Page 28 of Love Wells Kept

“You good, man?” Aaron asks quietly. He must’ve given me a heavy dose of painkillers direct to my bloodstream via IV.

“What the hell? Told you I didn’t want any more drugs.” I let my eyes fall shut again.

I hate the drugs. They work, that’s for damn sure. But they make my stomach churn, and leave my brain so numb it’s like every thought is a mess of fresh ink on wet paper—words and pictures running together. And they make me tired.

I was in a coma for days. I have a wife whose name I don’t know. The last two things I want to do more of are sleep and forget.

Aaron side-eyes me, but it’s the woman who speaks up first. “Stop trying to be a tough guy. You were literally writhing in pain, and you’re covered in sweat—you needed them.”

“But I hate—”

“Jackson.” She says my name with authority, instantly shutting me up. Then raises an eyebrow, daring me to argue with her. Keeping one hand gently placed on top of my head, she leans to grab my water and holds it in front of my face. “Stop. Have some water and relax.”

I take a reluctant sip of the ice-cold liquid. It does feel nice, given how hot I am all over. “You’re a bully.”

Aaron chuckles under his breath on his way out the door. “Kate might be the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. She had some nurses scared to come in here with the way she’d stare them down and hammer them with questions.”

Kate.

My wife’s name is Kate.

I focus on the forgotten tear moistening her rosy cheek. She’s pretty—the nurses who told me so were right. Dark hair, hazel eyes freckled with greens and golds, and a sharp Cupid’s bow hung on plump, pink lips.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you.” I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve lost my cool on a couple nurses. I don’t mean to. And I don’t really know myself, but given how awful my stomach feels each time, I’m guessing it’s out of character.

Kate may be stubborn, but she’s equally soft. She tuts at me, slowing her caressing touch so she can focus on forcing me to drink more water.

“You know what’s funny? I talked your ear off so much while you were unconscious, and I secretly hoped I’d annoy you enough that you’d wake up and tell me to shut up.” She holds the water still, letting me take small sips as she keeps talking. “I did some reading about brain injuries while you were in your coma. Outbursts like that are pretty common.”

“Do they stop?”

“Sometimes. Some people just get better at managing their anger…redirecting that energy in a healthy way.”

She continues talking about all the research she’s done in the form of reading forums, and watching YouTube videos. I’m sure it’s incredibly helpful stuff, but the words blend together into alphabet soup, and I can’t manage to scoop them all up into anything coherent.

But I don’t mind watching her talk—she has a natural smile, a tiny cleft in her chin pops in and out at random, and her hands move a lot when she speaks. So I take in the rest of her for the first time.

“Are you wearing my clothes?” The question is barely audible. Her hand threading lightly through my hair has my eyelids feeling heavy.

She glances down at her outfit. “Oh…yeah. I steal them a lot, but especially when…” The muscles in her neck work down a heavy swallow, and she blinks up to the ceiling.

“Especially when what?”

“Especially…” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and her nose crinkles. “Um…especially whenever I’ve been pregnant. Your shirts were the only thing that fit when I was pregnant with Odessa. That’s…she’s our daughter. She’ll be eight soon.”

My heart twists. “Daughter.”

Just like wife, the word feels entirely foreign on my tongue.

Kate pulls her hand from my head and digs into her giant purse until she produces a phone. “Let me show you pictures.”

“Oh, I…” I start to protest, though I don’t know why. Maybe because the simple knowledge of a child I didn’t know about has me feeling cast out to sea. Seeing a photo of a girl I’ve known for eight years, but don’t know, might just drown me.

Kate, stubborn as she is, won’t hear it.

She thrusts the phone at me, and I blink to focus on the screen. A little girl, all freckles and sun-kissed skin, wild hair blowing in the wind, my family’s ranch in the background. She looks a lot like Kate, but also a lot like…

“She looks kind of like my mom,” I muse, shoving the phone back to Kate as I fight for my next breath.