CHAPTER 4
“Beckett, this is Dr. Simon Woods.”
I shook the man’s hand when he offered it, wondering which kind of specialist they were introducing me to now. I’d met a plethora of them already, from visiting neurologists who couldn’t believe my high levels of cognition following a five-day coma, to physical therapists and kinesiologists who marveled at my muscle tone and reflexes.
“Dr. Woods is a neuropsychologist here at UW. He’d like to schedule some sessions with you to try and work through your memory blockage.”
The way she said ‘memory blockage’ was irritating to me, like it was a minor hurdle that I needed to skip over instead of a severe case of amnesia and therefore a completely life-altering mind fuck.
“Hello, Mr. Fox. I look forward to meeting with you.”
“Beckett or just Fox is fine.” The formalities of hospital protocol were starting to wear on my nerves. Dr. Simms and her associates were nice and tried to keep things fairly informal, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I was one big experiment to them.
“Fox.” Woods eyed me with a calm gaze. “Tomorrow? My office at three?”
I thought about it for a moment. When a member of our crew died or we lost a civilian, department therapy was highly recommended. I’d probably done the required grief and trauma hours already, but I obviously didn’t remember. I didn’t want to talk — but this was about my memory, not about Landry.
“Tomorrow.”
After the doctors left, I fell asleep for a while out of boredom and, when I woke up, Avery was curled up in the chair next to my bed, her knees drawn up to her chin.
“Avery.” My rough, raspy voice broke the silence, and she turned her blue eyes toward me.
“Hi,” she said shyly.
We stared at each other for a beat, and then two, until I looked away. Coward, I told myself. You’re hurting this girl every time you pull back.
But I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to be close to anyone right now, because I knew what loss felt like. Another would be debilitating.
“I— I bought you some things,” she said, reaching down next to her chair and pulling up a large shopping bag. “Sweats, some shirts, boxers…” She trailed off, a faint blush rising to her cheeks when she mentioned my underwear.
For a second, for just one second, I imagined what it would be like if I held out my arms to her, drew her in the way I knew she wanted. I could rest my chin on the top of her head, cradle her in my arms, maybe even find a little peace. The empty hole of my loss was growing exponentially every minute I drew breath, and I couldn’t fill it. Maybe she was part of what was missing. Or maybe letting myself care for her would only break me further.
“I’m going to take a shower.” I wasn’t supposed to get up without calling the nurse, but I’d done five or six laps around the room earlier without incident so I felt fairly confident I could manage a three-minute shower.
“Let me help you.” She rushed around to my side and put a hand under my elbow.
“I’m fine,” I said curtly, avoiding her gesture.
I saw the hurt in her eyes when I refused her, but she wasn’t easily deterred.
“What about your IV? Can it get wet?”
Shit. I hadn’t thought about that. Technically, the answer was no, but that would take some maneuvering on my part. Let her help you, a tiny voice admonished me.
“It’s okay. But… thanks.”
I could be standoffish, but I couldn’t be downright mean to her. She hadn’t done anything. The entire problem was me.
Me, my messed-up head, and the fact that I hadn't done enough.
* * *
I knocked at the door of Dr. Woods’ office on the bottom floor of the hospital at exactly two fifty-five the next afternoon. My nurse this morning had sprung me from my IV and, after I put on a pair of the shorts and a shirt that Avery had brought me, I felt less like a lab rat and almost like a normal human, albeit a fairly banged-up one.
The physical therapist who had visited me the night before had given me a sling for my separated shoulder, but I left it in my room. The pain was a good reminder of what had happened, in case I tried to move on. There was no way I was letting the nurse escort me downstairs in a wheelchair either, but I bit back my frustrated words and tried to rationally assure her I’d be fine and take it slow in case I got dizzy. Pretty sure it was breaking protocol for her to let me go alone but the look on my face must’ve changed her mind, because now I was completely ambulatory.
Woods opened the door after my one knock. He surveyed me for a second, a quick evaluation, before he spoke.
“Fox. Come in. You’re right on time.”
I nodded to him, suddenly feeling very exposed.
“Please, have a seat.”
After we’d taken our respective places in the two chairs around the coffee table in his office, Woods gestured to a mini fridge. “Would you like a bottle of water?”
I shook my head no, tugging at a string hanging off of my new shirt as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. He reached over and grabbed a drink for himself before picking up a notebook and a pen.
“I’m going to take a few notes, with your permission.”
Another nod from me, which did not go unnoticed by Woods. He balanced the pad of paper and pen on his lap and crossed his arms, his gaze intent. “This isn’t mandatory, you know. If you want to leave, it’s up to you. I’m not going to make you talk.”
