“I could go over the last batch of files with you, if you want,” Nina said when Ewan didn’t reply. He’d caught her staring, so she made sure to keep her tone light. Casual.

Inside though, her guts fluttered like she’d swallowed a jarful of moths. Ewan’s hazel eyes glinted in the firelight that cast shadows on his profile. His hair was getting long, she thought, and wished she could lean forward to brush it off his forehead. How would he react if she did? Would he laugh? Would he reach up to grab her hand and push it away?

Would he pull her closer? Maybe take her in his arms, she thought with a shiver. Maybe he would . . . do nothing. He did nothing, because of course she kept her hands to herself and did not sexually harass her employer.

He shook his head. “No work talk tonight. We can do that tomorrow. For now, just tell me about yourself, Nina. How are you doing?”

“I’m . . .” Shiny fine, Nina meant to say. Terrific. Great. Not a care in the world.

Grateful, she wanted to say. For the place you’ve given me. Work, a roof over my head, food in my belly. Medical care to help me heal.

Instead, her voice trailed off hesitantly as she stared into the fireplace. “Confused.”

Ewan had settled into the battered synthleather armchair across from the sofa. He leaned forward now, his glass glimmering with crimson wine. “About what? The files?”

“Oh, no. The work is hyper easy. Boring, really,” she added with a wry laugh.

“Boring.” Ewan’s mouth twisted.

“Sorry, but it’s true.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, Nina.”

She drew in a breath and sat back on the couch, trying hard to gather her thoughts. It was easier right now than it was at other times. Sometimes, her mind was full of flighty, slippery ideas, as hard to grasp and hold onto as a fistful of quicksilver minnows. She didn’t know what was worse, knowing that she’d forgotten something important, or being unable to remember that she was constantly forgetting.

“It’s very repetitive and dull,” Nina explained. “It’s not . . . challenging.”

The last thing she wanted him to think was that she was unappreciative. A twinge of pain traced a phantom fingertip between her eyes. She wanted to press her hand against it but also did not want to let on that she was hurting. It had become a matter of pride to her that she didn’t complain about the chronic headaches. Doc Zulik had assured her they would fade in time, but Nina had resigned herself to their frequency.

“I see,” he said.

“I don’t want to sound like I’m whining about the work, Ewan, please understand that. I know I could be so much worse off. I’m not sure there are many jobs that would let me recover at my own pace without pressure. On a beautiful island and in a gorgeous house, with so much free time, and so little asked of me. It’s more like a vacation than anything. I’m aware of that.”

“You were injured on the job,” Ewan told her firmly. “I told you in the beginning that your recovery is paramount, and Donahue Enterprises takes full responsibility for your rehab.”

“Not just Donahue Enterprises. You, personally,” Nina murmured. The words slipped out of her a little hesitantly, not quite on purpose, although she wasn’t trying very hard to hold them back. “You’ve gone above and beyond.”

“I’ve told you before,” Ewan began, but stopped as though embarrassed to remind her of all the other times he’d had to say the same things, of all the times she’d still had to ask.

Nina shook her head. She’d asked the docs, as well as Aggie, Jerome, and Ewan, all of them, what had happened to her. How she’d ended up here. They’d all given her the same details, every time she asked . . . all the times that she could remember, anyway. “You can say it. I know I need to be told things over and over again. I know it’s annoying.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not annoying at all. You ask me however many times you have to. I’ll always make sure to tell you.”

“That could be a lot of times,” she joked, but didn’t feel like it was very funny. Her breath hitched in her throat. “I mean, it’s enough to annoy my own self, sometimes, how hard it is for me to just hold on to what should be so simple.”

“It’s not simple at all.”

She looked into his eyes, able to hold the gaze only for a moment before feeling somehow shy. Vulnerable. “You’re very kind.”

“I feel responsible for what happened to you, Nina. You were working for me when you were injured. It was my fault.”

“It’s not like you shoved me over the edge of the cliff.” She meant to tease, but something in the way Ewan’s expression went cold and shuttered set her back a little against the sofa cushions with a horrible thought rising to the front of her mind. Her heart pounded, her pulse a rush-rush throbbing in her ears, and her throat dried. “You didn’t . . . did you?”

“No. Of course not. God, no.” Ewan got up from his chair to stride to the fireplace. He fiddled with the controls, turning down the flames, his back to her.

Every muscle in her body had tensed as though she meant to flee at the first sign of aggression from him, but Nina forced herself to breathe that anxiety away. She got off the couch, her knees still a little weak. She touched his shoulder, thinking she wanted to see his face for this conversation, but was shocked when he tensed and jerked away from her hand.

She stepped back with a murmured apology. “Of course I don’t think you pushed me off a cliff, Ewan. That would be absurd.”

Assess.

The word echoed in her head. What did it mean, that voice that spoke to her so often but never explained itself? Nina frowned, trying to glean any meaning from it but unable to.

