Forgotten Inheritance (Inherit Love Book 6)

by McKenna James

  “Let’s load her up,” the other paramedic says to his partner. He then turns to me and says, “You. Get in the back. We’ll likely need more of her information.”

  I nod. “Of course. Anything I can do to help.”

  The ambulance ride is a short one—which makes sense because we’re on an island—but the paramedics still manage to pull a lot of information from me.

  “Her full name?”

  “Charlie Louise Pace.”

  “Is she a local?”

  “No. She’s American. We’re both from Chicago.”

  “Any living relatives we can contact?”

  I shake my head, spirits falling a little. Uncle Charles passed away earlier this year. They weren’t exactly what I’d describe as close, but he’d been family all the same. Charlie’s always kind of resented me for getting along better with Uncle Charles than she did, but I know deep down in my heart that he cared for the both of us equally.

  “No,” I say. “Not anymore.”

  ~

  I don’t know how long I end up waiting. Flying to the Cayman Islands to try to talk some sense into Charlie about the inheritance money had been a last-ditch effort. I hopped on the first and cheapest flight out of Chicago to try to talk to her face-to-face, knowing full well Charlie will never pick up the phone if I try to call her. I’d failed to pack my wristwatch and a bunch of other essentials in my rush. Out of all the different scenarios I thought things would go down, sitting in the hospital waiting room wondering about the time wasn’t one of them.

  I chew on the inside of my cheek while I anxiously and mindlessly allow my knee to bounce. I’m slumped in a pistachio green waiting room chair, arms crossed over my chest as I regret everything and quietly spiral.

  Charlie wouldn’t have gotten hurt if I’d just let things go, if I hadn’t come to talk to her. But I know I owe it to the boys at Phoenix House to at least try. The money Uncle Charles set aside in his will for me and my charity would have done wonders helping the kids get back on their feet. When Uncle Charles took me in after my parents passed away, he gave me a second chance at life. I’m really hoping I can talk Charlie into donating at least some of the inheritance so I can help the boys in my care get their second chances too.

  I don’t know how Mister Maloney managed to convince the judge that Uncle Charles wasn’t in his right mind when he made changes to his will prior to his death. I’m sure if I could afford a good lawyer, we could have settled things more fairly. But I was all alone at the negotiation table, being stared down by Charlie and her team. It had all been so disconcerting, sitting across from someone so beautiful and yet so unreasonably cold.

  How I’ve managed to secretly be in love with her for the last fourteen years, I’ll never know. It’s exhausting sometimes, but I can’t help the way I feel. Maybe I’m just a sorry sucker, in love with a woman who will never love me back.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a nurse in bright blue scrubs approach. She has a pleasant, sympathetic smile on. Her chestnut brown hair’s been pulled up into a messy bun atop her head. Her name’s embroidered onto the front of her scrub shirt, just above the breast pocket.

  “Mister Howard?” Louisa asks, voice sweet and gentle.

  I rise immediately. “Is Charlie okay? Is she awake?”

  The nurse doesn’t give me a straight answer, leaving my heart to sink into my stomach. Louisa gestures to her side, indicating the hall she wants me to follow her down. “Please come with me.”

  We get to a private hospital room at the very end of the hall. Louisa knocks on the door before entering, poking her head inside to declare, “Her husband’s here, doctor.”

  “Oh, I’m not–”

  I’m unable to find the strength to finish correcting her.

  Charlie’s lying in a hospital bed, still out like a light. She’s strapped up to all kinds of monitoring equipment—an IV, a heart monitor, other instruments that I don’t know the names of—while a doctor in a white lab coat stands at Charlie’s bedside.

  I’m scared to talk, like a single word out of my mouth will somehow make everything so much worse. Luckily, the doctor seems to register my nerves and speaks first.

  “She’s suffered cranial damage.”

  My throat is unbearably dry. “Is it… That sounds bad.”

  The doctor nods solemnly. “We ran a couple of scans and discovered she’s suffered some bruising to her temporal lobe and prefrontal cortex.”

