I suppose he could be a fan or a journalist who remembers me from before and has come to talk to me after somehow finding out I’m awake.

Whoever he is, he’s watching me from the chair in my tiny living room with an amused grin as I scrutinize him. Tufts of wavy, dark-brown hair peek out from under his black knit hat. He’s wearing a black button-down shirt, black dress pants, black leather shoes. His rust-colored leather jacket with fleece cuffs and collar looks soft as butter and smells expensive. I’m surprised it’s not also black.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember you,” I say. “I have memory loss.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Oh.” This is a first. “Who are you, then?”

Although I willingly let him into my small, private suite, a sliver of fear creeps up my spine. I probably shouldn’t have let him in here alone without knowing who he is, even if he seems too good-looking and well-dressed to be harmful.

“Redwood.”

“That’s your name?”

He nods.

“Is that your first or last name?”

“It’s just my name.”

“Interesting. Why did you want to see me?”

“I wanted to see what you looked like without blood pouring out of your skull.” His crystal-blue gaze slowly travels down to my toes, then back to lock onto my eyes. He slowly tilts his head. “I’m not disappointed.”

Goose bumps raise up on my arms, and not the nice kind I get when Asher smiles at me or touches my cheek. “I’m sorry, I think you’re in the wrong room. I think you should leave and go be weird someplace else.”

The smirk on his face is an unsettling mix of eerie and handsome. “I’m definitely in the right room.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should call a nurse or security.”

“Go ahead. They know me well here.” He leans his head back against the chair. “Don’t look so scared, Ember. I’m not going to hurt you after I saved you.”

He must be a patient here like me. Someone whose head isn’t working right. I smile politely and tone down my defenses. It’s not his fault if he’s confused and lost and saying crazy things. I know how that feels, and it’s not nice when people aren’t understanding about it.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you should go.”

“Did you hear what I said? I saved your life. When you cracked your egg open.”

Sucking in a breath, I instinctively reach up to rub the back of my head. There’s no crack, no brain seeping out.

“Were you one of my doctors?”

He scoffs. “Hardly. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time.”

What place? What time?

The edges of my vision blur, bringing the usual throb to the front of my head.

I squint at him. “I don’t understand.”

“I brought you back to life—with my own breath—after your husband pulled you out of the river. He was freaking the fuck out while you were slipping to the dark side. Someone had to do something. That someone was me.”

My mouth falls open. “No one’s told me any of that.”

“Not surprised.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. I’m shocked and confused. “Well, thank you for saving me, Mister Redwood. I don’t have the words to give enough gratitude.”

“I didn’t come for thanks.”

I blink at him.

“You were Sleeping Beauty for a loooooonnnnng time. Tell me how you are. How’s my breath doing in those lungs?”

That’s a hard question to answer. I never know how I’m doing. How do I describe the feelings of utter loneliness? The confusion? The feeling I don’t belong here? The fear of falling asleep?

I settle for the easy answer. “Better. Physically, at least. I still can’t remember anything, though.”

“I heard.” He taps his finger against his head. “The brain’s a funny thing. Has a mind of its own.” The smirk creeps across his lips again, and he stands, pulling a card from the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Here’s my info. Call me if you ever need anything.”

Taking it from him, I glance at the matte black card that has nothing but a big black R embossed on it with a tiny phone number. “Like what?”

“I’ve been where you are. As nice as people try to be? They’re never going to understand how you feel. What you need. I do. I’ll leave the rest up to your imagination.”

“I don’t think I’ll be needing anything.”

“You say that now…” He gives his hat a little tug farther down his forehead. “But once you leave here? That’s a whole ‘nother story.”

He exits as abruptly as he came, leaving me staring at the door, wondering if anything he said was true.

After a few minutes pass, I make a note in my notebook of things to remember to not let any future uninvited men into my room if I’m alone.

Then I tuck his card in the back flap of the notebook.