Chapter 8

Apparently when the salesperson asked if I needed help finding anything, the correct answer was not ‘my soulmate and cheap liquor.’

Who knew?

Janie

“Hello?” I answered, looking at my phone at the same time I took a bite of my pickle.

I liked pickles. Sue me.

“Janie,” Kayla whispered. “I think you need to get down to the command center…something’s happened.”

I got up, taking my pickle with me, and headed for the front door, not bothering to change.

“What’s going on?” I asked as I reached for the doorknob.

“There’s something going on with Rafe.”

And that was the last coherent thought I had for the next eight hours.

***

I rubbed my fingers along the space between my eyebrows and tried not to throw up.

“Daddy,” I pleaded. “His phone is about six miles downstream. I swear to God, he’s there.”

My father looked at me with pity-filled eyes.

“They’ve already swept that area, Janie. He’s not there.”

“He has to be there,” I replied stubbornly. “His phone would be in the water. It’s not in the water. It’s on the bank!”

“They’ve already done all the searching they’re going to do tonight,” he whispered so that only I could hear. “Baby, you need to calm down.”

No one, in the history of the world, has ever calmed down by being told to calm down.

Just sayin’.

“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’ll do it myself.”

I turned to leave, and my father caught my arm before I could so much as take a step away from him.

Then he went and did what fathers do and pulled me to the stairwell moments later, which worked for me because that’s where I wanted to go.

I didn’t, however, want to stop just outside the door.

“What the fuck?” he asked. “What’s your damn deal?”

“What’s my deal?” I semi-shrieked. “Rafe is missing, and none of you are doing a damn thing about it!”

“None of us…Janie, what the hell do you think you’re going to accomplish by going at night?” he said, his voice getting softer.

I hated it when his voice got softer. It made me realize that he actually cared. That maybe, just maybe, he was right.

I swallowed tears.

“I have to look for him. I have to find him,” I replied, my voice breaking. “I have—"

A commotion had my dad looking over his shoulder, and then he moved to pull the door of the stairwell open.

“Get a nurse!” a man bellowed. “Rafe! Rafe, look at me buddy.”

I started running before I’d consciously told my feet to start moving.

Then, I was skidding on my knees beside Rafe who was laying on the floor, looking deathly pale.

He was wet. His head was still bleeding, and when I pressed my hand to his face, I could feel his fever raging.

“Rafe,” I breathed, leaning forward.

His eyes opened a fraction of an inch, and I swallowed at the dark eyes that met my own.

“Rafe,” I repeated.

He blinked.

Then he smiled.

After that, his entire form went limp.

***

Nine and a half hours later

Rafe was better.

He wasn’t awake, but he was stable.

His fever was down, the swelling on the side of his face was decreasing, and his color was starting to return to normal.

I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat, again, as the doctor shook his head.

“Is he okay?” I asked the doctor.

“His pupils are reacting, which means that he’s responding. He’s likely not awake yet due to the trauma that he received from the concussion grenade,” the doctor explained. “Sometimes all the body needs is time to recover. Maybe he just needs the sleep.”

I kept my mouth shut, and only nodded my head. Afraid if I spoke that the wounded cry that I’d been keeping bottled the entire time I’d been here would fall from my lips.

“If he wakes, come find us.” Then he was gone just as fast as he’d arrived.

I looked from the door where the doctor had just disappeared to the man lying so still in the bed.

He looked wrong.

I’d never seen him so still.

It was disconcerting.

Normally Rafe was so full of life—his aura almost chokingly powerful.

Now…now he just felt so…gone.

I closed my eyes and dropped my head into my hands, blowing out a breath.

“Hurry up and wake up,” I breathed. “You’re scaring me.”

Just as I’d finished that sentence, the door to the hospital room opened, and a woman blew in.

She was tall, willowy, and beautiful. She had long brown hair, bright blue eyes, and an obvious way about her that practically screamed ‘I’ve got money!’

I, on the other hand, was on the shorter side of average. I had long blonde hair that rarely ever found its way out of a ponytail, hazel eyes that kind of looked like pond water, and a face that wasn’t much to look at.

This woman was everything I wasn’t.

Everything that I thought Rafe would go for.

And I’d seen her before.

This was pecan pie chick.

“Oh, Rafe!” she breathed as she caught sight of the man in the bed. “You poor thing! Daddy told me that you were in here, and I didn’t believe him. I just had to see for myself. Oh, gosh. Are you even awake?”

“He’s in a coma,” I murmured, bringing her attention to me for the first time.

She blinked and stared. “Who are you?” she sneered.

I would’ve laughed at her obvious outrage at seeing me in Rafe’s room—past hours—but I couldn’t even find the strength to pick up my head from my hands.

“I’m Janie,” I answered.

“The daughter of a friend,” she said. “I remember you. The hair.”

