The Wife He Couldn't Forget. Yvonne Lindsay
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hand, noting the contrast between them—his clean, warm and dry, hers paint stained and so cold she’d begun to wonder if she’d lost all circulation since she’d received the news about Xander.
“You said Xander had been in an accident?”
“Yes, he lost control of his car on a wet road. Hit a power pole. His physical injuries have healed as well as could have been expected. Now he’s out of the coma, he’s been moved from the high-dependency unit and onto a general ward.”
“And his accident? I was told it happened six weeks ago? That’s a long time to be in a coma, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. He’d been showing signs of awareness these past few days, and his nerve responses were promising. Then last night he woke fully, asking for you. It caught the staff by surprise. Only his mother was listed as next of kin.”
Olivia sank into a chair. Xander? Asking for her? On the day he’d left her he’d said they had nothing to say to each other anymore. Were they talking about the same man?
“I...I don’t understand,” she finally managed.
“His other injuries aside, Mr. Jackson is suffering from post-traumatic amnesia. It’s not unusual after a brain injury—in fact, studies show that less than 3 percent of patients experience no memory loss.”
“And he’s not in that 3 percent.”
The doctor shook his head. “Post-traumatic amnesia is a phase people go through following a significant brain injury, when they are confused, disoriented and have trouble with their memory, especially short-term memory loss. Although, Mr. Jackson’s case is a little more unusual with some long-term memory loss evident. I take it you were unaware of his accident?”
“I rarely see anyone who is in regular contact with him and I was never particularly close with his mother. I’m not surprised no one told me. I haven’t seen Xander since he walked out on our marriage two years ago. We’re just waiting for a court date to complete our divorce.”
Olivia shuddered. Even now she couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.
“Ah, I see. That makes things problematic then.”
“Problematic?”
“For his release.”
“I don’t understand.” Olivia furrowed her brow as she tried to make sense of the doctor’s words.
“He lives alone, does he not?”
“As far as I know.”
“He believes he’s coming home to you.”
Shock held her rigid in her chair. “H-he does?”
“He believes you are still together. It’s why he’s asking for you. His first words when he woke up were, ‘Tell my wife I’m okay.’”
Dr. Thomas began to explain the nature of Xander’s injuries, but his words about loss of physical form due to the length of his coma and difficulties with short-term memory on top of the longer-term memory loss barely filtered through. All she could think of was that after all this time, her estranged husband wanted her.
“Excuse me,” she interrupted the doctor. “But just how much does Xander remember?”
“As far as we can tell, his most recent clear memory is from about six years ago.”
“But that was just after we married,” she blurted.
That meant he remembered nothing of them finishing renovations on their late 1800s home overlooking Cheltenham Beach, nothing of the birth of their son five years ago.
Nothing of Parker’s death just after he turned three.
She struggled to form the words she needed to ask her next question.
“Can he...does he...will he remember?”
The doctor shrugged. “It’s possible. It’s also possible he may never remember those lost years or that he may only regain parts of them.”
She sat silently for a moment, letting the doctor’s words sink in; then she drew in a deep breath. She had to do this. “Can I see him now?”
“Certainly. Come with me.”
He led Olivia to a large room on the ward. There were four beds, but only one, near the window, was occupied. She steeled herself to move forward. To look at the man she’d once pledged her life to. The man she’d loved more than life itself and who she’d believed loved her equally in return. Her heart caught as she gazed on his all-too-familiar face, and she felt that same tug anew when she saw the similarities to Parker. They’d been like peas in a pod. She rubbed absently at the ache in the center of her chest, as if the motion could relieve the gaping hole there.
“He’s sleeping naturally, but he’ll probably wake soon,” the doctor said at her side after a cursory glance at Xander’s notes. “You can sit with him.”
“Th-thank you,” she replied automatically, lowering herself onto the seat at his bedside, her back to the window and the sunshine that sparkled on the harbor in the distance.
Olivia let her eyes drift over the still figure lying under the light covers. She started at his feet, skimming over the length of his legs and his hips before drifting over his torso and to his face. He’d lost weight and muscle mass—his usually powerful frame now leaner, softer. A light beard covered his normally clean-shaven jaw, and his hair was in dire need of a cut.
She couldn’t help it. She ached for him. He would hate being this vulnerable and exposed. Xander was a man used to action, to decisiveness. To acting rather than being acted on. Lying helpless in a hospital bed like this would normally drive him nuts. Olivia started in shock as Xander’s eyes opened and irises of piercing gray met hers. Recognition dawned in Xander’s gaze, and her heart wrenched as he smiled at her, his eyes shining in genuine delight. She felt the connection between them as if it were a tangible thing—as if it had never been stretched to the breaking point by circumstances beyond both of their control. Her lips automatically curved in response.
How long had it been since she’d seen his smile? Far, far too long. And she’d missed it. She’d missed him. For two awful, lonely years Olivia had tried to fool herself that you could fall out of love with someone just as easily as you had fallen in love with him, if you tried hard enough. But she’d been lying to herself. You couldn’t flip a switch on love, and you couldn’t simply shove your head in a hole in the ground and pretend someone hadn’t been the biggest part of your life from the day you’d met him.
She loved him still.
“Livvy?” Xander’s voice cracked a little, as if it was rusty and disused.
“It’s me,” she replied shakily. “I’m here.”
Tears burned in her eyes. Her throat choked up, and she reached out to take his hand. The tears spilled down her cheeks as she felt his fingers close tight around hers. He sighed, and his eyes slid closed again. A few seconds passed before he croaked one word.
“Good.”
She fought back the sob that billowed from deep inside. On the other side of the bed Dr. Thomas cleared his throat.
“Xander?”
“Don’t worry—he’s sleeping again. One of the nurses will be by soon to do observations. He’ll probably wake again then. Now, if you’ll excuse me...?”
“Oh, yes, sure. Thank you.”
She barely noticed the doctor leave, or one of the other patients shuffling into the room with his walker and a physical therapist hovering beside him. No, her concentration was fixed solely on the man in the bed in front of her and on the steady, even breaths that raised his chest and lowered it again.
Her thoughts scattered to and fro, finally settling on the realization that Xander could have died in the accident