Denial (Careless Whispers #1)(4)

“Do you need anything before I go?” Maria asks.

“To know what’s wrong with me,” I say, not believing for a minute that either of them has told me everything that was said. “Why can’t I remember who I am?”

“Some temporary memory loss with a head injury isn’t unheard of,” she says.

“So this is temporary?” I press, hoping for positive news.

“Most likely, but the doctor is the one we need to speak with.” She reaches down and squeezes my arm. “Everything is going to be fine. Try not to worry.”

“How do I not worry when I don’t even know my name?”

“I know it’s scary, but I’m certain we’ll figure it all out. I’ll go hurry the doctor along. Do you want anything in the meantime? Water? Something to eat?”

“Water would be good,” I say, dying for a drink, but I amend my request: “It’s not urgent. After you find the doctor, but thank you.”

“We have water,” Kayden announces, moving to a tray on top of a rolling table at the end of the bed and indicating a pitcher. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Just a little at first, so you don’t get sick,” Maria warns, heading to the door where Kayden delays her departure and, ignoring my request for English, says something to her in Italian. Maria gives him a quick, clipped reply and, seemingly satisfied with her answer, he steps aside and allows her to pass.

“I’ll be back soon,” she calls to me, breezing out of the room.

Kayden fills a cup with water, and I can’t help but notice a tattoo on each of his wrists. The left one extends beyond the edge of his watch, but it’s the right one that catches my eye: a box with words trailing up his forearm, none of which I can make out. I’m still trying when he sits next to me, and I’m not sure if I’m more aware of his powerful thigh pressing against mine or those piercing eyes giving me an intense inspection.

He hands me the water, our hands and gazes colliding, and I am jolted with the impact, feeling it in every part of me. Afraid he’ll see my reaction, I tip up the cup and start to drink. Oh, God. The first drop on my tongue is liquid gold that has me gulping as fast as I can.

“Easy,” Kayden warns, his hand coming down on mine again, heat radiating up my arm as he eases the rim from my lips. “Remember what Maria said. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I’m still thirsty,” I object, licking the last droplet of liquid bliss from my lips as he takes the water from me.

“A little at a time,” he warns, setting the cup on the table beside the bed, acting more like a friend or family member than a stranger, like someone who cares when I seem to have no one who does.

Nervous energy has me wiping my mouth, aware that this is a moment when I should suggest he has better things to do than stay here. But I don’t. I can’t. I cling to him, the only person I know right now, embarrassingly worthy of the pity he swears he won’t give me. “What did you say to Maria when she was leaving?” I ask.

“That I expect you to get the best care possible.”

He makes the statement like he’s in charge of my care. For a moment it’s comforting, while in the next moment I know it’s a fa?ade I can’t afford. “As much as I appreciate that, I need the cheapest options, not the best. I have no money.”

“Money’s the last thing that should be on your mind. Healing comes first.”

“We both know that’s not true. I have to walk out of here and survive, when I don’t even remember where I live or where I’m staying.”

There’s movement outside the door, and Kayden stands as Maria enters with a tall man in a white coat, his thick hair graying on the sides.

“Signorina,” the man greets me, crossing to stand beside my bed across from Kayden. “I’m your physician, Dr. Mortello. I’ve been caring for you since your admission some hours ago. I understand your head injury has left you with extensive memory loss?”

“That’s correct,” I say. “What does that mean?”

“Your CT scan showed a clear concussion, and most likely you’re simply encountering side effects from the swelling of your brain. Still, I prefer to err on the side of caution. We’re going to send you for an MRI and draw more blood to run some additional tests.”

More tests mean more money, but Kayden’s right. I can’t think about that now. “If this is from the swelling,” I ask, “how long until I recover my memory?”

“There’s really no solid answer to that question,” he replies. “Each patient is different.” A nurse appears in the doorway and speaks in Italian, then he tells me, “They’re ready for you now.”

“Now?” I ask, shocked at how quickly this is moving. “Why is this so urgent?”

“We’re always cautious with head injuries, especially with unexpected symptoms.”

“I thought I had normal symptoms.”

“You do.” Before I can press for a more conclusive answer, another nurse rushes into the room and says something to him in Italian. I wait for the moment I can push him for answers, but it never comes. “I need to go,” he announces abruptly. “I’ll see you back here after we have the results.”

And just like that, he’s gone, and one of the nurses steps to my side. “I’m Anna,” the woman says. “I was with you when you first arrived and had the CT scan.”