Forgotten Love: A BWWM Pregnancy Billionaire Love Story (6 page)

*****

The
other driver was in critical condition; his blood alcohol level was
way above the legal limit when he fell asleep at the wheel and
careened into Frances reversing out of their driveway. He’d hit
the jeep on the right side, where Frances was in the driver’s
seat and the only thing that had saved her from certain death was
that her jeep was much higher than his sports car so he’d hit
her low. Still, the damage done was quite enough and Frances lay in a
coma, unmoving and unresponsive. The doctors wouldn’t let Allen
sit with her; something about germs and rest; he wasn’t really
in the right mind to understand what they were saying. He paced the
corridor anxiously, waiting for word on what was happening.

“
You
should go home Mr. St. James, if anything changes, we’ll call
you,” the nurse said kindly to him. He just glared at her and
continued to pace. She sighed deeply and walked away, leaving him to
his agitation. He realized there was no-one he could call; no-one to
lean on. It was just the two of them. And now Frances was lying in a
coma.

*****

It was
five days and six nights before her eyes fluttered open and she
looked around in puzzlement as if wondering where she was. Allen
stood up and came to her side, they’d allowed him in the room
on the condition that he wore the scrubs and the mask and he’d
complied without demur. So all that was visible to her were his
piercing gray eyes.

“
You’re
awake,” he mumbled through the cloth covering his mouth. The
relief in his words was palpable though.

“
I’m
awake,” she repeated in a hoarse voice. “Water?”

He
turned quickly to the side table, pouring her a glass from the jug
that sat there. He refilled it every three hours on this very off
chance, that she would wake up wanting water. He’d seen it in
many movies. He picked up a bendy straw and inserted it in the glass
and held it to her lips so she could drink. She took a long pull and
swallowed; the latter action seemed to be painful for her, and then
took another sip.

“
Thanks,”
she said.

“
No
problem. I should get the doctor,” he said happily. “Don’t
go anywhere.”

“
I
won’t,” she said as he bounced out of the room.

The
doctors and nurses came hurrying in with Allen at the rear, they took
her vital signs and tested her reflexes, looked in her eyes and asked
her how she was feeling.

“
I’m
okay,” she said.

“
Do
you remember what happened?” they asked her.

She
stared from one to the other, looking for some clue and then down at
herself. “I guess…I was in some sort of…accident?”

The
doctor frowned coming forward to shine a light into her eyes again,
“What’s your name?”

“
Frances
Hilton,” she replied at once.

“
Good,”
the doctor said with a smile. “And what year is this Frances?”

Frances
stared at him and then at all the other people in the room, lastly
her eyes fell on Allen. “Umm, not 2005?” she said.

The
excitement in the room dampened considerably.

The
doctor’s smile disappeared, “What is the last thing you
remember Frances?”

Frances
hesitated; she really didn’t want to say. But everyone was
looking at her expectantly.

“
I…”
she began and then stopped.

“
Don’t
be scared Frances, just tell us the truth,” he said.

Frances
looked down. “I work for a bookie named Karl; he sent me to
collect from a client but the guy attacked me and tried to…”
Frances swallowed hard. “I escaped,” she finished.

“
That
must have been before we met,” Allen said.

Frances
looked up at him. “Who are you?” she asked. All the color
drained from Allen’s face.

*****

The
doctors said it would pass; that retrograde amnesia was fairly common
with the injuries she’d suffered. There was nothing to worry
about; she would remember. Allen was not so sure; somehow it felt
like rejection to him. Why would her amnesia only cover the period
where they’d known each other? When he went to see her, she
looked at him warily like he was some dangerous stranger. She had
asked for her baseball bat the last time he’d been but that
weapon had been discarded long ago. He’d given her his pocket
knife instead and she’d looked at it in surprise and suspicion
before fixing him with a wondering glance. Then she’d slipped
it under her pillow with quiet thanks. He hated it. He wanted to
scream and rail at her but he couldn’t because she was ill. She
couldn’t help herself. Allen told himself so every day; he
still couldn’t help feeling like it was some sick revenge for
the last thing he’d said to her before he left the apartment
that day. He would take it back if he could, she had to know that.
But he couldn’t even discuss it with her since she didn’t
remember shit. Allen wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a
curse.

“
Where
do I live?” she asked him when he went to visit the next day.

“
With
me!” he cried. “You live with me.”

“
Oh,”
she said seemingly surprised. “So we’re…”

“
Together.
Yeah,” he finished for her.

“
Oh,”
she said again looking down. Her delicate honey complexion was
glowing with embarrassment, “I’m sorry I don’t
remember you.”

“
Yeah
I got that,” Allen couldn’t quite keep the resentment out
of his tone.

There
was a small silence.

“
The
doctors said I could go home tomorrow, that’s why I asked,”
she said softly.

“
Uh
huh? They didn’t tell me,” Allen said.

“
Well…that’s
what they said.”

“
That’s
good then. Do you need anything in particular; a wheelchair or
whatever?” he asked.

Frances
smiled wryly. “My head is broken, not my body,” she said
reminding Allen so poignantly of
his
Frances that he almost burst into tears.

“
What?”
she asked curiously on seeing his expression.

