Chapter 17 #17
Chapter 17
~ Shailyn ~
What the hell?
Before anyone could react to whoever was about to enter, a girl burst through the doorway looking absolutely distraught. Her face was blotchy and tear-stained, her eyes red-rimmed and wild with emotion.
She came rushing straight toward my bed like a missile locked on target.
In the process of reaching me, she actually pushed Dante aside. I watched in shock as my husband stumbled slightly, caught off guard by the force of her desperation. Then she was on me, wrapping her arms around me in a hug so tight I could barely breathe.
"Oh God, Shay! I was so worried! When they told me you were awake I just…I couldn't…" Her words tumbled out in a breathless rush against my shoulder, punctuated by what sounded like sobs.
I sat there, completely frozen, my arms hanging awkwardly at my sides. Who was this person? And why was she hugging me like I'd just returned from the dead? Well it feels like it though.
The embrace went on for what felt like an eternity before I finally gathered myself enough to gently push her back. She resisted at first, clinging to me like I might disappear if she let go, but eventually she released me and pulled away.
I got my first clear look at her face, young, probably around my age, with kind eyes that were currently swimming with tears. There was genuine love and relief written all over her features. She looked at me like I was the most important person in her world.
And I had absolutely no idea who she was.
"Who are you?" I asked, the words coming out softer than I'd intended. I didn't want to hurt her, she was clearly upset, but I needed answers.
The effect of those three words was devastating.
Her face crumpled.
It just completely collapsed in on itself like a building being demolished in slow motion. The hope and relief that had been shining in her eyes drained away, replaced by something that looked like grief. Like I'd just told her someone had died.
I felt a pang of guilt twist in my chest. I didn't even know this girl, but seeing her so broken because of something I'd said, or rather, something I couldn't remember made me feel terrible.
"I'm your best friend," she whispered, her voice cracking on the last word.
Best friend?
The shock of that statement hit me like a physical blow. I had a best friend? Since when? The last thing I remembered clearly, I didn't have any close friends. I'd been isolated, focused on work and my marriage to Dante. When did I make a best friend? And how had I forgotten someone who clearly cared about me this much?
"Since when do I have a best friend?" The question came out before I could stop it, and I immediately wished I could take it back when I saw her face crumble even further.
Before she could answer or before she could throw herself at me for another crushing hug, Dwayne moved. He stepped forward smoothly and gently pulled her back, creating distance between us. His hands were careful on her shoulders, his touch respectful but firm.
"Hannah," he said quietly. "Give her some space."
Hannah. So that was her name.
Dante shot them both a sharp look, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
I didn't understand what was happening. Why was everyone so on edge? Maybe Dante just didn't like Hannah. Or maybe he didn't like Dwayne touching her. Or maybe it was something else entirely that I was missing because of this stupid memory loss.
"She has amnesia," Dante said, his voice tight as he addressed Hannah. "She doesn't remember the past four years. That includes you."
The words were blunt, almost cruel in their delivery. Hannah flinched like he'd slapped her.
"Four years?" she repeated, looking between Dante and me with disbelief. "She doesn't remember... anything?"
"Nothing recent," Dante confirmed. "The doctors say the memories might come back gradually, but for now…"
I stopped listening. The drowsiness was hitting me again, sudden and overwhelming, like someone had thrown a heavy blanket over my consciousness. The medication they'd given me earlier must have been kicking in, pulling me down into sleep whether I wanted it or not.
The voices around me started to blur together, becoming indistinct murmurs that I couldn't quite separate into individual words. I felt myself listing sideways, and then Dante was there, catching me, helping me lie back against the pillows.
"Rest," I heard him say, though his voice sounded like it was coming from very far away. "Just rest, baby."
I wanted to stay awake. I wanted to understand what was happening, wanted to piece together the mystery of this life I apparently couldn't remember. But my eyelids were so heavy, and the pull of sleep was too strong to resist.
The last thing I was aware of before darkness claimed me was the feeling of Dante's hand holding mine, warm and solid and familiar.
…
When I woke up again, the room was quieter. Softer somehow, like the sharp edges of the world had been smoothed down while I slept.
My head still hurt, a dull, persistent ache that pulsed behind my eyes but it was better than before. More manageable.
I opened my eyes slowly and found Hannah sitting in the chair beside my bed. She wasn't crying anymore, but her face still looked sad. When she noticed I was awake, though, her expression brightened immediately.
"Hey," she said softly, leaning forward. "How are you feeling?"
I gave her a small smile, trying to be kind even though I still didn't remember her. "Better. A little."
"I'm so glad." Her relief seemed genuine, unforced. Whatever our relationship had been before my accident, she clearly cared about me deeply.
A question occurred to me then, sudden and urgent. "Where's Dante?"
Hannah's face did something complicated, a twist of emotion that might have been anger, or disgust, or something else entirely. It was there and gone so quickly I almost thought I'd imagined it, but the tension in her shoulders remained.
"He stepped out," she said, her tone carefully neutral. "Said he needed to make some calls."
There was something in the way she said it, something in the deliberate flatness of her voice that made my instincts prickle. Like she wanted to say more but was holding herself back.
She seemed to be wrestling with something internal, her jaw working like she was chewing on words she wasn't sure she should speak. Finally, she took a deep breath and leaned closer, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper.
"Look, Shay," she began, and I noticed she used what must have been a nickname for me. "Everything isn't what it seems to look like."
My heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"
She glanced at the door nervously, then back at me. "Dante is…"
"Dante is what?”
The voice came from the doorway, sharp and dangerous. We both jumped, our heads whipping around to find Dante standing there with an expression that could have frozen hell itself.
I hadn't heard him come in. How long had he been standing there?