Can't Take the Heat (Working It Jackie Barbosa

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.Chelsea had been seventeen when he and Delaney first hooked up, and the two of them had hit it off right away.He suspected his sister had been almost as upset by the abrupt dissolution of their relationship as he had.He turned away from the bed to shield the phone screen from the light so he could see to type out a response to Chelsea.His dad he was ignoring.No change yet.Nurse said it might take a few more hours for drugs to wear off.I’ll let you know if—He hit the backspace key twice, changed the “if” to “when”.—when she wakes u—“Hey, Crush.Nice ass you got there.”Wes nearly dropped the phone, not just because hearing Delaney’s voice—raspy but recognizably hers—surprised the hell out of him, but because she’d used her old pet name for him.When he first told her his name, she’d said, “Westley, like the Dread Pirate Roberts from Princess Bride, or Wesley, like the Star Trek character, Wesley Crusher?” After he’d confirmed the latter rather than the former, she nearly always called him Crush.Or she had until their breakup.The few times they’d spoken since then, she had never once called him Crush.He spun around to look at her.She was awake, but clearly still drowsy; her eyelids drooped at the corners and her brown eyes were hazy.Maybe that explained her use of the nickname—she wasn’t quite fully alert yet.But she was conscious.And able to speak.And she recognized him.It was more than he’d been willing to hope for.Overcome with relief, his text message to Chelsea forgotten, he rushed to the head of the bed.“How do you feel?”Delaney’s beautiful features twisted with puzzlement.“My head hurts.” She struggled to sit up then, realizing she was tethered to something, lifted her arm and stared at the IV line.“What happened to me?”The neurologist had warned Wes that there was a good possibility Delaney wouldn’t remember the accident when she first woke up.The human brain had a way of protecting itself from traumatic events, particularly in the immediate aftermath of an injury.In some cases, people never regained their memory of the incident.“You had an accident,” he said.The doctor had told him to be truthful, but not specific, about what had happened.Too much information too early could freak out some patients.“On the job.”Her eyebrows bunched together.“In the ambulance?”Why would she ask him that? She’d been a firefighter for more than two years and rarely rode in ambulances anymore.Wes was trying to decide how to respond when the nurse entered the room.“Told you to give it a bit more time,” he said with a wink before turning his attention to his patient.“Welcome back, sleepy beauty.” He began turning knobs and pushing buttons on the equipment.The blood pressure monitor stirred to life.Delany looked at Wes, the expression on her face unfamiliar but instantly recognizable.Helplessness.That look shredded his heart, because if there was one thing Delaney Monroe had never been, it was helpless.He’d never known anyone more capable of taking care of herself.Being strapped to all these machines, unsure of how she’d come to be here or what was happening, had to be the worst kind of hell imaginable for someone so determinedly self-sufficient.Wes reached for her hand to offer some comfort as the nurse nodded, apparently satisfied with the readings.She squeezed his fingers so hard, it hurt.“So, can you tell me your name?” the nurse asked.She answered without missing a beat.“Delaney Monroe.”“Good.Very good.And I assume you know this young man?” He nodded in Wes’s direction.“Of course, I do.” She looked up at him, her features relaxing with obvious affection.“He’s Wesley Barrows.My fiancé.”From the concern-laden glances Wes exchanges with the nurse, I know I’ve just said something wrong, but I can’t imagine what.Confusion makes my already aching head throb.I’m familiar enough with brain injury to know that my answers to these questions are an important indicator of how serious the damage is.But apart from a crashing headache and a fogginess that must be the result of the drugs they’ve been pumping into my veins for however long I’ve been unconscious, I feel fine.And I know I’m not wrong about my name or his.So why does he look so pale, so uneasy?Unless.“Wes, are we still engaged?” I’m trying to keep my rising panic from creeping into my voice, but I’m doing a crappy job.Memory loss is completely normal after an accident or other traumatic event.It’s the brain’s way of protecting you from reliving the terror of the incident over and over.Most people lose anywhere from a few hours to a few days.I’ve even heard of people who couldn’t remember the past few weeks when they first regained consciousness, although they usually got most of those memories back fairly quickly.But if I’ve forgotten my wedding, then I’m not just short a few days or weeks.I’m short months.Maybe even years.And that’s terrifying.He shakes his head.“No, we’re not.”Then we’re married.“How long?” I ask.“A little less than three years.”Trembling, I close my eyes.My pulse is racing.An alarm sounds on one of the machines, probably the one that reads my blood pressure.I’ll bet it’s going through the roof [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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