My phone is ringing, and I want to dig a hole in the ground and bury it deep.

Because I bet it’s Trent again. And I don’t want to hear what he has to say.

I’m changing my number today – even if my traitorous mind doesn’t like it, even if it still holds out hope that Kaden might still call or text me.

He hasn’t. Not in months. So holding out hope is a…a hobby. A stupid pastime. A mistake.

And I need to stop thinking about him. I need peace to focus on my work. I’m finally getting back into the groove, going through my portfolio and rearranging it, checking what I have and choosing pieces for a small exhibition.

Funny how when your life falls apart your work picks up. The gallery I’d submitted a project to more than a year ago finally got back to me and said they want it. Now, in fact – as in two months, so I need to bust my ass and choose the pieces, print them and frame them and decide on the installation.

I’ve already settled on most of the photos.

I try not to dwell on the fact that the photos I picked are photos of Kaden and how I need his permission to use them.

I don’t have to tell him. They are so zoomed in anyway, he wouldn’t even recognize himself.

Still. Not ethical.

Damn.

I’m still changing my phone, okay? And if I call Kaden to ask for his permission to use the pics, I will ignore the butterflies in my stomach and the fire in my blood and the need to hear his voice one last time.

What if he doesn’t give me permission, though?

What if he screws this up for me? The only important thing left in my life: my job. My art. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose this, too. It’s what has always pulled me back from the dark, what has kept me sane when my parents split up after countless screaming matches, threats and arguments over who would have custody of me.

Neither of them wanted it.

And that hurt like a bitch.

That’s when I started losing myself in pictures, chasing down the perfect image, learning about techniques and styles.

Their doomed wedding and the pain they caused turned me into who I am. I can’t be grateful to them for it, but this one thing, my photography, will pull me out of the mire this time, too.

There’s nobody who can do it for me. Nobody to save me. Again I’ll have to save myself.

The phone starts ringing again as I go through more photos on my trusted laptop –photos of Kaden working on a car, of him lounging in the sun, winking at me.

My heart squeezes in my chest.

God, I miss him.

Why did things have to turn out this way?

And the phone is still ringing. Jesus.

Grabbing it, I swipe my thumb across the screen. “Yeah?”

I hope I sound as annoyed as I feel, which is a lot.

“Hailey?” a male voice asks, deep and husky, and for a crazy moment I think it’s Kaden.

Only it’s not. I’d know his voice even in a crowd of screaming football fans, even in a club with a deafening beat pulsing through the walls.

“Who is this?”

“Oh, yeah, right. I’m Matt, Kaden’s brother. I believe we met once.”

Matt Hansen. “Yes, we did. You came with your girlfriend and the kids.” I frown. “Are you all right?”

Not sure what made me ask. Something seems off about his voice, and besides…Why would he call me?

“Are you in Chicago?” he asks.

“Yes. Why are you calling me, Matt? What’s going on?” I wrack my brain for a reason. “Did Kaden put you up to this? Did he think to have you check on how miserable I am?”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Miserable?”

I swallow hard and get up from my chair. “That’s none of his business. Unless that wasn’t the purpose of your call.”

“It isn’t. Hailey…” His pause sounds ominous. I wander to my couch and sink down in it, my legs suddenly weak.

“What is it? Don’t… Did something happen to Kaden? Oh my God, is he…?” I clap a hand over my mouth, my body going cold. “Matt, is he dead?”

A reassuring chuckle comes down the line. “No, he’s very much alive and annoying as ever.”

Heaving a huge sigh of relief, closing my eyes, I fall back, my head hitting the back rest.

Scary how glad I am to hear it.

“But,” Matt says, and my eyes fly open.

“But what?”

“But he’s in the hospital.”

I sit up, my heart starting to hammer. “What aren’t you telling me? Is he okay? Is he hurt? Is he sick? What, Matt?”

“Okay, sorry, I just don’t want to shock you,” he mutters, and my heart jackknives in my chest.

“What?” I practically wail. “Tell me.”

“He had an accident. He hit his head and is confused. He, uh… he thinks that you, uh…”

Oh God, I’m hyperventilating. “He thinks that I what?”

And confused? What does that even mean?

“He thinks,” Matt says, “that you guys are still together. He keeps asking for you. Will you come?”

* * *

He keeps asking for you.

He thinks you are still together.

How has my life been twisted up again like this?

And why does it hurt that he’s asking for me?

Maybe because I know this isn’t real. Because as soon as he’s better, when his confusion clears, he’ll know we haven’t been together in a while, he’ll recall he’s seeing another woman, and he’ll be gone from my life once more.

Only, going back to normal won’t be that easy for me. I’ve only just begun to put the pieces of my life back together, finally able to focus on my work and not spend both days and nights thinking of him. Missing him.

But he needs my help. How can I say no?

I’ve never been able to say no to him. Even if this breaks me completely.

How long will his confusion take to clear? I google concussions as I wait at the airport for my flight to be called.

Confusion. Amnesia. Retrograde, antegrade. Can last between a few hours to a few days.

I chew on my lip, staring at the words.

A few days, tops. If he hasn’t remembered everything already and I’ll make a damn fool of myself by walking into his room to see how I can help – only to find he doesn’t want me anywhere near him.

Gah.

I cuddle my camera case like a pet, trying to draw comfort from it. On a second thought, I pull out my small pocket camera, the one I use for quick ideas, and snap a few photos of the people around me, the familiar task calming me down.

You’ve got this, I tell myself. So your ex-boyfriend hit his head and forgot you are not together. He is asking for you.

Your second ex cheating boyfriend.

Anyway.

You will just go, see if you can help, and come back here where you are rebuilding your life. Nothing to it. Everyone does it.

Phew!

I check the pics I just took and delete most, keeping two for my Ideas! folder. And of course, as I pass older pics I find some of Kaden. I couldn’t stop snapping pictures of him.

Hanging my head, tears pooling in the corners of my eyes, I pass them, one by one.

Kaden lying naked on the bed – our bed.

Kaden grinning at me from across the breakfast table.

Kaden in a frilly white apron and nothing else, a spatula in his hand. I remember that day. He tried to make pancakes for me. Almost burned the apartment down.

Not because he can’t cook, but because we got distracted. I got distracted. How could I not when he was practically naked in my kitchen? God…

This is torture. Seeing him will hurt so badly, but thinking of him helpless and confused in a hospital room also cuts deep.

The things you do to me, Kade… And the things I do for you.