Allen
shook his head, “Nothing. I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

“
Yeah,”
Frances replied non-committally. “About that…you do know
we won’t be er…” she asked uncomfortably.

“
No,
yeah, I got that with the whole ‘you don’t remember me’
thing,” he said, sounding a tad bitter.

“
I’m
sorry,” she said sounding irritable herself.

Allen
shook his head. “It's not your fault. I’ll…be
going. Gotta tidy up and what not,” he said with a sheepish
smile. Frances nodded wondering what he was
really
going to do. Maybe he’d had some other woman stashed in their
house that he had to go get rid of.

*****

Allen
went running in Central Park. He needed to clear his head and decide
what was the best way forward. For one thing, they had not been doing
well before her accident, and now she couldn’t even remember
him. Was it some kind of sign that they should call it quits? And
what if Frances wasn’t interested in being with him anymore?
Like…ever? It wasn’t like they had much in common beyond
their shared history. He was all about people and she lived inside
her head. She was all book smart and long talks about abstract
concepts while he was all about sports and music and parties. It
didn’t bode well for their future together if she didn’t
remember
why
they even got together in the first place. It was a cluster fuck any
way he looked at it and he didn’t know if he wanted to stick
around for the blow back. Still, she had nowhere else to go for now,
and nobody else to turn to; so he guessed he would just have to do.

*****

She
was impressed by the size of their house. She knew he was rich
because she had a private room in the hospital and the staff treated
her special. She knew it wasn’t her because there was no way
she’d gone from Karl’s collector to a multimillionaire in
such a short time. She’d looked at herself in the mirror and
she didn’t look any older than 25. She didn’t ask what
the date was though, or the year. It was too much to think about,
missing all those years of her life. It was like waking up after
being roofied in a strange bed, with no idea if you were there
voluntarily or without consent. Of course if someone had roofied her,
it was unlikely that she was there voluntarily. But no one had
roofied her; she’d been in an accident, hit her head, and lost
her memory. Clearly, that Allen guy cared enough for her to hang out
at the hospital while she was out cold, and he’d been to see
her every day since. There was just something about him…she
didn’t know what but she guessed he was mad at her for some
reason. Or mad at something. Or maybe that was just his character.
How would
she
know?

“
It's
nice here,” she said.

“
Yeah,
well you decorated most of it so it makes sense that you would like
it.”

“
I
did? Wow, I have good taste,” she said looking around.

Allen
laughed. “I guess you do. So about bedrooms…we have
three plus the master. Do you want to keep it or you wanna move out?”
he asked.

“
I
want to do what’s the least disruptive thing,” she said
looking at him.

“
The
least disruptive thing would be to maintain the status quo but that’s
off the table so…” Allen said.

Frances
sighed. She wanted to tell him he was being an immature asshole but
she didn’t know him well enough to say such a thing; or rather,
apparently she did but she didn’t remember. She wondered how
they’d gotten together. He was clearly very Will Smith while
she was more Tupac Shakur. What the hell did they even have in
common?

“
Okay
then, I’ll move to one of the guest rooms for now. How about
that?” she proposed.

Allen
shrugged but said nothing, just looked at her from beneath his
eyelashes and walked down the hall to what she assumed was the
master. She followed him, looking around their room. The bed was
neatly made, with an off white duvet; a gray sheet peeking out from
under it. The pillows were gaily patterned with red roses on a white
background. The whole thing was very cozy and she could imagine
burrowing in there with a guy on cold nights, just enjoying being
warm. She could remember clearly all the cold winter nights she’d
shivered through in her bunker. Clearly those days were far behind
her but in her current state, they were pretty immediate.

“
This
is a pretty room,” she said.

“
Yeah,”
he agreed.

“
Lemme
guess, I decorated it too?” she asked.

Allen
smiled, “We both did.”

Frances
took a deep breath, “I have a proposal,” she said.

“
Uh
huh?” Allen seemed very aloof.

“
I
was thinking about what the doctor said about doing things that might
be familiar to jog my memory. So maybe I ought to stay in here…with
you,” she said, unable to stop the color from suffusing her
cheeks.

Allen’s
face brightened, “I’m okay with that.”

“
But
no sex or nothin,” Frances hastened to add.

Allen
put his hands up to show how harmless he was, “Of course,
yeah.”

Frances
breathed in deeply, “Great. That’s good. So what’s
next on the agenda? I’m kinda hungry.”

Allen
laughed, “Yeah okay, this way to the kitchen. I think I can
rustle up some sandwiches before dinner.”

“
Thank
you,” she said.

“
Why
don’t you…relax, maybe look around and get your bearings
while I get that sandwich?” he suggested.

“
Good
idea,” Frances agreed, taking a step toward the bed. She wanted
to see if it was as soft as it looked. Knowing her, if she’d
had a chance, she’d have chosen the softest bed in existence.
She sat down on it, all her expectations coming to fruition as it
enveloped her in luxurious softness.

“
Aaahh,”
she sighed in contentment, flopping back on the bed and spreading her
arms out. The bed was huge, even if she slept with Allen, there was
enough space that they didn’t have to even touch each other if
they didn’t want to. Frances closed her eyes, luxuriating in
comfort.

“
You
fell asleep,” a voice startled her awake. She sat up quickly,
scrambling around for her baseball bat before she remembered where
she was.