CHAPTER 2

KATE

I couldn't remember a thing. That wasn't an exaggeration. I really couldn't remember a single thing.

I woke up, staring at a white ceiling that I didn't recognize. As I looked up at it, I had to contend with the fact that I couldn't remember any other ceiling in my mind. Not my apartment's, or the house that I grew up in, or wherever I went to school.

I was aware of the concept of a ceiling, and I was aware that I probably grew up in a house and probably went to school. But as far as my actual memories went, this might as well be the first ceiling I’d ever seen in my entire life.

That thought sent a very real panic spreading through me. I sat up in bed, feeling my heart hammering in my chest. I looked around me and realized I was in a hospital room. That much, I knew. But that was where it stopped.

The panic, that cold unsettling feeling that began in my stomach and spread over my limbs, only increased in ferocity when I tried to remember who I was and how I had gotten to the hospital. I tried to form these memories, and I was met with nothing. Everything before this moment was a blank wall of darkness. I had no idea who I was.

My panic turned to hysteria. I was losing my mind. The urge to scream overwhelmed me, but I forced myself to suppress it. I wanted to leap out of bed and run for dear life, even though I didn't know where I could have run to.

Then a nurse entered the room, and I felt a very small sense of calm. She would have some answers for me, or at least, I hoped she would.

"Oh, hello," she beamed as she hurried toward me. "Look who's awake." She made her way to my side, taking me by the hand as she began to examine my pulse and other vitals. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel... confused," I managed.

I was having a hard time talking, too. My throat hurt, I had a headache, and I really had no idea what to say. I hoped that this sudden memory loss was just a result of whatever medication I was on. I hoped that the nurse would soon confirm for me that there was nothing to worry about.

"That's to be expected. You were out for two days. It's totally normal to be feeling a little confused." She let go of my hand and picked up my chart at the end of the bed.

"And my memory?" I asked, feeling slightly relieved by her positivity. Maybe this was normal, after all.

"What about it?" she asked, not looking at me as she continued to study my chart. Her eyes roamed over it, and she seemed totally nonplussed by the worried expression I was surely wearing.

"Well, I don't remember anything. Is that normal? I mean it will come back, right? My memory?"

This caused her to stop. The way she paused made my stomach sink and my head spin. Her eyes that were scanning the chart suddenly stopped dead as I told her that I had no memory. Slowly, she looked up at me, clear concern on her face. "What do you mean? What don't you remember?"

"Anything," I said. "Nothing at all. I don't even remember my name."

It was a chilling realization. Up until that point, I hadn't even thought about it. But as I told her that I didn't remember anything, I realized that even my own name was missing from my memory.

"Ah, just hang in there. I'll be back in a minute."

The calm, comforting feeling that she had brought with her instantly evaporated. She dropped the chart and hurried from the room. I was suddenly very cold and very aware of how alone I was. I had never been so scared.

Or maybe I had? It was impossible to know.

--

Over the next few hours, I was subjected to a series of tests by several different medical professionals. What their names were, I had no idea, and what their titles were, I was also not privy to. They were men and women in white coats, all fussing over me. They poked my skin, pulled my fingers, and shined bright lights into my eyes.

After those tests were done with, they proceeded to ask me the same questions, over and over again. And each time that I told them that I couldn't remember anything, they all provided me with the same perplexed reaction.

None of them knew quite what to make of my memory loss. They all concluded the same thing, that it was caused by my head injury from the crash. But none of them seemed to be able to tell me when my memory would come back, if at all.

By the end of the experience, after the fifth doctor left the room, I felt more alone and confused than I had when I had woken up. What was even more bizarre was that none of the men or women who had examined me were my actual doctor. At least that was what the nurse told me.

They were all professionals in their respective fields who wanted to get a look at me as if I were some sort of sideshow. It wasn't until late in the afternoon that my actual doctor finally made himself known.

I was sitting in bed, looking out the window, when he came in. I had been staring at the parking garage that was visible from my window, trying to concoct any sort of memory that I could but failing miserably. I was feeling frustrated and a little scared, and it was only when I first laid eyes on him that the feelings vanished, replaced with a different emotion all together.

The doctor was tall. Taller than the others that had come through. He was also very handsome, like TV doctor handsome. It was funny really. Even though I couldn't remember my own name, I knew what a TV doctor looked like, with their square jaw, dark hair, kind eyes, and a breathtaking smile. This doctor had all of that. But there was something else, too.

From the moment that I saw him, I felt oddly at peace, as if I knew him somehow. He had a comforting effect on me that I was instantly grateful for, considering how I had been treated up to that point.

"Ms. Monroe," he said in a deep voice as he swept into the room. "I'm Doctor Liam Morgan."

"You're my doctor?" I asked, sitting up a little straighter. It was stupid, but despite the situation I was in, I didn't want to look like I was slouching.

"I am." He smiled as he pulled up a seat by my side. "And I want to apologize for not coming in to see you sooner. I was going to, but as soon as your condition got out, every man and his dog wanted to examine you. I thought it best if I see you on my own. You understand?"

"Yes, I guess so," I admitted.

"Excellent," he said, flashing me a gorgeous smile. For a moment, he didn't say a word, instead opting to stare at me and take me in.

There was something very familiar about him. It was his eyes. They were a deep blue, and they looked at me in a way that I was sure I had seen before. It made me feel warm, for the first time since I had woken up.

"Here's the deal," he began. "You have an extremely severe and rare case of amnesia. From what I have been told, your memories are all but gone, and there is no telling when, or if, they will come back."

"They might not come back?" I blurted out.

I hadn't been told that yet. That idea was terrifying.

"We don’t know. Chances are that one day, you will wake up, and they will be there like they never left. But as I said, there is just no way of knowing for sure."

"So, what do I do?"

"I've called your emergency contact. She will be here within the hour. Maybe seeing her will help jog your memory. If not, she can at least help you get back on your feet." He ran his hand through his thick head of hair. As he did, his musk wafted off him and filled my nostrils. He smelled divine. "But the good news is that apart from the amnesia, you are totally fine. A few bruises and that's about it."

"Oh, yippee," I said dryly.

He let out a short laugh. "I know this must be hard. But be glad that you are still in good health. Your memory will come back to you in time." He slowly stood from his chair, towering over me. He really was tall.

"Where are you going?" I asked, perhaps a little too rushed.

"To see other patients. I'll come back and check on you soon, okay? Don't worry, you're in good hands." He then turned and left the room, but not without looking back at me one more time.

There was something very odd about the way he looked at me, too. It was as if he knew something I didn’t and was trying to decide if he should tell me. I had to remind myself that he was a doctor and that was most likely the case.

And, as silly as it probably sounded, a part of me was wondering if he was checking me out. I probably looked terrible in my current state, and the odds were slim, but still. He was gorgeous, and I could only imagine how I would have acted had we met under different circumstances. I had a feeling that he wouldn't have been calling me Ms. Monroe for too much longer. That's for damn sure.

But even still, as I settled myself back into my bed, I slowly forgot about the handsome doctor. Any other time, he may have stayed with me, but as things stood, I had a lot more on my mind. Or, to be more precise, I had nothing on my mind. Not a single real memory and that was what scared me the most.