“Quite sure.”

I’m not convinced. “She seems so agitated.”

“That’s to be expected. Hopefully, her brain will slowly start to process things normally, and she’ll settle down. Right now, we don’t know what recovery will mean for her. It’s best we keep her as calm as possible. And you as well.” She smiles and pats me on the back.

I’m not liking the fact that the word hopefully has been used twice now.

Nodding, I turn back to Ember. My breath quickens at the sight of her with her eyes closed.

Only a few seconds have passed, and I already want to shake her awake. My heart literally aches with the need to hear her voice—soft and happy like I remember. I want to fast forward to the part where she’s wide awake, talking and smiling.

I need to hear her say she loves me.

I’d sell my soul to hear those words again.

“Can I stay here with her tonight?” I ask. “So I can be here when she wakes up again?”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t allow that. As you saw, she’s in a very fragile mental state. All visits are going to have to be kept to an extreme minimum for now.”

I feel like I’m in my own fragile mental state. I don’t want to leave her. I’m on the verge of grabbing my wife and running far away from here. Away from tests and restrictions and unknowns. Instead, I lean down and plant a feather-soft kiss on Ember’s forehead, ignoring the glances between the nurses. “I’ll be back in the morning,” I whisper. “I can’t wait to see those beautiful eyes again.”

By the time I drive back home and begin to fully process the shock of Ember actually beginning to wake, I’m too exhausted and mentally fucked to call Kenzi or anyone else to tell them the news. All I want to do is go to sleep so tomorrow gets here faster.

I’m so tired of being tired. How much longer can I live like this before I lose my mind?

All I want is my wife and our life back.

I have so much to tell her. How—where—do I even start?

Chapter Seven

She doesn’t even have to say a word. I know.

She’s much calmer today, but I can see it in her eyes. Or I guess I should say, I can’t see it. The golden spark—the unique glimmer that lights up Ember’s entire being—is gone.

The very first time I met Ember, it was her eyes that captivated me. Then her smile and her sweet, happy personality sealed the deal on my heart. But her killer eyes—the way they lit up like fireflies when she looked at me—knocked me to my knees right from the start.

When I walked into the hospital room a few moments ago, her gaze locked onto mine. Wide and green, finally focusing directly on me and seeing me.

Amid the crazy, shocked excitement whirling around in my mind and in my heart, an awful realization rose straight to the top.

There’s no radiance of recognition in her eyes.

The I’m looking at the man I love like crazy glint isn’t there.

It’s gone.

I use the act of putting the vase of flowers on the nightstand to give myself a few seconds to convince myself that she’s probably got the worst case of brain fog ever.

And she’s been sedated.

That’s why she’s looking at me like she has no idea who I am.

Not because she forgot me.

“I thought you’d like these,” I say softly, turning to face her with a smile. “They’re called pink pearl roses.”

She blinks at me like an uninterested cat as I drag the guest chair closer to the bed and plant myself in it. Now I know why nurse Sherry was trying to stop me in the hall on my way in. She wanted to warn me so I wouldn’t be sitting here at a total loss for words.

Which is a first for me, because I always have the right words.

But not today.

My breath stalls as I look at her, my excitement morphing to somber empathy. Now that she’s awake, her deep sunken cheeks, dark under-eye circles, and sharp, protruding bones are suddenly much more pronounced. I saw her slow physical decline daily over the years. It progressed in small, almost unnoticeable increments until it became the normal. But now, the severity of her emaciation is gut-wrenching.

And yet, I still think she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Bones, pale skin, limp hair, chapped lips, and all.

She’s still the woman of my dreams. The only woman in the universe I want.

We stare at each other, her with cautious curiosity and me with utter fear of that curiosity. Sherry shuffles into the room with her cart. She hums an upbeat tune in an obvious attempt to break the thick, glacier ice between us.

“I see you have your very first visitor,” Sherry says casually.