* * *
HARSH SOAP AND antiseptic. Blinking repeatedly to make the dim room come into focus, I shifted and winced, my entire body feeling like it was one big bruise. Curtains hung over a window, dulling the early-morning light that took on hints of orange and purple. Slowly turning my head, I noticed the myriad sensors connected to me.
My head pounded, but I tried to piece together what had happened. A vision of a man leaning over me and holding my hand came to me. It was Wes, but that was ridiculous. I didn’t know what Wes looked like. Still, the memory of the warmth of that hand on mine, and those eyes, felt so real.
“Good morning. I’m Diana.” The nurse spoke softly as she walked into the room. “How are you feeling?” She was roughly my age, her blond hair pulled into a thick ponytail.
“What happened?” Fuzzy memories of arriving at the hospital came back to me through the sleepy haze.
“You had a bad fall yesterday. A doctor will be in later this morning to talk with you. You hit your head, so they kept you for observation. You were also quite dehydrated when you arrived.” She continued to speak in her gentle voice while checking my vitals. She indicated the bag of fluid connected to my arm through an IV.
“Did I come in alone? I remember someone . . .”
She gave a slight smile. “Your brother was with you, I believe.”
“My brother lives in Wisconsin.”
She adjusted my pillow and checked my IV site. “He had a tall, dark, and handsome thing going on. Does that sound like your brother?”
“No,” I murmured, slowly remembering what had happened, the memories fuzzy, then fading to black. “Is my phone here?”
The nurse searched near my bed and held up a plastic bag. Even in the dimly lit room and through the plastic, the cracked screen was obvious.
“I don’t think it survived the fall,” she said, but held it out to me to inspect. “Is there someone you’d like us to call?”
I shook my head, pain ricocheting with that small movement. “Did he say if he was coming back?”
“I’m sure your . . . brother will be back when visiting hours begin at nine, if you want to see him. Try to rest.”
I thanked her as she closed the door, leaving me to stare at the ceiling. The concentration must have exhausted me, because I woke again with sunlight filling the space. This time, a sweeter smell greeted me, and the table next to me held a large vase filled with yellow tulips and pink peonies. “My favorites,” I croaked, my throat dry.
“I know.” A rich baritone voice drew my attention to the other side of the bed, where the best-looking man I’d ever seen sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair. His long legs tapered down to well-defined calves that I noticed as he stood. His dark hair was cut short on the sides, and the plain gray T-shirt he wore showed his defined but not bulging biceps. “You told me roses were no good.”
“It’s you? I mean, it was you.” I croaked again, meeting his hazel eyes.
“It’s me.” He gave a half smile, crooked and genuine, and held a cup of water with a straw to my lips.
“How . . . ?” With my throat coated, my voice was clearer, but my thoughts were still jumbled. “Thank you,” I murmured, taking the cup for myself.
“I made our head of IT get your name and address when I got your message. I’m hoping you won’t sue us for breaching privacy rules.”
I kept staring at him. I couldn’t believe this was real. “You know my real name?” Under the blanket, my fingernails sunk into my palm, and I waited for something to happen, for him to connect me to Best Life.
“Yeah. It’s a pretty name. It suits you.” He scratched the back of his neck after a long moment of my silence but didn’t otherwise react. “I, uh, had to convince your neighbors I wasn’t a serial killer. How are you feeling?”
“Looks like everything is still attached,” I joked. “I can’t believe you found me. I can’t believe you’re here.”
He dipped his chin, voice gone softer. “You were in trouble.”
My face heated, and I pulled the thin blanket up with a twinge of pain. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m sorry to put you out like that.”
He shook his head, dismissing my words. “Did the doctors talk to you?”
“Not yet.”
“I shouldn’t have, but I told them I was your brother, so they’d let me know how you were doing. You were really dehydrated, and I told them you’d been exercising a lot. What’s going on?” The concern etched on his face ratcheted up my level of shame, and I looked away. “That’s not like you, to overdo it.”