she do this with you?”

  “No. I could tell she recognized me, but it was nothing like the reaction she had when she saw you.”

  “That’s because she thought I was her boyfriend.”

  The nurse nods to our entwined hands. “But now she knows you’re not, yet she’s still drawn to you. Could be she remembers you from the accident. Or at least, her subconscious does.”

  I sit with Sara for hours. Even in sleep, she doesn’t let go of my hand. After Joelle leaves, I get out the book and read Sara a few more chapters.

  She wakes up again before I leave, and the nurse asks her some more questions, which only confirms what they told me earlier—she lost three years of her life. Three years. Gone—the instant the car rammed into the side of the bridge.

  I think back to where I was three years ago compared to where I am now. It would be devastating for me to have lost all that time. I can’t imagine what Sara must be feeling. I pray she will soon be able to use her voice. Dr. Miller assured us there is a speech therapist coming tomorrow. Sara’s in for a busy day. She’ll have physical therapy tomorrow and every day after that, and while the doctor is hopeful she’ll regain the ability to speak, eat, and walk, he never fails to remind us that with brain injuries, you just never know.

  At the end of the day, I find myself hesitant to leave, but I know I can’t sleep here. I’m no one to Sara. Not a relative, not a boyfriend, not even a friend. I have no right to sit and hold her hand, yet I do. And she seems to want me to.

  She opens her eyes again before I walk out of the room.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow if that’s okay with you,” I tell her.

  She nods weakly, as if the events of the day have worn her out completely.

  “You’ve got this, Sara.”

  Before she falls back to sleep, her thumb points to the ceiling. That small gesture—that tiny movement—lets me know just how strong she really is. And as I walk out of the hospital, I do something I haven’t done in days. I smile.

  Chapter Ten

  I called Oliver again last night. And this time, I didn’t hold back. I told him everything. I told him about her brain injury. The coma. I even told him she doesn’t remember anything from the last three years—including him—and that the doctor says those memories are likely gone forever. I told him I don’t care if he’s in the middle of the Australian Outback, he needs to get his ass back here and help her.

  When I get to the hospital this morning, there is a therapist in Sara’s room. I stand in the doorway and watch him try to get Sara to play cards. Sara’s muscles still aren’t working properly, and she has a hard time following commands. I watch her get frustrated when the guy asks her to find and flip over a certain card.

  Then he sees me watching and waves me in. “I’m Neil,” he says, standing up to greet me. “We’re just finishing up here.” He puts the playing cards on her side table. “She’s making progress, aren’t you, Sara?”

  She doesn’t answer. She just stares at me the way she did yesterday.

  “How long before she has more therapy?” I ask.

  “I’ll be back this afternoon.” He looks at Sara before he leaves. “You’ll be beating me at poker in no time at all.”

  Sara’s eyes follow me around the room as I make my way to the chair Neil vacated. It doesn’t take me long to realize something is different. I smile at her. “Your fever finally broke,” I say. “Thank God. It was like Siberia in here. I’m not sure if you remember, but they tried to turn you into an ice cube, Sara. I’ve never had ice packs in my armpits, but I don’t imagine it feels good.” I drape my coat over the back of the chair. “Guess I won’t be needing this anymore. It’s June, you know. And June in New York can be hot.” I laugh. “I probably look like a nut carrying around a coat.”

  My phone vibrates and I look at it, happy to finally see Oliver’s name show up.

  “I’ll be right back, Sara.”

  I hop up and leave her room before answering.

  “This is Denver,” I say.

  “Oliver Compton,” he says. “You’ve been trying to reach me?”

  “It’s about fucking time,” I say. “She’s been here for over a week.”

  He ignores my comment. “She doesn’t remember anything?” he asks. “As in nothing? Are you sure?”

  “As far as we can tell, she’s lost several years of memories.”

  “Wow. That must be … wow. How is she other than that?”

  “Improving, thank God. It was touch-and-go for a while. But she’s still got a long road ahead. Why the hell did it take you so long to call me?”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” he says with that slight British accent I heard on his voicemail. “It couldn’t be helped. I was on holiday with some mates. A cruise that just returned yesterday. No mobile service.”

  “For ten days?” I ask. “You were on a cruise all that time?”

  “The cruise was just a week.”

  “Then how about before that? Didn’t it worry you when you couldn’t reach Sara?”

  “Sara is an artist,” he says. “It wasn’t unusual for her not to ring me for days, or weeks even, if she was working on a painting. I wasn’t in the states on the day you said she had her accident. I travel a lot, and I went to England for my mate’s bachelor party trip straight away after I left Morocco.”

  I try to wrap my head around the unbelievable timing of it all. The guy takes a cruise where he can’t be reached the same week Sara has her accident? Something just doesn’t add up.

  “She really doesn’t remember me?” he asks.

  “I’m afraid not. I was hoping you could bring pictures or something to try and help spark her memory.”

  “But the way you said it in your message, the doctor doesn’t think her memory will ever come back.”

  “That’s right, he doesn’t. But he also said each case is different. And I’m not giving up hope. Miracles do happen.”

  “Miracles?” he asks. “They think it would take a miracle for her memory to return?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Who exactly are you, mate?” he asks, his tone turning defensive. “You said you’re a firefighter?”

  “I’m one of the firefighters who responded to her car crash.”

  “Do firefighters always take it upon themselves to track down loved ones? Isn’t that the job of the police?”

  “The po
lice found her cousin, Joelle. Joelle told me about you. And I tracked down your phone number. Listen, are you able to come to the hospital? You’ve already missed so much. She’s in a very vulnerable state.”

  There’s silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Oliver?”

  “I, uh … I just got off the plane,” he says. “I have to go through customs. I’ll come straight after.”

  “Good. Sara will be happy to hear it.”

  “I thought you said she didn’t remember me.”

  “She doesn’t. But when I walked in the hospital room last night, she thought I was you. I guess Joelle told her about you, and then when I showed up, she just assumed. But she looked sad when Joelle told her I wasn’t.”

  “Just how much time have you spent there, mate?”

  I get that he doesn’t want to think about another man sitting with his girlfriend for the past ten days. But I’m not about to feel guilty about it. He should have turned on his goddamn phone and paid the fees or whatever to call from the middle of the ocean.

  “She was all alone,” I remind him.

  “Right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Good. I’ll see you then.”

  I walk back into Sara’s room and tell her the good news. “That was Oliver. He’s coming very soon. He was on a cruise, and I guess there was no cell service where he was. He said he’s going through customs at JFK, but then he’ll be here.”

  She stares at me and blinks.

  “Did you hear that, Sara? He’s coming.”

  She turns her head and looks at the wall. I wonder if she’s nervous to meet the man she loves but can’t remember. I don’t even try to imagine what that must feel like.

  I pick up the deck of cards on the table. “Come on, let’s play cards to pass the time.”

  Her eyes find mine again.

  I lay four cards face up on her lap, down by her hands to make it easier for her. She doesn’t move.