  “What does that mean? Will she be alright?”

  “We’ll be able to get a better sense of the damage she’s sustained if she wakes up.”

  I gawk. “If?”

  “Unfortunately. There’s nothing to be alarmed about for now. Her scans leave me feeling quite optimistic. She could wake up in a couple of minutes and be perfectly fine.”

  There’s a sticky lump lodged in my throat that I can’t swallow. “And what’s the worst-case scenario?”

  “Worst-case scenario? She might not wake up at all. The longer she stays asleep, the higher the danger becomes that she may suffer permanent brain damage, maybe even become braindead.”

  I want to hurl. The bile in my stomach is bubbling, rising in my throat.

  “This is all my fault,” I mutter bitterly under my breath.

  Louisa pats me on the shoulder. “There, there, Mister Howard. No need to be so hard on yourself. It was an accident. Nothing you could have done about it.”

  I could have pulled her out of the way. I should have stayed home.

  “I’ll bring you the fold out cot,” Louisa offers. “So you can be with her.”

  I manage a small, tired smile. “Thank you.”

  The doctor nods at me before turning on his heel. “Please don’t hesitate to call us if you need anything. The nurses’ station is right outside.”

  “Thank you,” I say again, this time on autopilot. I’m not really listening anymore.

  ***

  I feel like shit. Worse than shit, in fact.

  All I wanted to do was talk to Charlie, maybe convince her to see my side of things. But this? This isn’t what I wanted at all.

  Charlie has been unconscious for three days now, and although the doctor is optimistic she’ll make a healthy recovery, it’s simply a matter of when.

  I can’t think straight. My mind is spinning with terror. I’ve sat by her side, a whirr of questions consuming my thoughts and plaguing my mind. What if Charlie doesn’t pull through? I can’t imagine someone as particular as herself doesn’t have some kind of plan in place in case of her untimely demise. Charlie’s the kind of person who’s three steps ahead. Bliss Media will likely fall under the supervision of her COO. Her estate… I have no idea what will happen to it. I’m really not thinking about the money right now. I’m not thinking about how Charlie’s impending death will impact the lives of all her employees.

  It can’t happen.

  I just know I can’t bring myself to leave. Things between us may not be very friendly anymore, but once upon a time, I used to consider her a close friend. She needs someone right now—anyone—to look out for her, even a little. The guilt and responsibility weigh down on me, crushing my shoulders and grinding at my spine. The least I can do is make sure Charlie isn’t alone.

  The sharp staccato buzz of a phone vibrates through the air, Charlie’s purse on the bedside table shaking slightly. It buzzes again, and again, and again. Someone’s clearly trying to get a hold of Charlie. It just keeps going off. I know I’m not supposed to go through a woman’s purse, but I get the feeling whoever’s trying to get a hold of her won’t stop until they receive an answer.

  I quickly fish Charlie’s phone out and press the pad of her index finger to the device’s print scanner. The screen unlocks to reveal an almost blank screen. It’s almost frightening how work-oriented Charlie is. There aren’t any games or shopping apps on her phone. It’s literally just the phone, text, a banking and email app, all of which have several missed notifications. There are a
little over four-hundred unread emails waiting for her, which is enough to stress me out on her behalf.

  It occurs to me then that I can likely go through her contacts and see if she’s got a boyfriend or friend I can call. Surely there’s someone in Charlie’s life who’d probably appreciate knowing what’s happened. I power the phone on, and to my dismay, she’s only got a couple of numbers saved. My stomach flips as I search through her contacts. I’m personally not happy that I have to invade her privacy like this, but I’m really out of options.

  There’s Molly Tupper, her personal assistant, the grievous Mister Maloney who’s unsurprisingly on speed dial, a couple of direct phone numbers to executive officers under her chain of command, and Uncle Charles’ number. It looks like she hasn’t gotten around to deleting him.

  Buzz buzz.

  I nearly drop Charlie’s pricey iPhone when another string of text messages come in rapid succession.

