When Sparks Fly (88 page)

The younger man chuckles. “You’re safe. You aren’t supposed to know me. I’m Dr. Ben. I’m going to help you jog stuff loose so you can remember some things. Sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Dr. Ben runs his hand over his neatly trimmed black beard. “Great. Do you have any questions for me or Dr. Hannigan?”

I nod. “Does either of you know my name?”

The men look at each other and Dr. Ben smiles. “Jordyn.”

*

Grant

November

We pull into port in Dubai on a Sunday and leave on Tuesday. I remain drunk in the hotel the entire time. So far, during the two port calls in the three months at sea, I have managed to be shit-faced the entire time.

It’s not so bad. It allows me to forget for a few hours.

The long days and endless nights are slowly killing me. I haven’t received a word from Jordyn. I’m apparently all but forgotten to her.

Unfortunately, the opposite is not true. As much as I attempt to push her to the back of my mind, she’s always there. Keeping me up all night long. Invading my waking thoughts. I’ve gone over every single one of our conversations so many times, I’m no longer sure what’s real.

I pull up the pictures on my phone. The few that I have of her. I tried to delete them, but just couldn’t seem to take the extra step that would’ve completely removed her from my life. It’s the only proof I have that the time we spent together – no matter how brief it had been – was special. Fun. And apparently had to last me a lifetime.

Beeper comes up behind me and sits. “Cary, it occurs to me that you need to either get on with your life and let Jordyn go, or hunt that woman down and find out what the hell happened.”

“That’s going to be a little difficult seeing as we’re floating in the middle of the ocean. Besides, she’s the one who blew me off. If she wants to talk, she can contact me.”

“Yeah, you show her. Make her come to you. I mean, forget the fact that you’re the one with all the questions, and she’s has all the answers.”

I flip him the bird. Fuck him, he has no idea what I’m going through.

He leans closer to me. “Here’s the thing, man. You need to move on. Let go of whatever stupid pride you’re clinging to and ask her what the hell happened in Chicago. Yeah, you may not like the answer. It may make you feel shittier for a while, but in the end, you’ll know. Then you can stop pulling up her pictures wondering what you did wrong that pushed her away – because I know that’s what you’re doing. I’ve been your friend for too long. This is how you work.

“In the meantime, go be a Navy jet pilot and find some hot young thing while we’re in port, and get laid. Lots. By lots of different women. At the same time. Get laid the entire time you’re in port.”

“Stop trying to live your sexual fantasies vicariously through me, perv.” I drink the rest of my water and toss the bottle into the recycle bin.

Beeper gets up and starts walking away. “Think about it. If for no other reason, to help preserve my sanity while we’re out here. I can’t stand to watch your sad little puppy dog eyes droop any more than they already have.” He puts on a sad face and pulls his lower eyelids down.

“Yeah, whatever, fuck face. Get the hell out of here and leave me alone.”

He takes a step closer and opens his arms wide. “Do you need a hug, big guy?” He tries to wrap his burly arms around me.

“Get the hell away from me, Beeper.” I push him off. “We haven’t been at sea long enough for that.”

He snorts. “Maybe you haven’t, but I was used to getting sex two or three times a week before coming out here. A man has needs – you’re my best friend.” He moves in again, nearly covering me with his body as I sit in the chair. “Give me some lovin’…”

“Dude, get the fuck off me or I’ll shoot you.”

He pulls away, huge grin on his face. “Fine, I’ll go see if Rooster can give me a blow job. Remember, ‘it’s not gay, if you’re underway.’”

He walks out and I’m left wondering if he’s right. Maybe I should try to get a hold of Jordyn. Make her explain why the hell she left me standing in a park in the middle of Chicago without a single word. Or maybe I didn’t really want to know the truth because it would just verify what I already know.

I’m destined to be alone. Forever.

*

Jordyn

My father pulls to a stop in front of a huge home. It was a long trip from Chicago to here. I cried when they discharged me from the rehabilitation facility. It’s the only home I know – that I remember. Now I’m here, with virtual strangers who claim to be my parents, expected to return to a life I don’t have any memory of living.

We enter the house and walk into the foyer. A woman in her mid-fifties greets me with a smile so genuine it lights up my heart. “Miss Jordyn, we’re so happy you’re home.”

I nod. “Thank you.” I wish I knew her name, but I feel awkward asking for it. I’m sure she’s aware of my memory loss, but it still seems rude to ask.

I follow Bronte and Faith into a large room that’s so formal, I’m afraid to breathe. Everything’s white and perfect. There’s no way this is where they normally hang out as a family. It’s uncomfortable as hell.

A man, maybe a few years older than me, stands up as we enter. A woman who was wiping something off a toddler’s face goes to his side.

“Jordyn, this is your brother, Eddie.” Faith says. She’s odd to me. I don’t get any warm fuzziness from her, although she tells me we were close. I’m not sure I believe it. I mean, if you want a do-over with your kid, memory loss is a great way to go. Anything you did to them as a child is forgotten and you can rewrite history any way you want.

