Don't Forget Me

by Maggie Cole

  “Arrogant, moody, full of himself...should I keep going?”

  I’m not sure why I stick up for Damon, but I do. “He wasn’t like that when we dated.”

  “No?”

  To the best of my memory he wasn’t. “I don’t think he was like that to others, either, when we were together.” Well, at least when we dated. After is a different story.

  “Really? That’s not what the others say.”

  Jeez. What did Damon do all these months to make everyone hate him so much? He can be a jerk but I don’t recall him being one at work.

  “Well, he wasn’t like that,” I say quietly.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t talk bad about your ex.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Did you love him?” Xander blurts out.

  Did I love him? No, but I fell in love with you.

  I quietly say, “No.”

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”

  “I thought we weren’t apologizing anymore?”

  “You’re right. I’ll still try not to pry into your life. I don’t know why I feel like I can blurt anything out to you today.”

  “Probably because that’s what we used to do,” I reply. “Like that. I just did it without even thinking.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What does hmm mean?” I ask.

  “I’ve never had anyone I could do that with before.”

  “Yeah, me, either,” I say sadly and will myself not to stare at Xander.

  The rest of the ride is quiet, but it isn’t an uncomfortable silence. It’s another stab to my heart about how good we are together. Doesn’t everyone want someone they can talk to about anything?

  I pull into the parking garage and find a spot. We step out of the car and stroll into the building, and when someone walks toward us, Xander rests his palm on the small of my back, like it’s normal, letting me go ahead of him but staying close to me. I hold myself back from leaning into him more or turning around and wrapping my arms around him.

  Ugh. Why do we still have to be so good together?

  We get to the locker room, and someone is leaving, so Xander puts his hand on my back again and has me go through the door. We are almost to the lockers when Damon glances over at us. He scowls at Xander’s hand, which is still on my back.

  “Hey, Damon,” I say nicely.

  One dark eyebrow lifted. “Playing in the sandbox rather quickly, aren’t you, Charlotte?”

  I glare at him. “Excuse me?”

  Xander pushes me back a bit and steps between me and Damon. “I suggest you keep your nose in your own business and stop talking about things you know nothing about.”

  Crap. This isn’t good.

  Damon steps closer, almost nose to nose with Xander. “Is that right?”

  Xander moves in. “Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

  I’m about to say something when Dr. Sear comes around the corner from the other aisle of lockers. “You two can both cool it.”

  They glance at Dr. Sear but neither moves.

  “Is something wrong with your ears? I said to cool it. That means, step back.”

  Xander obeys, continuing to stare at Damon who doesn’t move.

  “Damon, are you deaf?” Dr. Sear sternly asks him.

  Damon glares at Xander. “We’ll finish this later.”

  “No, you won’t,” Dr. Sear says.

  Damon scowls. “Yeah, okay. Whatever you say.”

  Dr. Sear walks up to him. “Do you have a problem we should discuss in private?”

  Damon purses his lips. “Nope. I’m good.” He shoves his bag in the locker and leaves.

  Dr. Sear turns toward me. “Charlotte, is he harassing you?”

  I shake my head. “No, that was the first incident.”

  “If he does, I want to know.”

  “Okay. I’m sure it will be fine, but thank you.”

  Dr. Sear focuses on Xander. “I need you to use your head, or you’re on the first flight out of here. We don’t need any lawsuits.”

  Xander clenches his jaw.

  “Do you understand me, Dr. Kane?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I would hate to see that happen. You’re an excellent surgeon, and I have big plans for you.”

  Xander goes over to his locker, and Dr. Sear goes back to his side of the locker room. I put my bag away. Xander is not happy, and I can tell.

  Great. This is all he needs. More stress won’t help his memory.

  I want to tell him I’m sorry, but I don’t want to with Dr. Sear around. I’m getting my scrubs and hair cap on for surgery when I finally catch Xander’s eye. I mouth, “I’m sorry.”

  Xander mouths, “Not your fault,” and gives me a panty-melting grin.

  I read the operating list and see Xander and I are in the same surgery. “We’re in operating room five.”

  Xander reads the list then draws a deep breath and lets it out. “Charlotte, please make sure you win rock, paper, scissors today.”

  10

  Charlotte

  Three Months Earlier

  Unlocking the door to my apartment, I step inside and glance around.

  So much has changed, yet everything remains the same.

  What did I expect?

  I sigh and roll the different-colored suitcases inside.

  You left with a carry-on and came back with more baggage...lots of baggage.

  For the millionth time, Xander’s face pops into my mind. I curse myself again, but no matter how often I do, it doesn’t stop the ache in my heart or the constant reel playing in my head about Xander.

  My foot has been healing over the last several months, and I finally got a walking cast. The first chance I had to leave New York, I did. Piper and Noah were more than gracious hosts, but I assumed if I could get out of the city where Xander was, it would be easier to forget about him.

  But I can’t. He was only in my apartment one time, but he’s everywhere. He’s in my kitchen and sitting on my barstool. He’s in my shower and bed. Then I notice, taped to my fridge, all the notes from the flowers he sent me every week.

