Chapter 1

1

The only thing stranger than Guy’s strange kitchen was the strange man standing in it, calmly making soup. Fascinated, Guy watched as he moved around the room like he owned it, like he was in his own home. Dane Mathis. He had introduced himself as Dane, right after the doctor had explained that there was nothing wrong with Guy’s short-term memory.

“Do you want a sandwich?”

Guy didn’t know the answer to that question. It took him by surprise, and it caught him up. A sandwich wasn’t a simple matter. What kind of sandwich did Dane mean? What if he meant a cheese sandwich, and Guy accepted it, only to find he didn’t like cheese sandwiches? Would it be rude to refuse to eat it? How could he function in the world if he didn’t even know what kind of sandwich he liked?

“Guy?” Dane didn’t sound annoyed. His brown eyes were patient, the strong features of his handsome face were set an easy smile. Dane had never mentioned his age, and Guy had never thought to ask, but he thought the other man might be in his late-twenties. Or maybe he was a youngish thirty?

“I…uh…don’t know.”

Dane continued to smile. None of Guy’s vague answers seemed to faze him. Was that something they taught in nursing school? Had Dane gone to nursing school? That was another strange thing—how little Guy knew about his caregiver.

“I’ll make one anyway.” Dane shrugged. “It’s fine if you don’t eat it. Though you didn’t eat a lot of your breakfast this morning.”

“I didn’t really feel hungry this morning. I’m not sure I like eggs.”

“We can try something else tomorrow morning. You need to eat regularly.”

Guy nodded. “I know.”

“This soup will be done in a minute.”

How could Guy function in the world if he didn’t know how to make his own soup? The doctor had promised him it would take a bit of time, but things would go back to normal. The swelling would go down. What swelling? Where? Guy didn’t remember if he asked, or if the doctor had said. His memory should return. His shattered bones—his arm, his femur, a handful of ribs—would heal. Later. Not now.

“Do you need anything else? Are you in pain?”

Dane’s voice still wasn’t familiar. And it seemed to come from very far away, even though they were both in the strange kitchen. Was that a side effect of the head injury? It might have been. Guy couldn’t remember everything that was said about the head injury.

“No. I’m feeling okay.” Guy shifted in his wheelchair. The pain was shattered, ground glass beneath his skin. The painkillers barely touched the pain. He felt the bones knitting together. All day. And all night.

The nights were the worse. Something in the dark frightened him. He couldn’t remember what was there. Like a child, he had to learn the secrets of the dark all over again.

Dane studied his face for a long moment before nodding.

“Have you done this before?” Guy asked. He didn’t care. He didn’t have anybody else lining up to take care of him. A part of him suspected he had asked this before. But the doctor said his short-term memory was fine, and so shouldn’t he remember if he had asked?

“A few times. But I’m…new to the job.” Dane began to slice thin strips of cheese. He handled the knife with a delicate precision. Like his hands were accustomed to something besides making soup and cheese sandwiches. “Do you remember what I told you about yourself?”

Guy frowned. Somehow, this was the worst part—being asked to repeat basic information like he was a toddler just learning his name and address. He supposed in some ways, he was. Which just heightened the humiliation.

“My name is Guy…Guillermo Rivera. I’m from Spain, and I’ve been living in the United States for about five years. All my family still lives in Spain. I’m twenty-seven. I was getting my MBA but…I guess that’s going to have to wait for a while now.”

Dane smiled sympathetically. “A little while, yeah. But not for long.”

“How can you know that?” Guy was more curious than confrontational. Maybe Dane knew something he didn’t. Maybe Dane was just trying to make him feel better.

“The doctor said this is a short-term situation.”

“What if it’s not?”

Guy didn’t miss the way Dane winced, though his voice remained even. “Don’t talk like that.”

“But what if it’s not?” Guy pressed. “What if I can never go back to school? What if I never remember school? What if I’ve lost my entire life?” He moved to run his hand through his hair, but he didn’t have any hair. He didn’t even remember having hair. It had been long. He knew that because Dane had found a few pictures of himself from before the accident.