  [Molly] How’d everything go with the account opening? I can schedule you to come home on an earlier flight, if you’d like. I’ve also got aloe vera waiting for you in your office.

  [Molly] Additionally, I’ve picked up your dry cleaning and dropped it off with your doorman, as per your instructions.

  [Molly] Also, I’m hoping to get back to the mayor about that gala dinner. Have you decided whether or not you’d like to go?

  [Molly] I know you think he’s boring, but Daniel from PR thinks your attendance will really help the company’s image.

  [Molly] It’s been a while since you’ve been photographed out. There’s worry amongst stockholders that you’ve been a bit shut-in since Charles’ funeral.

  I take in a deep breath through the nose and raise my eyebrows in surprise. I’m first and foremost impressed at how quickly Molly’s able to type. I’m also a little concerned that she feels the need to be so darn formal.

  I debate whether or not to send a message to Molly to let her know that Charlie’s in the hospital. I figure someone back home should know. Maybe she can help me figure out what to do. But a very loud, very anxious voice in the back of my head screams at me not to. If Charlie finds out that I’ve gone through her messages, she’ll kill me. If Charlie finds out I’ve sent a message, she’ll have my head on a silver platter.

  Suddenly, like Charlie senses me going through her phone, her eyes blink open as she inhales sharply. Her body jerks like she’s trying to catch herself, the hospital bed groaning under her in protest. Caught completely by surprise, the phone slips from my hand and cracks on the cold tile floor.

  “Shit,” I hiss under my breath.

  Charlie turns her head and mumbles, voice so quiet it’s almost impossible to hear. “Wha– Where–”

  I lean forward, smiling gently. “Hi, hey,” I whisper. “How are you feeling? Any pain? I can call the nurse for you.”

  It takes her a couple of moments to gather her wits. Her eyes are puffy and red around the edges. Charlie looks at me with her deep blue eyes, but something’s off. She’s not really looking at me. If anything, she’s looking past me.

  I don’t take it as a good sign.

  “Louisa?” I exclaim out into the hall. “Nurse! I need some help here.”

  Charlie’s hands are outstretched, like she’s reaching for something to sturdy herself with. She manages to grab at my pinky finger, grip incredibly weak.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “Help’s on the way.”

  “Where am I?” she asks, voice groggy. “What happened?”

  I hold my breath. My heart’s railing in my chest, pulse screaming in my ear. Charlie’s not going to like the answer, but she’s going to lose it even if I don’t answer her.

  “You were in an accident,” I choose my words carefully. “Something hit you pretty hard on the head, so we’re at the hospital now.”

  “Oh.”

  Oh? That’s it?

  I’m surprised at the simplicity of her response. It isn’t normal. Maybe I need to hightail it and find the doctor myself to check up on her.

  “Are you in any pain?”

  Charlie shakes her head slowly. “I’m … I’m a little dizzy.”

  “Just take it easy, alright?” I turn back toward the direction of the hallway. “Nurse!”

  “Um,” she mumbles softly, bordering on timid. It’s the gentlest I’ve ever heard her.

  “Yes?”

  “I have … I have a question.”

  “Sure.” I take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “Ask away, Charlie.”

  She blinks and then blinks again, finally gaining a bit of focus. Charlie licks her lips before she asks, “Who … who are you?”

  I stare at her, dread washing over me. Charlie doesn’t make jokes. She’s too serious and straight-laced to even think about pulling a stunt like this.

  No. This isn’t a good sign at all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Charlie

  There’s a thick fog clouding my mind, a haze I can’t seem to cut through. I’m able to recall bits and pieces, but it’s exactly that: bits and pieces. Nothing lines up. I can’t put faces to names, names to places, places to memories. I don’t know where I am or what’s happened to me. My mind is blank. As soon as I think I’m on the cusp of grasping onto something, some tiny semblance of recollection, it slips away. When I try to focus, all I’m left with is a terrible throbbing in my skull and pressure behind my eyes for my efforts.