  The notes always say, “Don’t forget me,” and how much he misses me.

  Don’t forget me. Isn’t that a cruel joke?

  Through angry tears, I tear the notes off the fridge. I try not to blame him for our situation because he has amnesia, and it’s not his fault, but at this moment, I wish I could hate him.

  But I can’t.

  I take all the note cards and consider throwing them out, but I stop myself. The lid of the trash can is open, and I’m about to drop them in, but I can’t do it. Instead, I open an empty drawer and put them in there.

  I spend the day dusting my apartment. When I left for New York, it was the beginning of summer, and now it’s fall. Bored, I turn on the television and get sucked into a deeper depression, watching Lifetime and Hallmark channel movies, imagining all the things I would do with Xander had the accident not happened.

  I’m halfway through a box of Kleenex when my phone vibrates. I pick it up to find a Words with Friends notification that NYSurgeon has made a move.

  My pulse increases, and my stomach flips. Xander. Does he remember?

  Hope creeps up, and I read the board. “Contusion,” he wrote.

  I can’t help myself and open the chat box. “Nice one.”

  I’m studying the board, seeing what word I can write when the chat box blinks I have a message. I hold my breath and open it. “Guess I had enough time to figure it out. Sorry it took so long. I got a notification I was behind. I don’t use my phone much these days.”

  He still doesn’t remember. My gut drops, and I tell myself to delete the app, but instead, I torment myself further.

  “It’s okay. Things happen.”

  “Isn’t that the cruel truth.”

  Right away, I respond, “Are you okay?”

  A minute goes by. “I’m sorry. I’m having some memory issues. Do I know you?”

  My heart bleed
s more. I debate about telling him, but I finally write, “Only on here. You don’t have to worry about anything you say. Think of this as a safe zone since you don’t know me besides my awesome talent at medical term Scrabble.”

  “LOL. You do seem to be pretty good at this.”

  “I beat you quite a bit.”

  “Ouch.”

  “LOL...sorry, but not sorry?” We banter back and forth.

  “So, where are you located?” Xander writes.

  I almost write Chicago but put, “The Midwest.”

  “That’s why you’re so nice!”

  “So they say. You must be from New York based on your user ID.”

  “Yes.”

  For months, I told Piper not to talk to me about Xander, but it’s killing me, not knowing how he’s doing. I type, “Is it hard not remembering things?”

  “You want the answer I give everyone or the honest one?”

  “The honest one.”

  “What’s hard is other people telling you what you should or shouldn’t feel. They don’t get it. If you aren’t in my shoes, you can’t understand it.”

  “Go on,” I tell him, just to torture myself more.

  “Your memories all have feelings attached to them. So if you can’t remember something, it doesn’t matter how many times someone tells you what happened and how you felt.”

  Tears fall, as I know he’s talking about Billie, but I keep chatting with him.

  “That makes sense,” I write because it’s the truth. I understand his rationale.

  “My memories are coming back, but it’s in waves, and it’s like my brain is a mishmash of puzzle pieces with too many holes.”

  “That must be difficult.”

  “I won’t lie. It got pretty dark a month ago.”

  My pulse creeps up. “What do you mean?”

  He doesn’t write back. After ten minutes, I try again, “I’m sorry if I pried too much.”

  “You didn’t. I’m trying to figure out what to say without sounding pathetic.”

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  “I fell into a bad depression. I wished I’d gotten killed in the accident or just not woken up.”

  More tears fall out of my eyes. “Do you still feel that way?”

  “Not anymore. I’m remembering things. So I have hope again.”

  “Never give up. Even when it seems pointless, hope is always something to hold on to.” I wonder if he remembers anything about me.

  “I’m going to write that down. That’s a good reminder for me.”

  I want to tell him who I am. To ask him if he remembers anything about me, but I don’t.

  “Hey, my buddy is here for our run. I need to go. Finish this game later?”

  “Sure. Have a good run.”

  “Thanks for not judging me.”

  “I never will. You can throw whatever you want at me.”

  “Thanks. It’s nice to talk to someone who doesn’t know me.”

  A pain of guilt stabs me. Instead of confessing, I write, “Agree. Talk to you later.”

  I throw my phone on the couch and stare into space for a while, reflecting on everything Xander revealed.

  No matter how much time goes by, I can’t shake him, and having spoken with him, my love for him isn’t any less than before. But now I’m worried about him and his mental state.

  I spend the day with our conversation haunting me. When nighttime comes, I get into bed, pull up the Words with Friends chat box, and reread the conversation.

  I don’t message him, but I take my next move on the board then put my phone on the table.

  Within a few minutes, a notification pops up on my phone. We don’t message each other but only play the game. At the end of the game, I place my final word on the board and beat him. A message pops up. “Nice game. Your medical vocabulary is extensive. Are you a doctor?”

  I hesitate for a minute then decide to tell him the truth. “No, I’m a medical device rep and assist the doctors in surgery.”

  “Ah. That makes sense.”

  “How was your run?”

  “Great. Want to play again?”

  “Yes.”

