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“Ashley, take a few deeps breaths for me and try to calm down. Everything’s okay. I promise. You’re working yourself up right now,” the doctor says gently. “Why don’t we start with some simple things? Do you know your full name?”

“Yes, Ashley Marie Mitchell. Can I have some water please?” If I’m going to continue talking, I need something to make my throat stop burning.

I hear water pouring. Through narrowed eyes, I see Tanner hold out a cup to me.

“Here, baby,” he says.

I try to reach out with my left arm, but I can’t. It hurts like a bitch. The shooting pain prompts me to pry my eyes fully open. Now I have to know what the hell is happening. My arm is encased in a white cast from my wrist all the way up to my arm pit. What the fuck happened?

“Why is my arm in a cast? Someone please tell me what’s going on. Tanner?”

His face is covered by a mask of sorrow, and it frightens me. That stupid machine beeps faster again as I look him over. Tanner’s gaze meets the doctor’s, but he doesn’t say anything until the doctor nods.

“You were in a car accident,” he says slowly, as though it physically pains him to say the words.

A car accident? I try to sift through my memories, but everything’s still cloudy. I certainly don’t remember an accident. I try to conjure the last thing I can remember from before I woke up here, and I can’t. It’s all just a jumble of incomplete thoughts and blurry memories that don’t fit together. My heart races, and it becomes harder to breathe. What happened to me?

“Why don’t I remember it?” If I don’t remember, then something must be wrong with me. How can I not remember being in an accident? My freaking arm’s broken, for Christ’s sake. How can I not remember my arm breaking?

“Given some time, I think you will. You hit your head pretty hard, and you had a collapsed lung. Because of that, your brain was deprived of oxygen for a little bit. Why don’t we start with what you do remember?” Doctor Whoever asks.

I rack my brain for memories. So many things are whirling around there, but nothing makes sense.

“Do you know who this is?” he asks, pointing to Tanner.

“Yes,” I answer, but I’m still trying to figure out why he’s here. I try to sit up, but my damn legs aren’t working right either apparently.

I feel panic setting in again, and that fucking beeping speeds up once more, making my already-pounding headache worse. Looking down, I notice the blanket spread over my lower body for the first time. I can’t see any damage, but if I can’t really move my legs… am I paralyzed? No, wait, I can’t be paralyzed. I can feel the awful pain in one of my legs, and it hurts like a motherfucker.

“What’s wrong with my legs? Why can’t I move them? Why does it hurt like crazy? Someone please tell what the fuck is going on!” I try to shout, but my throat still feels as though it’s on fire. Why won’t anyone tell me what the hell happened to me?

“Shh,” Tanner says, running his hand down the side of my head, smoothing my hair out of my face. “It’s okay. You have a dislocated knee. There’s a big immobilizing brace on it.”

“Take a minute and give yourself some time. What’s the last thing you remember?” the doctor asks yet again.

If I knew, I’d fucking tell him. Even so, I try again, thinking for a minute before the memory of a crowd comes back. “Work,” I say at last. “It was cold.” I think so anyway. There are vague little blips in my recollection, but I don’t know what they’re from.

“Okay, that’s good. Anything else?” he asks as he grabs a clipboard and pen. He writes something down quickly on what I assume is my chart.

“You,” I tell Tanner. His face on all the televisions at the bar.

“Me?” He looks as though that’s the last thing he’d expected me to say.

“Yes, you… were all over the TV.” He nods, seeming sad. Why would that make him sad?

I close my eyes, willing myself to remember—cold, work, Tanner… “Bed,” I say. “I wanted to go to bed.”

“Good, Ashley. Good. Take your time,” the doctor says.

My eyes are still closed, but I still hear him writing.

“You’re doing great, Ash.” Tanner continues running his hand through my hair.

I instinctively lean into his touch. I feel like I shouldn’t be doing that, but for some reason, I can’t stop it.

“Beeping… I remember a car horn.” Like a hole in a dam, memories are trickling in. “Lights, bright lights… Oh my God!” I gasp as the mental dam bursts, and I’m unable to stop the flow of images flooding my mind. My mobile hand instinctively moves toward my stomach, and I look at Tanner in shocked comprehension.

His eyes are locked on my hand, and I see the tears welling in them. He must know I’ve just remembered the most important thing ever.

“NO!” I shake my head, despite the excruciating pain. “No! No!” I shout, knowing the truth without having to ask. The baby. Oh my God! How the hell could I have not remembered him the second I woke up?

Tears run down Tanner’s face as he stares at me. I continue to shake my head as though denying it will make it not true.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Tanner says, choking on a sob.

I turn toward the doctor, hoping he’ll tell me that Tanner and I are both wrong, but he has on the same sad face Tanner had been wearing a few minutes earlier.

“Can you turn the pain medicine back up?” I ask, knowing full well it’ll knock me back out. “Everything hurts.” Maybe I’ll wake up and this will have been a bad dream.

“Sure,” the doctor says before heading out of the room.

He’d better get back with the medication quickly. I don’t want to remember anything anymore. I want to go back to five minutes ago, when I had been blissfully ignorant—when my world had still been intact.

The accident might as well have killed me. What do I have left to live for now? Why? Why couldn’t God have taken me too? What have I ever done to deserve this? How am I supposed to go on after experiencing the first joys of being a mom—even if he hadn’t been here yet—and then having it all ripped away from me? What’s the point?