I hadn't expected him to say that, and irrationally it pissed me off. My tendency to be purposely detached with the doctors and other hospital staff wouldn’t work with this guy. That made me even more angry, because I didn’t want to sit around and play kumbaya on a ukulele with anyone. Woods didn’t strike me as the campfire-singing type, but I still wasn’t buying whatever he was selling, this reverse psychology ‘it’s up to you’ crap. It was easier to internalize. I was a pro at it already.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I was surprised by the bitterness in my voice. It wasn’t my intent to be deliberately disrespectful, which is why I found it easier to be silent. Once I let some of the anger out, it was hard to rein it back in.
“Yes, you are. Involuntarily, it seems, but nonetheless.” He paused. “I want to help you, Fox. If it’s at all possible, I want you to get your life back. You’ve been through enough this year.” He reached over to his desk and pulled out a file.
“Is that mine?” I wanted to snatch it away, to see if it even skimmed the surface of what was underneath. I’d read enough medical files to know that they were mostly cold observation, but maybe seeing everything spelled out in black and white would make it easier to process.
“Would you like to read it? You can take it back to your room.” Woods offered me the thick folder and I took it with a slightly shaking hand.
“Thanks.” I meant it. Holding a tangible piece of my life felt better somehow. It was all right here.
“So. What now?”
I looked up from the cover of the file where I’d been absentmindedly tracing the letters of my last name. For a second I’d forgotten where I was, and why. “You tell me. You’re the shrink.”
“Are you always this personable?” Woods’ comment was sarcastic, but from the tone of his voice I knew he wanted to know.
“I’m—” I’m different now, I wanted to say. I’m afraid to care too much, to lose anything else. I’ve already lost so much. “I’m not sure,” I finally answered.
Woods leaned back in his chair, his face serious. “Do you want to change that?”
I thought of Avery, her face sad and cautious when she looked at me. I thought of the moment earlier when I’d debated taking her in my arms, considered holding her pressed against me to feel her warmth and let her try to fix me like I knew she would attempt to do. And then I thought of the crushing blow that would be losing another person I loved, that I was supposed to keep safe.
“No.” I stood up, tucking the folder under my arm as I began to pace in the small space in front of the door. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
Woods regarded me calmly. “Okay. I think we’re done for today.”
I nodded, and before I could stop myself I was out the door and into the hall, taking a deep breath of undiagnosed air as I walked quickly to the elevator, trying to put as much distance as I could between me and the idea that remembering Avery would be the best thing that could ever happen to me.
* * *
“What are you doing?”
Avery’s voice almost stopped me in my tracks, but I kept shoving clothes into the shopping bag she’d brought me the day before.
“I’m leaving.” Curt, again. Too curt. I wasn’t even trying. The guilt of my callousness penetrated through the angry, indifferent skin I’d grown over the last few days.
“You’re… you’re leaving? What do you mean? Where are you going?”
I turned to look at her, and the look in her eyes almost brought me to my knees. I saw disbelief there, and fear, but most of all love. Even after this week, when I’d rebuffed her, ignored her, and essentially rejected her, the love was still there, so strong that it almost broke my resolve.
“I can’t stay here anymore,” I said a little more gently.
“But they didn’t release you, did they? I spoke with Dr. Simms this morning, she didn’t say anything about—”
“No,” I said, cutting her off. “I’m checking myself out.”
Dr. Buchanan walked through the open door, a stack of papers in his hands.
“It’s called leaving AMA, or against medical advice.” The irritation in Buchanan’s voice was clear, but I ignored it. “We don’t advise or condone it, obviously, but seeing as Fox has done whatever he wanted to since he regained consciousness, it probably makes no difference at this point.”
I winced a little at his words. A dig at the trashed hospital equipment, I deserved that. I’d asked Lucas to tap into one of my accounts and pay the damage without involving our insurance company in anything but my actual medical expenses. It was my fault, and inexcusable — just more chaos I left in my wake.
“Is that the paperwork?” I wished Buchanan would give me the AMA form and leave because I could tell he was upsetting Avery further with his disapproval, but he seemed determined to make his point.
“Yes. By signing this you acknowledge the fact that you are sound of mind, fully aware of your current condition, and have been informed of a list of potential consequences of your early departure from the hospital, including brain damage and death.”
Just had to tack that on there didn’t you, asshole? I speared Buchanan with a dirty look as Avery’s face paled. After scribbling my signature, I shoved the paper back at him. “Are we done here?”