  He begins another game, and we play several. We banter back and forth during each of the games, and I feel joy for the first time in months. At three in the morning, I’m yawning and having a hard time keeping my eyes open. “I need to get some sleep.”

  “Thanks for playing. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

  My heart lifts. “Me, too.”

  “Get some sleep. I’ll work on upgrading my vocab to beat your ass next time.”

  “Sounds good. Sweet dreams.”

  “Night.”

  I put my phone on the table and wrap my arms around my pillow. My mind is racing with so many thoughts of Xander. We’re still so good together.

  I close my eyes. With mixed emotions, I fall asleep, only to have nightmares of our accident, and hear Xander moaning in pain.

  And even though I’m aware it’s bad for me, night after night, and sometimes during the day, I play Words with Friends with Xander, laughing and crying over our messages.

  11

  Xander

  Present Day

  Today is a day of noncomplicated surgeries. I have three different operations. Charlotte and I are in the first two together.

  Charlotte wins the rock, paper, scissors contest, and she chooses the nineties top hits channel. When she wins, I wink at her.

  We work together well, side by side, and it’s a fun day, until my last surgery.

  The last one I have on my own, and Charlotte has two more with other surgeons. When I walk into the operating room for my final surgery, I have to maintain my cool.

  Damon is over at the nurse’s station, getting his gloves put on. I silently groan.

  This guy is a complete asshole. He wasn’t someone I wanted to make friends with before I learned he’d dated Charlotte, and now that he harassed her this morning, he’s definitely not on my list.

  Keep your head on, Xander. You don’t need to get fired over this idiot. Dr. Sear’s warning to me earlier replays in my head.

  He turns around and glares at me. I step around him to have my gloves put on me.

  The surgery doesn’t take too long, and I have to say I’m relieved. The guy sucks the life out of the room, and I wonder again how a girl as sweet as Charlotte could have dated this complete jackass.

  The image of him touching her makes my stomach churn, and I have to work extra hard to focus on the patient and not think about him with Charlotte.

  After surgery, I have some paperwork to fill out and make my rounds to some patients I’ve operated on in the last few days. I stop in the lobby and order a few mini blueberry muffins wrapped up to go in case I see Charlotte. Finally in the locker room, I grab my bag and go into the men’s shower area. I clean up and get changed into fresh clothes.

  When I leave the men’s room, Charlotte is backed against the locker, and Damon has her caged with a hand on either side of her face.

  “Get away from me, Damon.”

  “You’re a piece of work,” Damon seethes at her.

  I take a picture on my phone, and a second for good measure, and remind myself I can’t hit him or touch him or I’ll lose my job. “Step back from her,” I angrily tell him as I step right next to him.

  Charlotte’s head jerks toward me. Damon turns his head but keeps his hands in place. He has a cocky sneer on his face.

  A group of four interns come into the locker room, and he takes a step back. “To be continued,” he threatens Charlotte and then scowls at me. “You, too.”

  “What’s your deal, man?” I ask him.

  He doesn’t reply, gives me another look as if he knows something I don’t, then picks his bag off the bench and leaves.

  “You okay?” I ask Charlotte.

  “I’m fine,” she mutters and opens her locker, but her hand is shaking.

  I put my hand on her ba
ck. “Hey.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “We should report him. I have a picture of him harassing you.”

  She shakes her head. “Let it go. He’s just mad and hurt.”

  “Charlotte—”

  “Xander, just drop it.” She pulls her bag out of her locker and goes into the women’s shower area.

  There’s no way I’m leaving Charlotte here. He could come back, and I’m not taking any chances. I sit down in the lounge area near the door. The TV is on, but I don’t hear any of it.

  My mind is racing, and I pull up the picture of Damon harassing Charlotte. I want to kill him.

  Why is he doing this?

  It’s a good wait until Charlotte comes out. She’s so hot wearing leggings, black boots, and a long-sleeved hot-pink tunic. It’s the first time, outside of my dreams, that I’ve seen her long, blonde hair not pulled up. She’s beautiful, and my body hardens. My pulse increases, beating hard in my neck.

  She doesn’t seem to notice me, goes to her locker and throws her stuff back in it, then grabs her bag and puts her coat on. When she turns to leave, she stops. “Xander. What are you still doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  She shifts on her feet. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

  “I know I didn’t have to. I did it because I wanted to.”

  She takes a deep breath, and I’m not sure what is going through her mind, but I sense she is grappling with something.

  I pull the muffins out of my gym bag. “Plus, I got you these, and you don’t want them to go to waste.”

  A small grin forms on her face. “What is it?”

  “Open it.”

  She cautiously opens the bag then one side of her luscious mouth curves up. “You bought me blueberry muffins?”

  “Yep. Are those the ones you love?”

  She nods. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “I also wanted your opinion on surgery number two.”

  “Surgery number two?”

  I adopt a serious expression. “On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst you’ve ever experienced, what do you rate the smell when we cut into the patient.”

  She winces, eye twinkling. “Seven point five.”

  I tap my chin, considering. “I was thinking seven point eight.”