by Lexi Ryan
***
I sleep fitfully, the pain in my head and ribs keeping me from settling into my dreams. When the early morning sun peeks in between the curtains, Max is still in the chair next to my bed. He’s slumped over, sleeping, his dark hair falling into his face. I want to reach out and brush it back.
I try to roll to my side, but the movement puts pressure on my ribs and sends a jolt of pain through my center. I bite back my cry, but not before it wakes Max. He hops out of his chair and comes to stand by my side.
“Are you okay? What hurts?”
Eyes closed, I focus on my breathing. Inhaling. Exhaling.
“Do you want me to call the nurse? They can give you something else for the pain.” His face is etched with worry as he scans mine.
“I’m okay,” I assure him, because I know they can’t give me anything else. “I’m just a little banged up.”
“Okay.” He lets out a breath and drags his hand through his hair. “This has been hell, you know. The last couple of days. You couldn’t even carry on a conversation. They’d ask you one question, and by the time you answered it, you’d be confused all over again. I thought…” He shakes his head. “I didn’t know if I’d ever get you back.”
I have to swallow the thickness in my throat. “I’m here now.”
After dragging the chair another foot closer to the bed, he sits and takes my hand. He toys with the ring on my finger, and a smile plays at his lips. “I like seeing this on you.”
“You gave me this ring?” I whisper.
He lifts my hand and presses a gentle kiss to my knuckle right above the diamond. “I did.”
“Why? I mean…how? I mean…” I bite my lip. My stomach is a mess of nerves.
He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and gives a sad smile, his fingers working tiny circles on my palm. “How? I’m just a lucky bastard, I guess.”
“Hmm.” I rest my head back on my pillow and relax. “Sounds like it. Lucky guy is engaged to a girl who has a beat-up face and can’t even remember dating him.”
“Surely I can work this to my advantage.” His eyes crinkle in the corners with his smile. He is so damn handsome. “Let me remind you all the ways I was the world’s greatest boyfriend. The flowers, the foot massages, the…what else?”
“Coach bags,” I supply. “The many Coach bags you bought me during our courtship.”
“I’ll admit, I never bought you a Coach bag.”
I scoff. “And I accepted your proposal?”
“I love you, Hanna,” he says softly, and more surprising than the words is this feeling in my chest. As if something there knows what he says is true, even if my mind can’t remember how we got here.
“I…” What am I supposed to say? To echo the words back to him would ring empty. We both know I don’t remember being with him, let alone falling in love. I’m sure I love you too? That option seems like a kick in the pants.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, kissing my hand again. “I know you don’t remember. I’ll win your heart all over again if I have to.”