She gestured to her head, miming hair in a bun, and I grimaced. “Yes.”

I guess you could consider me a daughter of a friend…technically.

Though, I wouldn’t go as far as to call them ‘friends.’

Acquaintances, maybe. Friends, no.

“Right,” she said, then moved to the bed. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” I asked, sounding as offended as I felt. “What are you doing here?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m here because Rafe is hurt.”

“So am I,” she challenged.

I clenched my teeth.

“I’m a really good friend,” I said. “Rafe’s never even mentioned you.”

The woman in front of me smiled. “Funny,” she drawled. “But he’s never once mentioned you, either. And we’ve spent quite a bit of time together over the last six weeks.”

Then she did something that had the breath leaving my lungs.

She held out her hand. “I’m officially the soon to be Mrs. Rafe.”

My jaw would’ve hit the floor if it wasn’t attached.

“You’re lying,” I whispered, feeling suddenly sick to my stomach.

“I have absolutely no reason to lie,” she crossed her arms. “I can tell you exactly where he’s been for the last six weeks…can you?”

No. No, I fucking couldn’t.

“What the fuck?”

I looked down at a now awake Rafe, seeing his eyes were just barely slitted, but very much aware.

“Oh, honey.”

I winced and backed away when Mrs. Soon-to-be Rafe slammed her purse the size of a small horse into my chest.

Oh, honey, I mimicked, crossing my arms and glaring at the stupid woman’s perfectly coifed hair.

Rafe saw me, and he frowned.

“Who are y’all, and why are y’all here?”

Something cold slithered down my spine.

“Who are we?” I said, confusion lacing my voice. “Rafe, do you not know who I am?”

His jerked his head away from the girl that was petting his beard like one would a dog and growled at her. “Stop touching me.”

The woman stopped, but she didn’t pull away altogether. Instead, she turned so that she could stare at me.

“You’re no longer needed. I’m here.”

I opened my mouth to tell her that under no uncertain terms was I leaving when the door was pushed open.

“Oh, you’re awake!”

I turned to find myself staring at a nurse, who was staring at me and Hooters girl with a frown.

“I’m sorry, but there is only one visitor allowed back here at a time. This floor’s rules. I’m sorry.”

“As his fiancée, I’m staying.”

I opened my mouth to argue that she could kiss my fat ass when the nurse turned to me. “And who are you to him?”

“He can’t remember who we are,” I blurted. “Is that normal?”

The nurse turned to Rafe.

“Do you know who these ladies are?” she questioned.

Rafe shook his head, barely hiding the wince in time.

I saw it, though.

Then again, there wasn’t a single thing about Rafe that I didn’t notice or know…at least I thought there wasn’t, anyway.

“No,” Rafe murmured, sounding like he was getting angry. “Should I?”

And that was when I realized that things were bad. Really, really bad.

“Who do you want to stay?” the nurse asked. “There can only be one.”

Rafe’s eyes bounced from me to the woman at his side, then moved back.

They stayed locked on me, and for a second, I saw recognition there.

Then, it was gone.

“Neither.”

“Okay then,” the nurse said. “Both of you out.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.

But nonetheless, I walked out, not stopping until I was two doors down from his room.

“Don’t think that just because you knew him before me that you can worm your way in there,” the snotty female voice let me know that I hadn’t left by myself. The she-devil had left, too.

I turned and glared. “I’m sorry. Did I miss the fact that I was talking to you?”

“He’s mine.”

I bared my teeth.

“If he’s yours, he’ll be yours.” I paused. “But, just being honest, the moment that he regains his memory, you’re not going to get rid of me so easily.”

She laughed. “We’ll see about that, now won’t we?

It wasn’t until she left that I lost my battle with the tears.

Moments later, my father rounded the corner of the hallway and looked at me, noting the tears almost immediately.

“Ready?”

I felt betrayed. I felt stupid. And honestly, I felt like I was the world’s dumbest person.

While I was waiting for him to uncomplicate his life, he was out getting engaged.

God, I was so fucking stupid!

“Janie…” my father said. “You ready to go? There’s nothing you can do here to help.”

I would’ve laughed at that had I not just thought the same thing.

“Yeah, Dad,” I murmured softly. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Maybe then I can get some answers.”

Only, the next day didn’t go any better.

Or the day after that.

Or the day after that.

Then, the icing on the cake was when the doctor came out and told us—with Rafe’s blessing of course, since he didn’t want to see us, but he knew that we’d want to know his prognosis—the other news. News that changed my entire life.

He had an inoperable brain aneurysm, and under no circumstances was he to be upset in any way.

If he did get upset, stressed, or excited, that could mean the end of his life.

Which only left me even more depressed. If I couldn’t remind him who I was—which might very well upset him and stress him out—then what else could I do? What choice did I have?

There was only one.

Leave him alone with the hope that he’d figure it out on his own.