Page 20 of Still The One

Her lips part, and her jaw drops open, revealing a smile. ‘She’s going to be so offended by that when I tell her.’

Despite my attempt to let out a chuckle, the persistent coughing takes over. The tickle in my throat is relentless, and no matter how hard I try to suppress it, the coughing persists, sending waves of discomfort throughout my body. Once I get the coughing under control, I attempt to speak again.

‘Also, Chandler Bing lives forever.’

Eve’s eyes grow wide, as she probably realizes that I could indeed hear her, just like the nurses warned. Even so, she laughs at my croaking voice. ‘Sshhhhh,’ she says. ‘Doctor’s orders.’

‘How about a Popsicle?’ Chelsea asks enthusiastically.

I nod. It’s no doughnut, but considering I haven’t eaten or had anything to drink in years (or so it feels), it’s a yes from me.

‘You’ve got a lot of injuries,’ the doctor says after thoroughly inspecting me.

‘But I woke up,’ I say with a gravelly voice.

‘You did wake up,’ he agrees with a slight smile. ‘Do you remember how you got here?’

I think back but my mind is like quicksand – thoughts popping into my head and sinking away before the words reach my lips. I had a competition. It feels like ages ago, but that’s the last memory that comes to mind.

I shake my head. Slowly I move my eyes downwards to see what exactly I’m looking at here. My left arm is immobile and strapped to my chest, probably to avoid any further injury basedon how it feels. At first glance, nothing appears to be a severe injury, but as I shift my weight slightly, a sharp, piercing pain shoots through the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine and causing me to groan involuntarily. The discomfort is so intense that I can’t help but clench my teeth and close my eyes tightly, hoping that the pain will subside soon.

‘You bruised your cervical spine pretty badly, so move slowly,’ the doctor says, gently pushing my head back on the pillow. ‘Last thing you remember, Mr Foster?’ the doctor asks.

‘I had a competition.’

He nods. Must’ve gotten that answer right. ‘How’d that go?’ he asks.

‘I dunno,’ I answer honestly.

‘Hmmm, tell me about one of your FMX titles.’ The doctor changes tactics.

Despite my voice cracking in and out like I’m going through puberty, this is a topic I could talk about for days. ‘Moto X Big Air. Best Trick at the X Games in Philly. Gold at Red Bull X-Fighters Grand Slam tours in Madrid. Three golds at the FMX Nitro World Games. A few silvers at the Summer X Games…’

Eve and the doctor lock eyes, their expressions revealing much about their thoughts. The doctor appears impressed.

‘I said one, but wow. Congratulations.’

Meanwhile, Eve’s face wears a familiar expression – a mix of skepticism and mild amusement, as if she’s thinking, ‘Yep, he really is this cocky.’

‘Your long-term memory seems fine. But you’ve got no memory of your recent race that put you here?’

I shut my eyes tightly, trying to remember. As far as I know, we had arrived at our destination on a Thursday. But after that, everything is blank. I shake my head again.

The sound of shoes sliding on a slick floor suddenly interrupts us. All eyes turn toward the door as Matty, with hisdisheveled, dark, graying hair and prominent crow’s feet, rushes into the room. His face is creased with worry as he slides to a stop upon catching sight of us.

‘You’re awake?’ He sounds relieved. ‘They called me yesterday to tell me this would be happening soon, but I hoped to make it beforehand. How do you feel?’

‘Shitty,’ I say.

The doctor leans into Matty and says, ‘Mr Foster’s having a hard time remembering what brought him here.’

Matty lets out a hearty laugh. ‘You didn’t quite stick the landing, my friend,’ he says with a grin. ‘I’m not exactly sure where your head was at’ – he shoots a look at Eve – ‘but it was pretty clear to everyone watching that your timing was off midway through your second run.’

I furrow my brows. I didn’t land a jump? How don’t I remember this? I look over at Eve, whose eyebrows are raised with concern as if she knows something I don’t. The memory feels so close, yet so far, like it’s just on the tip of my tongue, tantalizingly out of reach.

‘I’m going to order an MRI and have another look at his head, and consult with Dr Greene in Neurology. Him not remembering could be nothing, just part of coming to after this critical of injuries. No one worry yet. Just as a heads-up, Mr Foster, you’ll be headed in for another surgery on your shoulder and wrist in the coming days, so save your energy for now, and do not even attempt to leave this bed.’

‘Yes, sir,’ I say, knowing when to follow orders.

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