My brother looks annoyed, pulling the woman next to him tighter into his side.

She smiles, but it’s the same smile Faith and Bronte give me. Emotionless. Fake.

“Hi, I’m Eddie’s wife, Elizabeth, but you may call me Beth.” She points to the two young boys busily playing with their electronic games. “And these are your nephews, Edgar, Jr. and Bastian.”

“Bastian?”

A thin line replaces her smile. “Yes, Bastian. It’s a family name.”

I feel a twinge of sadness for the boy. I’m sure he’s going to get his ass kicked as soon as he enters middle school. I have no idea how I know – it’s not like I have any memory of such things. My past is all based on feelings. Whether they’re accurate representations of life or not, I have no clue.

The doorbell rings and a man is escorted into the room. He’s early to mid-thirties, wearing a white tennis shirt, shorts, and shoes. He smiles, and even his teeth are a brilliant white. He’s perfectly tanned, hair perfectly gelled. And he makes me really uneasy.

He greets everyone in the room and comes straight towards me.

“Jordyn, it is so good to see you. My God, we were all so worried about you.” He leans in and kisses me.

My heart is racing and I back away.
Who the hell is this man, and what the hell is he thinking?

“Jeremy,” Bronte says to the man. “Jordyn is still a bit confused. Just give her some time.” He turns to me. “Jordyn, Jeremy is your fiancé.”

“Well, not officially,” Jeremy says, glancing at me. “But I’m sure that will happen as soon as your memory returns.”

I’m sick to my stomach. What the hell kind of person was I that I would’ve agreed to marry this pompous ass?

The doorbell sounds again, and I’m heading into a full-blown anxiety attack.
Who the hell is this? Another sibling? A child I had out of wedlock?
I’m not sure I can handle meeting another new person from my past.

A short, Hispanic man with a calming demeanor and gentle smile enters the room. He’s wearing a t-shirt and track pants, and looks completely out of place among the rich snobs in the room.

He glances at my parents, stepping over to them, sticking his hand out to them. “Mr. And Mrs. Keyes, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Carlos,” Bronte says, all business. “This is your patient, Jordyn. Jordyn, this is Carlos Smith. He’ll be your physical therapist.”

“Hi, Jordyn,” Carlos holds his hand out to me.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” I try to smile, but I’m not sure how he fits into all of this, and I’m leery of anyone Bronte and Faith line up to help me.

Carlos peers around the room. Bronte makes quick introductions and it’s quiet in the room again.

“Well, perhaps Jordyn can show me where we’ll be working together?” Carlos claps his hands together.

My heart races. As much as I want to get out of this room – and I do more than anything – I have no idea where anything is in this house except the front door.

“Of course,” Bronte says. “I’ll have Amelia show you both around.”

We follow Amelia out of the room, through the house and out a side door.

“The fitness room is just down here, next to the pool.” Amelia points down the brick pathway. She pulls open a sliding glass door, stepping aside to let us enter. “I’ll be right up the path when you’re finished. Then I can show you to your room, Jordyn. I’m guessing you’d like to get rested and cleaned up after your long day.”

There’s a sympathetic look in her eyes. So far, Amelia is my only friend in this house.

“Well.” Carlos takes a turn around the room. “I guess we can work in here, huh? Plus the pool is just outside. That’ll be a great addition to your PT.” He stops when he gets back around to me. “So, we’ll probably get started tomorrow, if that’s okay with you. I’ll start with just a general assessment of your abilities and limitations. I know about your lower back muscle injuries that haven’t healed properly due to atrophy while you were in the coma. I’ve been going over your PT’s notes from Chicago. I’m going to stick with his plan, with a few modifications thrown in. See if we can’t get you back to a hundred percent a little sooner.”

It’s been a long road to recovery. My memory loss is just the cherry on top of some serious lower back injuries that make it difficult to stand or walk. I’m getting better, but there are still times that the pain’s so bad, the only way to get relief is a shot of some heavy duty painkillers that usually knock me on my ass.

I like Carlos. He seems to be a lot more laid back than the rest of the loonies in this house.

“Do you have any questions for me?” he asks.

I inhale deeply. “Did you know me – before the accident? Are you friends with my parents?”

Carlos laughs. “No, I’ve never met you before today. I was hired by your parents while they were still in Chicago. All contracts were signed before we ever laid eyes on each other. I can tell you, they were surprised by my… ethnicity… when we finally met last weekend, before they returned to Chicago to get you. Carlos is my middle name, but all legal documents are in my legal name Jonathan Smith.”

I chuckle. That makes me feel better. Someone new. Someone that doesn’t know me. Not that I don’t want to meet people I used to know. It’s just – I’m not impressed with anyone I’ve met from my former life.

I don’t know who Jordyn Keyes was before the accident, but I’m not interested in arrogant, self-important idiots as friends and boyfriends.

‡
Chapter Five

Grant