I hear them talking about me, but I don’t let on that I’m awake.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Quinn asks.

“She was only awake for about ten minutes before she asked them to up her pain meds. I was more concerned with her lack of memory at the time,” Tanner snaps. “There was no point in calling you back after they gave her the meds. The doctor said they would probably knock her back out for at least a few hours.”

“What do you mean ‘lack of memory’? Like brain damage?” She sounds scared.

“No, she remembered who she was, who I was. When he started asking her questions about what she remembered, things came back slowly,” Tanner explains.

“Did she remember the baby?” Quinn asks.

“Not at first. It took her a few minutes, but then she did.”

I hear the sadness in his voice, and it angers me. I remember so much more now. The dreams I’ve had since waking up here have been like a reel of the last few months.

“How’d she take it?” Alex asks. I hadn’t realized he was here too.

“As soon as she remembered, she asked for the meds. I can’t say I blame her. I wish I could get something to knock me the hell out.”

I could help him with that. I wish I could knock him out with my new cast.

“So you didn’t get to tell her about him?” Quinn asks, piquing my interest.

Tanner sighs. “No, we didn’t get to tell her much at all. She knows about the accident, her arm, her knee, and her head injury. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her about him. I memorized everything I could about him, but I don’t know how to relay it all back to her.”

My blood boils hearing his words. “You mean you got to see my son and I didn’t?” I practically growl, but I don’t open my eyes. I don’t want to see his face right now.

“Sweets?” Quinn says.

I hear her move toward me, and it’s only a few seconds before I feel her hand grasp mine, squeezing. “How are you feeling?”

“Answer my question,” I demand, finally opening my eyes to glare at Tanner with all the contempt I feel right now.

“Yes,” he says, sounding defeated.

“Get out!” I tell him.

“Ashley,” Quinn says gently.

“No!” I cut her off before turning back toward Tanner. “I remember everything now. Being knocked back out wasn’t the sanctuary I’d been hoping for. GET OUT!”

Alex pats him on the back. “Come on, Tag. You could use a little fresh air. It’s been awhile,” he says, trying to lead Tanner toward the door.

I know I should feel bad that his eyes are swimming with pain and hurt but too fucking bad. The asshole got to see my son, and I won’t ever be able to say the same. I’m not sure how long I was out for, but I know it was long enough that there’s no way I’ll get to see my baby.

Even though I’d expected him to, Tanner doesn’t argue. He just sighs, accepting his defeat, and heads toward the door.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Quinn says. “He hasn’t left your side for four days. He didn’t even celebrate his big win. He dropped everything, came running, and hasn’t left since.”

“I don’t give a shit, Quinn. I don’t need to hear about him right now. Tell me everything that happened.”

Quinn relays the details of the accident back to me, and they sound like the plot of a horrible movie. I don’t know why I’m surprised. This is the way that my life goes. Of course Tanner would be the only one who got to see my son—ironic, considering Tanner didn’t want him in the first place. Yet somehow, I’m the one paying for his bad karma.

I’m surprisingly glad the doctor comes in just as Quinn finishes recounting my horror story. He’s a welcome distraction from my thoughts.

“Glad to see you awake, Ashley,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“My whole body feels like it was hit by a car,” I answer sarcastically. I mean, how does he think I feel? What a stupid question. It reminds me of the conversation Tanner and I had about the dumb questions reporters ask during their interviews.

“Well, I guess that’s pretty accurate.” He doesn’t seem too fazed by my wit. “I assume you’ve been given some information regarding your injuries.” He looks back and forth between Quinn and me.

“Not really,” Quinn answers. “I only gave her the rundown of the accident.”

“Okay, well, let’s start with your head injury. All of your scans look fine. I don’t expect any permanent damage. Your memories are coming back, but expect things to be a little muddled for a bit. You may also notice some trouble paying attention and difficulty making decisions. All normal. You’ll probably notice some trouble getting your mind and body to work together—also normal.

“As for your arm, the upper bone—your humerus—was broken in the crash. It punctured your skin and required surgery. There’s a metal rod and screws holding it all together now. Due to the severity of the break, expect to be in that cast for eight to twelve weeks,” he explains.

“Twelve weeks?” I ask, shocked and pissed off. Twelve fucking weeks with this fucking cast on?

The doctor nods and continues, “We’ve been monitoring you for signs of infection, and you’ve been receiving antibiotics through your IV as a precaution. You also have two broken ribs—one of which punctured your left lung. We had to make a small incision near your left breast, where we inserted a chest tube.”

I look down, wondering how the hell I could’ve missed a tube sticking out of my chest. There’s no tube there, and I look back up at the doctor in confusion.

“It was removed yesterday because you were breathing much better. We expect no complications there. As for the broken ribs, you’re going to be very sore and may notice some pain with breathing.”

Well, at this point everything fucking hurts, so I probably won’t notice shit.

“Your knee was dislocated, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been in a crash like yours. The orthopedic surgeon will explain the recovery process in more depth to you, but for now, the knee has been set back in place, and the ligament damage was repaired. You’ll be in that brace for about eight weeks. Your leg, like your arm, will require significant physical therapy—probably about nine to twelve months’ worth before your leg feels back to normal. Well, as normal as it will after this kind of injury.

“How the hell am I going to do a goddamn thing with only one arm and one leg?”