Lost in Me, Page 6

  ***

  I slouch into my pillows and take a deep breath in the silence of my hospital room.

  Mom hosts brunch every Sunday at her house, and since I’m not expected to be released until tonight, she brought Sunday brunch to me this morning. My sisters were all here—Abby, Maggie, Lizzy, even Krystal, who came home from Florida when she heard about my condition. Asher stopped by. And of course, Max. Max, who hustled everyone out of the room just when I started feeling claustrophobic. Max, who managed to get my mom to change the subject when she didn’t want to talk about anything but the wedding. Max, whom I caught watching me the way Asher watches Maggie, the way Will watches Cally.

  A knock sounds on the door, and I expect to see Lizzy, but red curls, not blond, peek into the room.

  “Are you okay?” Maggie asks. She steps in and closes the door behind her.

  I swing my legs around to the floor and nod. “I’m good.”

  “It’s all overwhelming, I bet.”

  “Does Mom still have him cornered?”

  Maggie grins. “Yeah. I think she’d marry him herself if she could.”

  Toting the bag of clothes Max brought me into the bathroom, I crack the door so I can talk to Maggie. I do a double take when I see my reflection. I’ll have to get used to this. I’d guess I’m at least fifty pounds lighter than I remember being. Maybe more. I knew I’d lost weight—I’d seen it for myself. Even so, when Max had first brought me clothes to wear, I couldn’t believe the tiny jeans and tee in the bag would fit me. When I pull them over my hips, they slide on smooth and easy.

  “She’s trying to convince him to convert to Catholicism,” Maggie is saying, “and Hanna, you need to tell him you don’t want him to do it because I think, for you, he would.”

  I wash my face and brush my long hair into a high ponytail. When I return to the room, Maggie is sitting in a chair, flipping through a magazine.

  Warm lips press against my neck, and I jump before realizing who’s touching me. Max wraps his arms around me and pulls my back to his front. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

  Leaning into his solid heat, I sigh. “More than ready.”

  “I have good timing, then,” Nix says from the doorway.

  I smile at her. After two days in the hospital and more tests than I’ve ever taken in my life, I’ve grown to like the woman. I guess this shouldn’t come as a surprise, since I’m told we’re friends.

  “I just need to talk to Hanna about a few things and then she’ll be free to go.”

  Maggie stands and grabs her purse. “I’ll get out of the way. Call me if you need anything at all.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  When she’s gone, the doctor turns to Max. “Can I ask you to leave?”

  Even though he releases me, I feel him stiffen. “She’s my fiancée.”

  “And she’ll still be your fiancée after you go down to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee.” She gives him a reassuring grin. “Seriously, it’s just those little HIPAA rules and my silly desire to keep my license to practice medicine.”

  He relaxes but seems reluctant. He brushes his thumb over my jaw and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Nix follows him to the door and closes it behind him. When she comes back, she lowers herself into the chair by my bed and gives an awkward smile. “Your discharge planner met with you today and talked to you about resuming your regular activities?”

  I nod. “None of that will be a problem. My whole family’s on board with helping until I’m one hundred percent, and Max is just…amazing.”

  Nix nods. “How are you feeling about everything?”

  “Other than feeling like someone decided to introduce my head to a baseball bat?” I attempt a smile.

  “That’s to be expected, unfortunately.” She looks at her clipboard. “I wanted to talk to you about your blood work. There’s nothing too alarming here, but there are some red flags with your electrolyte levels, possibly indicating malnutrition.”

  “Well, you’re the first doctor who’s ever accused me of being malnourished.”

  “You’ve lost a lot of weight the last few months, and rather quickly too. When you go home, I want you to make sure you’re eating regular, balanced meals.” Her brow wrinkles. “The imbalance isn’t a cause for alarm at this point, but if it got worse, it could lead to kidney failure, so I want to run blood work again in a couple of weeks. I’ve already scheduled a follow-up appointment for you at my office.” She hands me a piece of paper with a time and date.

  “Thanks.”

  “I can only imagine what it’s like to have everyone around you know more about your life than you do.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, here comes the awkward part. Are you ready?”

  “Um, sure?”

  She swallows and looks at her hands. “Normally, I’d call a social worker in to talk to you, but given the extenuating circumstances with your memory and our personal relationship, I wanted to do it myself. I need you to know that there are places you can call if you feel frightened or unsafe in any way. There are resources.”

  “Frightened of what? I don’t understand.”

  “If there’s someone in your life who’s hurting you…” Nix trails off.

  A chill sweeps over my skin until my bare arms are covered in goose bumps. “Who would want to hurt me?”

  Nix cocks her head. “I know you don’t remember your time dating Max, but I want you…” She takes another long breath and shifts awkwardly. “I’m sorry I have to ask, Hanna, but even without your memory, you know Max better than I do. Have you ever known him to be violent? Or quick to anger?”

  I shake my head. “Not at all. He’s just”—the guy I always wanted—“a really good guy.”

  She leans her elbows on her knees and nods. “Okay. I trust your instincts.”

  “What?” The implication clicks into place in my head. “You think he did this to me? You’re wrong. Max is as nice as they come.”

  She nods again but doesn’t look convinced. “Please don’t be upset. I’m not making any accusations. I want you to know you have resources. If you don’t feel comfortable calling the domestic abuse hotlines, you can always call me or—”

  “Nix,” I say. “I promise I’ll contact you personally if I don’t feel completely safe.” She doesn’t look convinced, so I add, “I just…fell down the stairs. I’ve always been clumsy.”

  “Hanna,” she says carefully, “I am suspicious that there’s more to these injuries than a fall.”

  “What? But you said—”

  “Maybe you fell down the stairs and hit your face, your ribs, your hips in the worst conceivable places. It’s possible. Or maybe”—she touches her own cheekbone, pointing to the location of one of my ugliest bruises—“maybe you were beaten and then pushed.”