“Wouldn’t it?” Her voice sounded very far away.

She was falling.

Falling.

Nina closed her eyes for a second, then opened them to focus on the glass of wine she’d been sipping. She’d taken it because Ewan had offered it, but the single sip she’d tasted was sour enough to pucker her lips. She set it on the table between them and leaned forward, mimicking Ewan’s pose. He was leaning with his hands on his knees, his gaze piercing her. She did the same with her hands, rubbing lightly to feel the edges of some scar tissue through the soft material of her long skirt. The scars were old, ridged, and ugly but faded, compared to the ones that sometimes still ached beneath her hairline and at her temples. She had more twisted scars all over her body. They weren’t from the accident. Not unless it had happened long, long before they were telling her it had, and that wouldn’t explain the newer ones.

So many questions without answers.

“Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes. Why? Oh.” She sighed and pressed her fingertips to her forehead. “I must have blanked. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Ewan said. “But if you’re not feeling well, I can arrange for Zulik to come sooner than your next scheduled visit. Get you checked out.”

“Something feels off,” she admitted finally, “and I can’t figure out what it is.”

He leaned forward. “With your recovery? Aggie says that you seem to be all right.”

“Aggie says?” Nina had suspected the older woman was more than a cook and housekeeper. Not quite a nurse or a babysitter, but something like that. This was the first time Nina could recall Ewan ever admitting it. “What does she say?”

“She said you seem all right,” he repeated. “That you’re getting better, every day. That you seem . . . happy.”

She tilted her head at his tone. “Happy?”

“You’re not?” Ewan asked.

Happy seemed an absurd thing to be, or not to be. Nina wasn’t sure if she knew what happy meant, really. “I’m not sure. That’s the problem. I’m not sure what I am. It’s like I understand there are words for emotions, and I can even understand what they are, but asking me to feel them is . . . I just . . . I’m not sure.”

Ewan frowned. “Are you depressed, or sad, or angry?”

“I’m not sure,” she repeated. “I told you. I understand, I think, what all of that means. But I’m not quite sure I’m feeling any of it.”

“I’ll call the doc tomorrow. It might be something with your meds,” Ewan said.

Nina hesitated, not wanting to admit to him that she’d stopped taking the meds. The pills made her groggy. She’d even stopped taking the pills that were meant to help with the headaches, because they didn’t really work on the pain, and sometimes upset her stomach. “I don’t think that’s it. But there is something bothering me, and I can’t figure out what it is.”

“It must be frustrating, feeling like you’re doing better and then having some trouble again. I understand.”

She was sure he couldn’t, not without experiencing it himself. And there, that was a feeling, wasn’t it? Irritation?

Dissatisfaction, she thought. That was the word for it. Nina lifted her wineglass to her lips again, but didn’t drink. She put the glass on the coffee table with a small, quiet clink. She stared at it for a minute.

“I shouldn’t be drinking this,” she said in a low voice.

Ewan coughed lightly into his fist, but didn’t sit back in his chair. When she looked up at him, his expression had gone tight and intense. His gaze, fierce again, as though he was trying to dig into her mind with his eyes.

“Why not?” he asked.

She shrugged. The sensation of almost remembering something was like a hot wire sliding into her brain’s meat—they said the brain couldn’t feel anything, but Nina knew that wasn’t true. The question was, how did she know what “they” said, and how did she know this pain was long familiar, not brand new?

“I don’t know. I just feel like I shouldn’t be drinking while I’m . . .” She trailed off and shook her head ruefully. She forced a smile for him. “But I’m not working now. Why do I feel like I should be working? I’m not behind. If anything, I’m ahead of schedule, even though the job is—”

“Boring,” he repeated, but this time with a small chuckle.

She laughed. “Yes. Galactically boring. And it feels strange. I hate to even ask, Ewan, but was this the job I was doing for you before the accident?”

It was the first time it had occurred to her to question it. She’d woken to darkness in her mind and pain. Weeks of physical pain, being unable to get out of bed on her own, incapable of dressing or feeding herself. By the time she was on her feet and able to “work,” she’d gladly accepted the tasks without question.

“Not exactly.” He hesitated. “But I gave you the new job in order to help your recovery. Your previous position was a lot more strenuous.”

“What was I doing for you?” An eagerness filtered through her. Something bitter washed over her tongue and throat, making her eyes water. She coughed, then coughed again before shaking her head. He was staring at her. “Sorry, I guess the wine went down the wrong pipe.”

“Do you need some water?”

“No,” she said, then noticed the way the corners of his mouth turned down. She knew that expression. “I blanked again, didn’t I?”

In the beginning, the places, people, and events she could not remember had been blatant, like stepping along a garden path and finding a missing stone. More often now, she simply blinked and time had passed, and she didn’t know what had happened during it.

“No more than a few seconds.” He looked uncomfortable.

“What’s it like?”

Ewan frowned. “What do you mean?”

