Page 16 of Fire Island
I sigh, dropping onto the side of the bed. I rub my head, tugging off the bandage. I leave the dressing, since the stitches would most likely gross Irry out. I run my hands through my hair. I would love to talk to Em. He’s been suspiciously absent since I woke up. I pull out my phone and flick him a text.
When nothing shoots back right away, I assume he’s out on shift. I toss my phone onto the bedside and lie on the bed. The pillow is soft, and I slide my hands under my head. Tired from a day of waiting and doctor talk, I roll over and close my eyes.
Inhaling, a familiar scent floods my senses. It’s almost feminine.
My eyes snap open.
I sit up, chest heaving.
And I have absolutely no idea why . . .
Is this what happens with a brain injury? Random scents and sensations are going to set me off at any time now? Until I get my three years’ worth of memories back?
Dammit.
Tightness claims my airway, and I rub the space over my heart, fully expecting an ache to bloom. I sit up and hang my head, letting it fall into my hands. What am I going to do if I can’t get them back?
What am I missing?
Iris won’t offer up anything useful—I quizzed her on the way home in the car. She said Jamieson told her not to try to fill the void with her version of events, that I have to remember them on my own accord.
Fucking great.
That could take a lifetime.
All the while I feel like I’m operating at half speed. Half capacity.
Running my hands through my messy hair, my palm shoves across the stitches. I wince.
Dammit.
I can’t take this. I can’t sit around doingnothing.
I walk downstairs and into the café. It’s bustling with afternoon and after-school patrons. Iris is busy talking to a couple on the far side of the café. I take that as my opportunity to slip out the door.
I make it all but two feet before the door when I hear, “Callum McCreary, where the hell do you think you’re going?”
I turn back to find my sister, one hand on a popped hip, pot of coffee gripped in the other. The brows she’s raised almost meet her hairline. “Hmmm?”
“Fresh air,” I mutter, turning back to the door.
“You have ten minutes before I send Em after you!” she calls to my back as the door closes behind me.
A little wobbly on my feet, I head for the marina. The cobbled street feels familiar. It’s reassuring to be sure of even the most basic things. I cross the parking lot and slip down the steps to the walkway. Boats bob in their slips, masts swaying in the ocean breeze.
I make my way toward Firefly’s slip, only to find it empty when I eventually make it there. She must be at the island.
Remembering Emmett hauled my sorry ass onto shore for medical help, that makes sense. I sit on the dock and dangle my legs over the water. Hands gripping the edge, I gaze around the marina I have lived in and out of for the last twenty years.
Slow, steady footsteps plod to where I sit.
I’d know that easy gait anywhere.
Em.
I don’t look up. I can’t.
I know I’m only still here because of him. He slaps a hand on my shoulder as he sits by my side. “The warden let you out, hey?”