  I’m especially distressed that I can’t remember this gorgeous man next to me. There’s a ruggedness to him that draws me in instantly. His dark brown eyes are so deep I feel like I would drown in them if I stare too long. His full brows are pulled together in a steep frown, the concern written all over his face simultaneously heartbreaking and overwhelming. He knows me somehow, but I can’t for the life of me figure out how or why. Pity settles in my chest. This man’s clearly looking at me like I’m someone he cares about.

  But I see nothing but a stranger.

  “This isn’t funny, Charlie,” he says.

  Charlie? Is that my name?

  Yeah. Now that I think about it, Charlie sounds right.

  The guy holds my hand in his, his touch so gentle and almost cautionary, like he’s either treating me like the most precious thing in the world, or if he’s not sure if this is allowed. It’s sweet, but awkward, like a baby deer trying to figure out how to walk for the first time.

  “It’s me,” he says gently. “Roman. Do you… Do you really not remember me?”

  “I… I don’t know.”

  He’s about to respond when a nurse rushes in. Her bun’s a mess, but in that cute way I don’t think I’m capable of pulling off.

  How did I know that?

  She breaks into a wide smile when she sees me and rushes to my side, checking me over. “Your wife’s awake!” she gasps. “How long has it been since she regained consciousness?”

  Wife?

  “Just a minute,” the man, Roman, answers. His deep voice is like the notes of a cello resonating through my very bones. “But I think we have a problem.”

  The nurse frowns. “What’s the matter?”

  Roman swallows hard, pronounced Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he does. He speaks slowly, carefully. “She… She says she doesn’t remember who I am.”

  The nurse turns to me and pulls a pen out of her scrub’s front pocket, clicking the end twice to turn on the little light attached to one side. She waves the light over my eyes, left to right, and then right to left.

  “Charlie, can you tell me where you’re from?”

  It’s a simple question, but the answer doesn’t come to me right away. I search my mind, swimming through the fog. I get flashes here and there of what I assume is my home, but there’s a significant lack of details. I wrack my brain looking for something I don’t even know if truly there, a word forming on the tip of my tongue.

  “Ch … Chicago?” I mumble weakly.

  The nurse nods, and the man looks slightly relieved, so I assume it’s the
answer they’re looking for.

  The nurse continues. “And do you know where you are now?”

  I’m shivering, terrified that my memories are gone. My past is a blank slate to me.

  “Chicago?” I try.

  The look the two of them exchange tells me all I need to know.

  “No, Charlie. We’re in the Cayman Islands.”

  I frown. Beaches, lots of sunshine, being surrounded by saltwater and grainy sand. For some reason, the idea of spending time on a tropical island in the Caribbean doesn’t sit well with me at all. I remember I like rain and colder days because I prefer cozy sweaters and woolen socks. The factoid kind of ambushes me, leaves me dizzy, but I know it’s true.

  “What on earth am I doing in the Cayman Islands?” I ask, a little louder than I intend to. The uneasy sensation building up within me is overwhelming, and my head’s seconds away from exploding.

  Roman chews on the inside of his cheek, frown now tinged with worry. “We’re, uh… We’re here on our honeymoon.”

  “Our honeymoon?” I echo in disbelief. “We really are married?”

  He casts his eyes down to the floor and doesn’t say anything. It breaks my heart to see him so crushed. Roman looks up at me eventually and nods slowly, forcing a smile.

  He seems nice.

  The nurse turns to him and says, “I’ll go get the doctor.”

  “Thank you,” he replies before falling silent once again.

  Roman’s still holding my hands, and his demeanor is uncertain, unsure. Maybe it’s the way his big, strong shoulders are slumped over. Maybe it’s the way he can’t stop staring at my hands. Maybe it’s the way he chews on the inside of his cheek.

  I hate when he does that.

  “Um,” I mutter, daring to break the quiet.

  He sits a little straighter, attentive. “Yes?”

  “Can you… I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”