Page 8 of Benny

Clay shrugged. “I reinjured the ankle that was shattered that day and it healed before my eyes.”

Benny really looked at him. “You’re fucking with me,” he said, but he knew Clay wasn’t. Felt his words reverberate within.

He’d been dead--and now he wasn’t.

“Then Warren got shot protecting Harper,” Devin added. “He healed too.”

Benny stared at them, the weight of it all finally settling in. It was beyond implausible. Unless you’d lived it, and he had the unshakeable feeling that whatever had been done to him was far worse than the fate of his friends. What they were saying was crazy, and yet he still knew it was right.

Finally, Tate spoke. “A U.S. Marshal shot me point blank in the chest with cop-killer bullets.” His tone was even, matter of fact. The fact that he was whole and hale and hearty, and the fact that Benny had just seen him a few minutes ago shirtless, brought the whole tale home with an almost physical bang.

“He was dying,” Beth said, her voice wrecked, not even close to the calm and collected sister that was the other half of him. “Then the wound closed in front of my eyes.” She paused as if to collect her thoughts and then just shook her head. “I just don’t have words for it.”

As a battle-tested PJ, Benny knew that the human body was capable of miraculous things, but nothing like what was being described.

“It’s nanites,” Cali said, speaking for the first time, her voice completely flat. “Those little motherfuckers are going to put us out of business.”

Benny swung his attention to her, to his partner, who seemed to have accepted everything that had been said.

“I watched it with my own eyes, Benny, and I suspect the same thing happened to you. What do you remember from the last eight months?”

There it was, the question nobody had asked yet. The one he was afraid to answer.

“I can’t remember anything. Our last day in therapy is my most recent memory.” As he said the words, he was looking right at Jordan. He saw her flinch almost imperceptibly, saw the flash of pain in her eyes, felt a response deep in his gut and wondered what he had forgotten.

Chapter Three

Jordan pushed through the door of her apartment, dropped onto the couch, and let all she’d been holding back loose. Huge sobs wracked her body as she wrapped her arms around herself and let the sorrow rip through her.

Spot appeared from his window seat in the bedroom and climbed onto her lap. She hugged the cat tight as tears leaked from her eyes.

“He doesn’t remember me,” she snuffled. “He looked at me like he used to in therapy. As someone whose life he saved.” The gaze of a lover had been completely absent. “He’s the one who suggested we get married by an Elvis impersonator and tell everyone later when I said the idea of a wedding gave me hives.” The thought brought a fresh spate of tears.

He’d loved her. Wanted to marry her and start a life together. This man who found humor in almost everything, and in doing so, had changed the way she viewed the world. Had given her a love she’d never thought she’d find and reignited her seldom-admitted hope that there was more out there for her.

He’d died crossing the street to pick up their wedding rings, and the floor beneath her feet had shattered into a million sharp shards.

Today, seeing him, it’d taken everything in her not to throw herself into his arms, to actually feel the miracle. But something had stopped her, even before she’d seen the complete lack of… them in his eyes.

Thank God she’d heeded her intuition. Because how humiliating would it have been for him to recoil? How horrifying to see her teammates’ faces as they tried to square her over-the-top reaction to seeing him alive. If he’d shown even the faintest hint of remembering their time together, their fucking engagement, she would have done it anyway. But there’d been nothing approaching anything but fatigue and gratitude in his eyes. No love. None of the heat that’d seemed to make the air around them visibly waver like a mirage.

“How am I even supposed to act around him now, Spot?” How could she possibly pretend the four months before he died hadn’t happened? How could she come back from a grief that had dropped her to her knees more than once?

The cat had no answers, just snuggled into her arms, giving what comfort she could.

She let out one last sob, then clamped down on her emotions. Straightening from the crumpled ball she’d made around the cat, she ran a long stroke down her back. She was the only companion Jordan needed, the only confidant. Spot had been with her during the worst days, this cat Benny had rescued, and she had a feeling the feline would be her only touchstone in the future.

It was pretty damn sad that she only had a cat to talk to. Sure, Cali was great and they’d become friends since Dev had started St. Michael’s Solutions. But not good enough friends to share her secrets with, especially since the woman had been Benny’s partner. So she’d sucked up the unrelenting grief that’d almost driven her mad and become a different person, literally, by going undercover.

Jordan gently set the cat on the floor and stood. In the kitchen, she poured out some treats, then headed into the bedroom and stripped out of her clothes. A long, hot shower had done the trick more than once, even if it felt ridiculous to need one when it was only eight in the morning. It felt like she’d lived a lifetime in the last forty-eight hours.

She cranked the water as hot as it would go and waited until steam billowed before stepping in. She let the heat seep into her, soothe her, wash away the worst of the crying.

As her head cleared, she wondered, really for the first time, what the hell she was going to do.

This morning, seeing Benny alive, had wrecked her. It had shifted her world on its axis. Before, she would’ve thrown herself into work the way she had when he died. But now she had nothing. Nothing but time and the heartache of knowing the man she loved didn’t even remember their time together.

That emptiness crashed through her, vast and unforgiving.