Page 45 of One Foggy Christmas
“I’m fine.” I suck air through my nose. Drawing in a deep breath usually helps with the nausea.
“Let’s get you back to bed. You’ve been standing a long time.” Annie wraps an arm around my shoulders, leading me out of the bathroom. “These pajamas are cute.” She nods toward the red seersucker set with pearl buttons and a collar.
They are cute. Very candy cane, Christmas-like.
I don’t remember buying them, which shouldn’t be a surprise considering the other valuable information I can’t seem to recall.
“Thanks for bringing me clothes.”Clothesis a loose description. I’m stocked with mostly pajamas and sweats. “The gaping hospital gowns were getting old.”
“Don’t thank me. Nash brought them.”
Curiosity pulls my eyes to the open door. Nash stands just outside my room with my parents and Dr. Basu.
“He’s barely left this place since the accident. I’m surprised he was willing to leave to get you some clothes.”
I shrug her words away, glancing at the door again and the perfect view of my husband.
Husband.
The description feels wrong.
In my mind, Stetson Roeshine is my boyfriend. He’s the one that my future self should be married to—not this Nash guy who I don’t even know.
Talk about a life plan that went up in flames.
And I have no clue why or what led to it.
“At least Nash is a total babe.” Annie glances into the hallway, sensing where my thoughts are. “You could’ve wokenup from a coma married to an ugly guy with back hair thick as a fur coat.”
“I don’t remember what Nash’s back looks like, so the verdict is still out on the fur coat.”
Annie’s eyes drop up and down his body in an appraising way. “Nah, he’s too good-looking for a home-grown Minky Couture blanket covering his skin.”
Is Nash good-looking?
I suppose I can admit that. Maybe even pat myself on the back for marrying such an attractive man.
He’s dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeve gray henley, a classic design with a modern, slim-fit cut that rewards his efforts in the gym—I’m assuming he goes to the gym. Muscles like that don’t come from nothing. He combs both hands through his sandy-blond hair, interlocking his fingers at the nape of his neck as he listens to my dad talk.
It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to really study him since I woke up from my coma a few days ago. Avoiding him is part of not accepting this as my real life, and since my parents are enablers, it’s been easy to pretend he doesn’t exist.
Right on cue, Nash turns his head toward me, making eye contact. His lips lift into a sad smile—not that I have any clue about his different types of smiles, but it doesn’t take a fully functioning brain to see he’s having a hard time with all of this. Bloodshot eyes and overgrown stubble are the first clues.
I quickly lean back into my pillows, breaking the line of sight.
“Don’t you want to talk to him? You know, see if it triggers your memory?” Annie pulls at the damp towel wrapped around my hair, letting the wet strands fall to my shoulders.
“Can’t you just tell me what I missed?”
She places the towel on the dresser next to my bed and picks up my brush, gently combing through my hair. “I would if I could, but you and Nash are a mystery none of us understand.”
That’s not a good sign.
“Are you sure he’s my husband? Like, maybe he’s lying to all of us.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.” My shoulders lift. “Maybe for money. He’s blackmailing Dad.”
