But I’m not. And fighting with my doctors and psychiatrist about my insistence to keep my family at a distance has been consuming me.

Rike looks distant, nibbling at his lip in a way that is way too fucking distracting.

“Who?”

“Lindsay,” I say. We came in together. Maybe I know her. It makes sense. And what if she’s all alone like I am?”

His eyebrows go up. “I didn't think you were alone,” he says.

I flush. “You know what I mean.”

Rike sighs and put his pencil aside, giving me his full attention. “I do know what you mean but I need you to hear me. You aren't alone. I'm here. I’m not going away.”

We sit in silence for a long moment staring at each other and then, “But I don't understand why,” I say.

He smiles, that mysterious smile I adore and stands up, “You don't have to understand why. Come on. You’re right: seeing her will do you some good.”

He helps me into my wheelchair—the doctors want me in it until the casts come off my leg and arm—and tucks a blanket around me, always with that careful caution that I'm coming to expect.

He treats me with such reverent care, like a strong wind will shatter me. And it might. I know nothing about who I am—sometimes, it feels like he is all that holds me together.

I catch his hand as he straightens and his eyes flash to mine. Hungry and questioning and so intense it takes my breath away for a moment.

I want to kiss him. I don't know why, but I do, and I think he can see that desire my eyes. He leans into me, his forehead against mine. "You’re making this so hard, Peyton," he murmurs.

"Sorry," I say faintly, and his lips twitch a little.

"No, you aren’t."

I grin. I’m really not. I fucking love that I’m affecting him.

Rike sighs, and straightens. “Behave.”

“You don’t really want me to,” I sass, and he barks a laugh as he pushes me through the cafeteria and into the halls of the hospital.

The playful mood slips away as we get closer to the ICU. I’m nervous, suddenly, as the doors swing open and the sterile environment stares back at me.

A nurse offers me and me—Rike, especially—a friendly smile, but he ignores it as he steers me deeper into the unit. Until we come to a stop at unit seventeen.

There is a steady beeping, the constant hum of machines, and it’s comforting. It means life—maybe broken, but still life.

Rike pulls open the door and maneuvers me in deftly, and the door swings shut behind me.

I barely notice. My entire being is focused on the girl in the bed.

Her hair is chopped brutally short, almost shaved, and she’s covered in bruises. She’s wrapped in bandages, so fucking beat up I want to cry. “You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

“You didn’t need to know this, Peyton.”

“That isn’t your call,” I say harshly. “You aren’t part of my life. You don’t even know me.”

“Don’t argue,” a voice says. I startle. The movement jars my leg, and I hiss in pain as it slices into me, hot and searing.

Rike is by my side instantly, his hands catching mine, gentle. His voice is soothing, centering me, and it keeps me in the moment, focused on something other than the pain.

“Come on, Pey, breathe though it,” he murmurs, and I gasp, tears stinging my eyes. Nod at him as he continues to murmur softly. It takes a few minutes, but when I can breathe again, he sits back on his heels and looks past my head, to whomever is standing behind me. “Don’t fucking do that,” he snarls, and I shiver. There is real anger there, a kind of bone deep dislike that I haven’t seen from Rike before now, and it chills me.

I don’t like this side of him.

“Then don’t fucking disturb her,” the other man snaps. His gaze skates over me, and I see the flash of fury in his gaze before his expression goes smooth and blank. “What are you doing here?”

“She wants to see Lindsay.”

The other man snorts. “Now she does.”

“Scott,” Rike growls, and I finally shake myself.

“Can I have a few minutes alone with her? Please?”

They both stare at me for a moment and I force my chin up, a defiance I don’t actually feel in the face of their anger that makes no sense.

But I was right. Seeing her helps. If only because it confirms what I knew.

“Please,” I say again.

Scott huffs and stalks past me, throwing an order over his shoulder. “Don’t fucking wake her up. She was up all night with the fucking nurses.”

I wonder if he knows any curse words besides fuck.

“Shit. And damn. And hell. As in, I don’t give a damn what the hell you want. Your shit doesn’t concern me.” He points at the bed. “She does. Don’t fuck this up.”

I flush, heat crawling in my cheeks, and he laughs as he walks out of the room. “At least that thinking out loud thing hasn’t changed. “

I look at Rike, a searching stare, but he’s ignoring me, stalking after Scott and letting the door swing close behind them.

And there is nothing but the girl sleeping in the bed to distract me.

I nudge myself closer to the bed, and stare at her.

I don’t know her. Except—I do. I don’t know who they are, these people, but I know them, or I knew them. And they don’t fit who I imagine I was.

“What the hell were we doing? Why was I with you and where were we going?”

“I can’t tell you.”

She’s staring at me and I didn’t even realize she was awake. Her eyes are tired, glassy, a too dull brown, and sad. She winces as she shifts, twisting a little to stare at me.

Her words are sinking in, slowly. Too slowly. I narrow my eyes at her. “What do you mean, you can’t?” I demand.

Her gaze darts past me for a minute and she licks her lips. A nervous habit.

How the hell do I know that’s a nervous habit?

“Lindsay, what the fuck does that mean?”

“I promised, Peyton. I promised I’d let him do this his way. I—I can’t tell you anything.”

“Do I know you?” I demand, and lurch forward. Agony sings through me, but it’s amazing what you can ignore when something else is at stake. Pain is fleeting—it’ll be gone soon. My memory will stay gone, and she knows something.

“Who am I?”

She’s sobbing, and I’m clutching her leg, shaking her. “I promised, Peyton. I can’t. I’m so sorry.”

“Who the hell would you promise that to?” I shout. “This is my life you’re fucking playing games with!”

The door slams open and she breaks down, sobs shaking her as Scott shoves my wheelchair aside and cradles her against his chest.

“I told you to leave her the fuck alone.”

“She fucking knows me,” I scream.

“Get her out of here, Rike,” Scott yells, and the nurses are all around us. Lindsay’s machines are going crazy, and I can feel Rike pulling me away from her, can hear the apologies he’s almost shouting as we’re all but thrown out of ICU, and I can hear Lindsay crying and Scott cursing, but it’s all distant. A long way away. Muffled and distorted as I scream after her.

She knows me. She knows who I am, and where I come from. She knows it all. And the bitch won’t tell me anything.

I feel a prick in my arm, and the world swims as icy heat flood my veins.

Rike is crouched in front of me, and I can see the apology in his eyes. He’s murmuring and as the sedative the nurses gave me starts working, pulling me inexorably toward oblivion, I shape the words. Sift through them. I’m so sorry, Fish.

It doesn’t make sense. Why is Rike sorry? Why is he here? What—my gaze widens and I grit out a curse. “Oh, you fucking asshole. It was you. You made her promise not to tell me anything.”

Guilt floods his gaze and he looks away. And the darkness pulls me down, with the sound of his betrayal, and flaring alarms all that I can hear.

Chapter 7 : Before