Ember: Okay. Let me get my laptop so I can see you on a bigger screen. I’ll chat you from there. :-)

I do the same—grabbing my laptop and starting up the video chat program. I prop my pillows up behind me as I wait for the app to ring with her call.

When the app trills, I hit connect. Video of my face fills a tiny rectangle in the upper right of the screen, but the area where her video is supposed to be is black.

“Hi.” Her voice comes through the small speakers.

I move my mouse around the screen. “I can’t see you.”

“Oh,” she says. “I can see you.”

“I can hear you, but I can’t see you. It’s black.”

“Not sure why. I haven’t changed anything.” Her voice is thick and nasally—much worse than I was expecting her to sound. Now I feel bad for bugging her about not talking to me.

“Wow, babe, you sound really stuffed up.”

“I’m still all congested.”

“You should take a hot shower and breathe in a lot of steam. You’ll feel better.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Are you sure you have the settings right? The camera is enabled? It worked the last time we did video chat.”

“I haven’t changed anything. It’s okay. I can see you.”

“I wanted to see you, though. You want to try to FaceTime on your phone?”

“No, I like this better. I don’t like the tiny screen.”

I frown at the laptop and click the black, video-less area. Nothing changes. “I’m just bummed I can’t see you.” I wish she’d switch over to her phone so we can both see each other—small screen or not.

“It’s probably for the best. I don’t look too great. It’s nice to see your smile.” She’s quiet for a few seconds. “Um…are you naked? Or just shirtless?”

I laugh and tilt the screen so she can see the black cargo shorts I’m wearing. “Not naked,” I say. “I’ll take requests, though.”

She laughs. “Ash…” The sound of ice tinkling in a glass drifts from the speakers. “I’m really sorry about the past few days.”

“Babe, it’s okay. It’s not your fault you’re sick.”

“It’s not okay. I didn’t know…” She pauses. “I didn’t know I would feel too icky to talk. I wouldn’t do that to you after what you’ve been through. I know it upsets you to not be able to talk to me.”

Upset is an understatement.

“Not gonna lie. I thought you left me. Especially when Sarah sounded sketchy.”

“Sarah sounded sketchy?” A hint of fear pulses through her words.

“I think I was making her nervous asking so many questions.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry about it, Em. It’s all good now.”

“That’s all I want—everything to be good. I know we keep saying this…but can we put everything behind us? My accident, the memory loss, the past, the iPad thing, everything? Can we just start over?”

I can’t tell if she’s congested, or if she’s quietly sobbing, but I’ve never heard such heartbreaking desperation in her voice.

“Sweetheart, listen to me. We can start over a million times. A hundred fuckin’ million times. There’s no expiration date. I’m here. I’ll never give up on us. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m way more than sure.”

The jingling of Teddy’s metal tags on his collar sound in the background—telling me he just jumped on the bed with her. If I close my eyes, I can see her softly petting him as he rests his head on her lap.

“Can you ever love me again?” Her voice is a gut-wrenching mix of sadness and hope—shredding my heart and destroying my soul. The deep ache in my chest almost doubles me over.

The woman I love more than anyone in the entire fuckin’ universe is asking me if I’ll ever love her again. She should never, ever question that.

Before the accident, she never would have. The thought would never even enter her mind.

Part of her doubt stems from the horrible shit that happened to us.

But another part of it comes directly from me.

Things I’ve said and done over the past few months.

And that’s fucking killing me.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she says softly. “I know you love me.”

I shake my head. “No. You should always say exactly what’s on your mind.”

“I made you sad. I can see it on your face, and now I feel awful.”

“You didn’t make me sad, Em.” I stare into the tiny camera, wishing I could see her looking back at me. “And, yes, I’ll love you again. I still love you. I’ll always love you.”

“Even if I’m different than you remember?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She lets out a relieved sigh, then says in a more upbeat tone, “That’s all I really needed to hear.”

Grinning, I raise my eyebrows at the screen. “Is that all?”

“Is there something you want me to hear?” She throws the flirty tone right back at me.

“Lots, actually.”

“Such as?” she urges playfully.

I lean back against the pillows, stretching out, with the laptop balanced on my lap.