The color bowled into me, wrapping me in emerald hope and chasing away my clinging fears. “Oh, thank God.”

I pressed a kiss on his cheek, inhaling him. His scent was faint, hidden beneath antiseptic but traces of leather and sea salt existed.

He still existed.

“You’re okay … you’re going to be okay.” I peppered his face with love.

He groaned, shifting away a little.

Pulling back, I blushed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to attack you. It’s just … God, it’s been a horrible night.”

He frowned, his eyes locking onto mine.

My heart stopped.

No …

Instead of love and affection, they were blank. Cold as rock and empty as a tomb.

Pain.

Pain I never knew existed splintered through me.

“Art?” A watery smile pulled my lips. “It’s me … Cleo.”

His forehead furrowed. He shook his head.

No. No, please.

Nightmares swarmed me with thoughts of him forgetting me. Of our roles reversing. Of amnesia tormenting me all over again by making me the forgotten not the forgetful.

I wouldn’t be able to survive. I couldn’t live in a world where Arthur didn’t love me. Even while we were apart I’d felt it—some cosmic bond keeping me alive. He’d kept me strong. He was the reason I’d kept going.

If he’s left me …

“Arthur … don’t do this.” The sobs I’d tried to swallow erupted. Tears flooded my cheeks. “You know me … remember?” I fumbled for his hand again. “I’m yours. Buttercup …”

He sucked in a breath. The blankness shifted like fog on a lake. “B-Buttercup …”

I shivered so hard my teeth rattled. “It’s me. Please, don’t forget me. I can’t manage if you forget me!”

Suddenly, his lips twisted in horror. “Fuuuuck, Cleo …” The drugs cleared, his pain receded, and he truly saw me. His soul shone, glittering with agony. “Never. Oh, Christ, h-how could I e-ever forget you.” His large body shifted beneath the sheets. His broken arm tried to wrap around my shoulders. He grunted in pain, breathing hard. “I kn-know who you are. I do.” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry—I’m a little out of it w-with whatever they gave me. How could you ever t-think—”

“You didn’t recognize me.” I tried to hide my face. The lack of sleep and overwhelming worry gave me no room to hide. I became unhinged on a nightmare that wasn’t true.

What if this was all in my head? What if the words I heard weren’t real? Could he wake from brain surgery and start talking as if everything was fine? Is that what the doctor meant?

“Hey …” He managed to cup my cheek with his uncased hand. His rough thumb traced my damp tears. “You’re t-tearing me apart, Cleo. Don’t c-cry. I’m here. I’m still me.”

Part of me didn’t believe him. Part of me still feared the worst—that the doctors had chopped out the parts of his brain coded to me, the synapses that made him mine. I couldn’t shake the debilitating terror that there was nothing I could do to stop him from leaving me—to keep him alive and in my arms.

Nothing!

Only fate. And fate had proven to be a merciless bitch.

I cried harder.

“Hey … Buttercup. D-don’t.” His hand wrapped around my nape, pulling me into him. “Christ, you’ll make me c-cry in a moment, baby.” His lips pressed against my forehead. “I love you. I will always l-love you. You’re my world, Cleo.”

His words were a balm to whatever terror held me hostage, slowly smoothing the more he shed his grogginess. My legs gave out, tumbling me into his chest.

He flinched, sucking in a ragged breath, but he didn’t let me go. His arm banded tighter, crushing me with love. “I’m here. I’m still yours.” His voice haunted with pain. “I’ll always be yours. I p-promise.”

I was a mess. He was the one in the hospital. He was the one on morphine and dealing with a brain injury. Yet he consoled me. He was once again the strongest, giving me sanctuary, holding me while I came apart.

“I’m sorry,” I choked. “I c-can’t. I just n-need—”

I couldn’t do it any longer.

For so long, I’d pretended to cope. I’d painted on a mask and acted out the highs and lows of life. But I’d been dead inside. I’d missed more than just my memories. I’d missed this.

This wealth of emotion.

This undying affection.

This unswerving connection.

I’d been so alone. So afraid. And now … I was home.

A sob ripped itself from my soul, opening the floodgates of my tears. For eight long years, I’d never let myself come undone. I’d never undone the tight corset around my feelings to purge and heal. For eight years, I’d fought away sadness as if it was a plague trying to kill me. I couldn’t fall apart because I had no one to glue me back together again.

But here … in a hospital, in my soul mate’s arms, in a country I’d left behind, I jumped off the precipice I’d always clung to and fell.

I fell into sadness.

I fell into happiness.

I fell into love all over again.

And he caught me.

Arthur never stopped murmuring, his croaky voice the best chorus for my shattering psyche.

Tears streaming, I snuggled into him, inhaling the scent of him smothered with medicine. “You’re a-alive.” More tears. More sobs. “Thank G-God, you’re alive.”