“Not yet. I might not be able to keep you from leaving, but I can limit your risky activity. The DMV has medically suspended your driver’s license until we do a follow-up MRI in three weeks.” Buchanan looked almost smug as he handed me a separate, official-looking letter.
“What? I’ve never even heard of that,” I said incredulously. “What will three weeks prove?”
“Hopefully, nothing,” he said, and I saw a glimpse of the conscientious, dedicated doctor underneath his annoyance. “If in three weeks — a month after your injury — your scans are as good as they are today, you’ll be considered a medical marvel.
“You’ve suffered a major blow to the head during a vehicular accident, you had a Glasgow Coma Scale score of six to seven, which should indicate severe brain injury, and yet you regained consciousness with full brain functionality and muscle control. The odds of this type of recovery are unprecedented, as are the odds of your one apparent side affect — retrograde amnesia.”
Dr. Simms had mentioned the lapse in my timeline of memory and the high improbability that this would occur in any condition where the patient was fully functional in every other area, so I wasn’t surprised by Buchanan’s words. I’d also sifted through extensive notes about this very subject in my file I’d taken from Woods’ office, which I’d been reading in small doses since yesterday afternoon. I told myself that starting with the most recent reports and working backward wasn’t avoidance, but it felt like it.
“What is your prediction?” Avery asked Buchanan, her tone betraying her nerves.
“Officially?” He looked at me intently, and I steadily stared right back at him. I wanted to hear this as much as Avery did.
She nodded, moving slightly closer to me. Again, I resisted the impulse to put my arm around her, brush the hair away from her nape, run my fingers along her smooth skin. Her warmth was calling to me, my body responding to her as she stood there, close enough to touch but so off limits for my current frame of mind.
“Officially, all signs point to a complete physical recovery and we have no reason to think otherwise. I expect Fox’s scans to be even better in three weeks' time — his fitness level is extremely high and his blood tests are impeccable. His body is incredibly good at healing itself.”
Avery nodded, seeming pacified, but I read between the lines of what Buchanan wasn’t saying.
“And unofficially?” As my friend, physician, former friend, colleague, or whatever, I hoped he’d give it to me straight.
He stared me right in the eye as he spoke. “You’re an extremely lucky jackass who would be six feet under right now in any typical manifestation of this situation. I don’t like your dismissive, cavalier approach to your recovery. And if you break anything else, I’m calling the police.”
My lips curved into a wry smile as he turned and abruptly walked out of the room, muttering something that sounded like dickhead as he passed me. Avery stared after him, shock plainly written on her face, but then she giggled once before smacking a hand over her mouth.
“I’m sorry, that wasn’t funny—” she turned to me and stopped talking suddenly, her eyes wide.
“What?” I asked, uncomfortable under her gaze.
“Your dimple,” she said simply, her voice soft.
“My… what?”
“Your dimple. I missed it.”
She reached a hand up like she wanted to touch my face but stopped when I took a step back involuntarily. Her face fell and my guilt surfaced. Every time she reached for me, I hurt her. Every time she tried, I rejected her. I can’t do this, I wanted to say. Please don’t ask me to. You’d be better off without me.
I opened my mouth to tell her something to that effect but closed it again when she carefully composed her features and squared her shoulders.
“I can drive you somewhere, if you want.” She gestured to my bag.
As my brain struggled to process her unexpected response, I still managed to admire her resiliency. She wasn’t giving up on me, even though she probably should.
I’d made promises to this girl, whether I remembered them or not. I knew myself enough to know I hadn't made those decisions lightly — altered state of my brain notwithstanding. But being someone’s husband… I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it.
Regardless, at every interaction, I was breaking my word. Just like I’d promised those kids I’d get them all out of that valley safely, and I’d failed. Just like I was supposed to have my crew’s back, and I’d lost Landry.
And the worst part — Lucas had told me I’d been in a wheelchair for the funeral. I couldn’t even be a pallbearer because I couldn’t fucking walk. I hadn’t been able to do that last thing for him, and it killed me now like I’m sure it had killed me then. I would’ve traded anything for a strong leg that day, to have been able to carry Landry like I was supposed to and say goodbye.
“No.”
She nodded, seeming unsurprised.
“I’m sorry, Avery. I really am.” The words rushed out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I need some time by myself. We’ll… we’ll talk soon, okay?”
She nodded again, her eyes brimming with disappointed tears. I couldn’t help myself, I reached out and pulled her to me briefly. She felt good in my arms, natural, but I let her go after her shaky sigh brought me back to reality. I moved away quickly, turning my back to her as she watched me pick up my bag and walk out the door.