“When I blank,” Nina asked. “Is it . . . bad? Do I look bad?”

“No, Nina. You don’t look bad. You go quiet, and you look as though you’re trying to see something far away. That’s all.”

She was still embarrassed. It had to be awkward to be around her when that happened, even if he and Aggie and Jerome were used to it. “What were we talking about?”

“Working for me. Your recovery.”

“What about it?” she asked quietly.

Ewan didn’t reply at first. Finally, he sat back in his chair with another awkward cough. “You don’t like the job,” he said. “But you like it here.”

“On the island? This house?” She looked around the cozy living room. The fireplace. The rain-lashed windows. Finally, at him. “With you.”

Ewan nodded.

A tension coiled between them that she thought should make her uneasy, but it didn’t. The wine had kindled warmth in her belly, but now it was becoming a real heat. She’d known him for a few months, but he was still essentially a stranger. More than that, he was her boss, she reminded herself again. Forbidden.

“How long have I worked for you?”

“A little over a year.” Ewan spoke confidently, easily. Not lying.

Why would he be lying?

Protect.

The voice spoke inside her head. Again, heat swirled through her. “Were you with me when I had my accident?”

“No . . . I’m sorry. If I had been . . .”

She waited, but he didn’t finish. “If you had been, what? You’d have been able to stop it?”

Ewan looked guilty. Nina got up from the couch, too restless to sit. She paced in front of the fireplace, feeling his gaze burning her as much as the flames in the fireplace.

“I went for a run. I got too close to the edge of the cliffs. The ground went out from under me, and I fell. That’s what happened.” She said it with conviction, although she couldn’t remember any of it. “You didn’t make me go running. That was all me. It was an accident. So I was here, on the island, running. But not working with the files? I was doing something else here?”

“You were working for me,” he said again, which was not a full answer. “If you don’t want to stay here, Nina, if you’d rather go—”

“Why wouldn’t I want to stay here?” When he didn’t answer, Nina added, “Was I trying to leave when the accident happened?”

Was that why the thought of leaving the island sent a rush of nausea through her that she had to fight with slow, deep breaths? She reacted badly every time she imagined leaving. Dizziness, sick stomach, sometimes muscle weakness. Her body was healing, but her mind still clung to the trauma it had suffered.

Eliminate.

She blinked hard against a stab of pain that faded surprisingly fast.

“No. But you are free to go if you want. You’re not a prisoner here, Nina.”

She should have been startled that he could even think she believed such a thing, but before she could reply, Ewan kept talking.

“I’d never hold you against your will. I hope you understand that.”

Something in the underlying grit of his voice stopped her from answering right away. Nina let her stomach settle before she took up her glass again. Again, she found herself unable to sip. She crossed one arm over her belly and cupped her elbow to hold the glass up. In the firelight, the red liquid shimmered. She liked red wine. She knew that, despite the lingering sour taste. She felt that she liked it, anyway, even if she could not fucking simply remember it. Why, then, she did keep having the persistent feeling she shouldn’t drink it?

“Of course I don’t think you’d keep me here if I wanted to go,” she said at last. “Who are you trying to convince, Ewan? Me or yourself?”

Ewan faced her, finally. His expression had smoothed. His gaze was still fervent, but his smile seemed more natural. “That came off pretty intense. Sorry. Listen, you said you were confused. About what?”

She’d forgotten, not that she’d told him that, but the specifics of why she’d said that in the first place. Frowning, she chewed the inside of her cheek for a second. “Probably everything, I guess. I’m still forgetful. I don’t remember what I meant to say, to be honest.”

“Are you doing the exercises the doc left for you?”

Along with the physical routine of getting her body back in its best working order and the daily meds, she’d been given a series of mental exercises designed to work out her short-term memory. Number matching, pattern recognition. That sort of thing. She never minded working her body, but she hated the mental tasks, mostly because they seemed to have been designed for toddlers or people with dementia. The colors, music, “rewards” of chipper cartoon characters praising her, all smacked of condescension.

“Of course I am,” she lied.

“They’re supposed to help. Working on your short-term memory is the key to triggering the long-term.”

Nina lifted the glass and studied it. “And if it doesn’t? I’ll have permanent amnesia for large chunks of my life. Sometimes about my life when I was eight years old, sometimes about what happened to me at eight o’clock this morning. I have brain damage, Ewan. From everything you all have told me, I’m lucky to be alive. That’s what’s important, right?”

Her own tone didn’t even sound convincing, but Ewan nodded. “Absolutely. Glad you’re alive. But it doesn’t hurt to hope that you’re going to make a full recovery.”

“Is that all it is? Hope?”

“Without hope,” Ewan said, leaning forward, his tone almost fierce, “what’s the point of anything?”

Later, the echo of his voice filled her head as she slipped naked between fresh sheets and beneath the heavy comfort of her thick blankets. Nina looked up, up, into the darkness of her bedroom. Hope.

It was really all she had.