Page 68 of The Fall
They’re higher than Vancouver, though. A small comfort.
I thought, for a wild minute, that I’d call Blair. I’d hear his voice, demand answers, and beg him to remember me, but I can’t remember his number. It’s there; I feel it, but when I reach for it, the numbers disintegrate. Same with Hayes’s.
Maybe I did imagine this all-consuming, life-altering love for a man I’ve never met. Or maybe it’s the other way around; maybethisis the dream.
But either way, it’s March 22, and Blair doesn’t know who I am. Yesterday, I was—God, I was someone else; someone Blair would kiss and cradle and make love to, someone who mattered to him, someone he loved.
Now, I’m not.
He doesn’t know me. I’ve never met him, never spoken to him, never traced the angle of his jaw with my fingertips or kissed his bounding pulse. Never tasted the salt on his skin, or heard him moan my name as I brought him to the edge.
Except Ihave. Right? I remember him, I remember us, and Ilovehim. I love him as fiercely as I did yesterday when we wokeup together, limbs entangled, breaths mingling. Only it wasn’t yesterday. It wasn’t any day.
The how and the why tear at the margins of my sanity. My memories of Tampa and of Blair are shards of glass, and every time I reach for them, they shatter. They’re vanishing one by one; the details keep slipping away, but the feelings remain. I love Blair, present tense, full stop.
How can I love a man I’ve never met? And how can you miss what never was?
There’s a knock at the door, and then Dr. Granholm and the nurse from before enter. Professional empathy is written in every line of their faces.
I want to scream.
“Hey, Torey. How are you feeling now?” Dr. Granholm is talking to me in that careful way that doctors reserve for the delusional, the hysterical, and the broken.
I shrug. Words feel impossible.
“Do you remember the last time I was here?” His voice is wrapped in cotton and kindness, and it salts the wounds in my soul.
“I remember enough.”
“You were pretty disoriented. Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. What is there to say? That I lived a different life, loved a man who has never met me, and now I’m shattered by the loss of something I never had?
“All right.” He doesn’t push, and I’m sharply thankful. “Can you tell me where you are?”
“Vancouver General.” Tears sting my eyes; I blink them away.
“And what’s the date?”
“March 22,” I whisper. A lifetime ago. A blink ago.
Another nod. “Why are you here?”
“I took a bad hit at the game last night and I... blacked out on the ice.” Irrationally, my words taste like betrayal, like I’m wiping away Blair’s touch from my skin and his love from my life.
“Good, that’s good.” Dr. Granholm smiles. I should be so proud. “Do you remember regaining consciousness in the ambulance?”
I shake my head.
“That’s normal,” he says. “You were out for about twenty minutes after the on-ice hit. That’s not ideal, but we’ve been monitoring you closely since you came in last night. So far, your scans look good. There’s no significant swelling in your brain.”
My fingers grasp at the sheet, knuckles white.
“We’re going to keep you here for one more night, keep monitoring you, and run a few more scans. Right now, I think everything is looking good, and there’s every reason to believe it will stay that way.”
Tears scald the backs of my eyes. I dig my nails into my palms, willing them not to fall. I nod along. How can he be so calm? How can he look at me and the wreckage of my life and discuss brain scans and swelling and symptoms as if they’re another entry on his daily rounds?
“Your father has been trying to reach you.”
