Page 14 of In Every Chapter

I studied the monitor with Paisley’s vital signs. The rhythmic hum and beep of the machines were the only noises blanketing us. The reality of how close I’d come to losing her pummeled through me like a runaway freight train, but the steady peak and valley of her heartbeat assured me she was still very much alive.

Around two o’clock, the nurse poked her head in the door, her neon-pink scrubs a bright spot in an otherwise bleak room. “Just me, honey,” she said softly. Her grey pin curls reminded me of my grandmother.

Juliet groaned from where she was drooling on my shoulder and shifted. “Are you waking her up?”

The nurse smiled. “Yeah and checking her vitals.” She touched Paisley’s uninjured arm. “Paisley. Honey, open those pretty eyes for me.”

Paisley whimpered and swatted at the nurse’s hand. If the situation weren’t so serious, I’d laugh. Paisley hated mornings and didn’t operate well on interrupted sleep. She wasn’t functional until at least half her blood was composed of her favourite Earl Grey tea.

But the nurse was persistent, and Paisley finally obliged.

I leaned forward in my chair. Her rapid blinking worked to focus before a grin split her face. My heart tripped. I loved her smile. And she was happy to see—

“Jules!”

Right, not me. Disappointment swirled low in my gut. I fell back in my chair and let my sister fuss over Paisley while the nurse took her blood pressure and checked her pupils. Silently, I berated myself for getting my hopes up. The doctor had said it would take time for the amnesia to reverse—but how long? A day, a week, a month, a lifetime? I was a patient man. But the reality hurt just the same.

Satisfied with her findings, the nurse slipped from the room, and the hum of whispers harmonized with the whirl of the machines. I tipped my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. For now, Paisley was alive. She was safe. She was comfortable. My chest squeezed. Don’t let her forget me forever.

Soon, Juliet and Paisley both dozed off, but my body refused to let me shirk my post to rest. Like Paisley could slip away if I wasn’t watching. I alternated between broken prayers and watching the vitals machine like I’d write an exam off of it. And then the first blush of dawn touched the sky, warm radiant light filling the eastern-facing room.

Paisley’s emerald eyes were brighter, more lucid in the morning sunshine when a new doctor and nurse bustled into the room.

The doctor rattled off her discharge instructions. Concussion care. Care for her arm, currently in bandages. And then—

“Loss of memory is a relatively common symptom of severe head trauma.” His nasally tone grated my ears. “But don’t push it too hard. The memories may come back in time.”

“May?” Paisley demanded, scandalized. “But they might not?”

“Correct.” He scribbled a prescription and handed it to me. “She can take these as needed.”

“I’m right here,” Paisley groused, and this time the doctor did look at her.

“In the meantime, rest up. You’ll see our resident psychologist before you’re discharged. Then let your husband pamper you and have a great summer.” With that breezy attitude, he made his exit.

Paisley’s eyes swirled with confusion and wariness as she regarded me. But before I could say anything to reassure her, Juliet jumped to the rescue.

“I brought you a change of clothes,” she said, lifting the bag from one of the orange plastic chairs.

Paisley shifted on the hospital bed, wincing. “Unless you brought a potato sack, there’s no way I can get my shoulder through a sleeve hole. No one said resetting dislocations hurt this much.”

Juliet snorted. “It’s sweats and one of Grey’s T-shirts. It’ll be plenty big on you. No arm contortions required.”

I didn’t miss the rigidity in Paisley’s shoulders at the mention of wearing my shirt. Ordinarily she stole them all the time. But now I was a man she didn’t remember, and it was an intimacy she was no longer accustomed to.

I stood and cleared my throat. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

Just before the door closed behind me, I saw her stroking the T-shirt fabric in her lap. She might be wearing my shirt, but when it came to her, I was the one with my heart on my sleeve.

Chapter six

Paisley

If the chalk painting didn’t take me out, I was pretty sure trying to fit my arm through the armhole of Greyson’s shirt would finish the job. It took all the finagling for me and Juliet to finally get it on. Like a game of Twister with clothing. Sure, it was plenty big, but maneuvering a newly relocated shoulder and bulky bandages weren’t for the faint of heart.

“You okay?” Juliet asked once I was out of that horribly scratchy gown, and I knew she wasn’t referring to the shirt. Which was perfectly soft and smelled delicious. The perfect blend of musk and sandalwood. But I wasn’t admitting that.

I perched on the edge of the hospital bed and took inventory of my body. The throbbing in my head had lessened into a wicked headache, and my shoulder burned from the T-shirt fiasco. Slings and bandages were cumbersome inventions. But I was whole and in one piece. A miracle, I was told, considering the fall I’d taken into a flower box, which cushioned my fall enough to keep me from breaking any bones, but not enough to miss the metal pipe my head had hit on the way down.