I struggle to find even a single memory to prove it’s true.
The thudding against my skull gets even worse, and I raise my hands, the IV tugging on my left one as I rub at my temples.
But it’s no use.
It’s all blank.
Absolutely blank.
Raven shoves Killian’s chest, and he retreats enough for her to sit on the edge of my bed and take my hand in hers. Squeezing it, she glances at Dr. Sommers rather than answering my question, almost as if she’s afraid to. “Why doesn’t she remember?”
The doctor continues typing on her tablet, barely peeking up at the soap opera unraveling in front of her. “Trauma like she’s suffered can cause temporary memory loss. It should come back with time and rest.”
She keeps saying that, but the vague answer doesn’t do anything to ease the panic at having a year of my life missing.
I watch her face carefully, trying to gauge her level of concern when I ask the very important question no one has yet. “Should come back. But when?”
“That’s not an easy question to answer.” She finally fully looks up and offers me a sympathetic smile. “For most people, it takes a few days or weeks. For others, it can be months, even years.” Her gaze darts to Killian. “And there are some rare cases where people don’t ever recover those gaps in memory. Though, those are few and far between.”
Don’t ever recover…
A vise tightens around my ribcage.
I might not ever remember the last year…
Dr. Sommers smiles, tucking her tablet under her arm. “I’ll come back and check on you before my shift ends. Press the call button if you need anything. And you”—she points between Killian and Raven—“need to clear out of here. She needs to rest.”
Killian grunts, reinserting himself closer to me with his hip touching the top of the bed. “If you think I’m leaving her, you’re out of your fucking mind.”
The doctor just glares at him, seemingly undeterred by his attempt to physically intimidate her. “Do I need to have security come for you?”
A low growl slips from his lips. “Let. Them. Fucking. Try.”
He widens his stance and crosses his massive arms over his barrel chest, making his T-shirt pull taut across bulging muscles and tattooed biceps.
An immovable force.
My heart flip-flops the way it always does when he goes into this protective and possessive mode. When he stakes his claim on me and ensures anyone else around knows I’m his—and he’s mine.
Raven offers her most innocent smile to the clearly perturbed doctor. “We’ll just be a few minutes, and then I’ll go.” She knows better than to argue with the woman who very well can get her thrown out, even if Killian would be more difficult. As a reporter, she understands what it means to choose her conflicts carefully and how to get what she wants. “I promise.”
Killian continues his stare-down with the doc. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Silent tension permeates the air, along with that infuriating beeping that is no longer drowned out by our conversation.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Finally, Dr. Sommers seems to realize she’s going to lose this battle with Killian and releases an annoyed huff before she leaves the room.
Probably wise.
Killian McBride isn’t the man you want to have this kind of argument with because he never breaks or bends. And Raven isn’t much better. She doesn’t get intimidated; she intimidates when necessary. Which is what makes her such a damn good reporter and best friend.
