Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

BEAN

Something had happened.

I wished I could remember what.

I’d gotten used to the never-relenting sensation that I was forgetting something that could possibly be important. That came with the territory when one had a TBI and a crappy memory.

But this was different. Jarek had pulled back suddenly, and I’d been left hurting and frustrated, trying to remember what I’d done wrong. I must’ve said something, done something, right? He wouldn’t ghost me for no reason.

I’d texted him over twenty times in the week since I’d last seen him, and he hadn’t responded to any of them. They showed up as read, which was a small consolation that at least he was reading them, but why was he not responding?

I had messed up somehow, and more than anything, I wanted to make it right. But how could I do that when I didn’t know what I’d done wrong?

“Does it feel like you guys had a fight?” Heath asked. We’d finished dinner, and the guys were trying to help me remember, which was sweet yet torture at the same time.

I shook my head. “I made a note when I was in my car that he said he got things twisted and that it was him, not me. I would’ve written it down if we’d had an actual fight.”

“Maybe you didn’t have the chance,” Nash offered. “Maybe you had a fight, then made up and went to bed right away, and you forgot.”

I sighed. “Maybe.”

I wasn’t convinced. Something else had happened.

I buried my head in my hands, tears burning behind my eyelids. “I hate my brain.”

“What was that?” Tameron asked.

Right. He couldn’t hear me when he couldn’t see me.

“He said he hates his brain,” Creek said, helping me out. “Which I can imagine because it fucking sucks. I’d be so pissed off too.”

One thing I loved about Creek is that you always knew where you stood with him. He didn’t have much of a filter, and while that was embarrassing sometimes, it was also convenient in situations like this. Anyone else would’ve told me I shouldn’t say that about myself, but not Creek.

“Thank you. You’re right. It does suck.” Fury filled me so suddenly that it took my breath away. Why had this happened to me? Why had the careless actions of one guy caused so much pain and trauma to all of us? It was so unfair.

“It’s not fair,” I mumbled. “It’s so not fair.”

Creek repeated my words to Tameron, and I was grateful. I didn’t want to exclude Tameron, but I didn’t have it in me right now to face them, to let them see my tear-filled eyes and the pain that had to be written all over my face.

Another wave of anger rolled over me, and it was all I could feel, sucking the hope and joy I’d experienced with Jarek right out of me. Now, I’d never feel that way again. No one would ever accept me again the way he had, with all my quirks and limitations.

I loved him…and I’d lost him for reasons I still didn’t know.

I finally looked up. “That was my one chance at love, and I blew it.”

“You don’t know that,” Tameron said. “Maybe Jarek truly meant that it was him and not you, that something changed for him?”

“But then why wouldn’t he explain what I did wrong? How can he walk away from me like that when I love him?” I burst out. “I fucking love him!”

Heath gasped. “Sorry, I’ve never heard you curse before.”

“He doesn’t, usually,” Nash said, studying me with concern in his eyes.

For once, I didn’t care. I didn’t care about my parents or about what they would think of me. I didn’t care about the voice inside my head that was always judging me for every sin I committed or about the guilt and shame that filled me. I didn’t care about anything anymore except Jarek. I wanted Jarek.

“I’m gonna be alone for the rest of my life…” My voice broke at the end, but I couldn’t help it. “I’m gonna die alone and lonely, without anyone who loves me.”

A red haze came over me, and before I realized it, I grabbed my empty plate and threw it against the wall, where it shattered into a gazillion pieces. My full water glass followed, and I would’ve gone for Tameron’s plate as well if Nash hadn’t grabbed my wrist. “You’re spiraling, Bean. Take a breath. Focus.”

Where I normally would’ve responded to his stern voice, it now only threw gasoline on the angry fire burning inside me. I snatched my wrist from his grip and jumped up from my chair, shoving it back so hard it fell over. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Silence filled the room, everyone staring at me in shock. Heath inched a little closer to Creek, who wrapped his arm around him protectively. As if Heath needed to be safeguarded from me. As if I was the problem.

Maybe I was. Maybe this was all my fault. Maybe everything I had done wrong in my life was now coming back to me in the form of God’s wrath. Had he punished me by taking my brain?

“Bean…” Nash rose too, holding out his hands in a placating gesture. “Take a deep breath, kid. Don’t let yourself spin out of control.”

“I’ve worked so hard to get better, and what did it get me? Nothing. Nothing works. Nothing will ever make me normal again. I will always be this…this freak with the scrambled brain who can’t remember anything. And one day, you guys will get tired of me, too, and you’ll walk away from me like everyone else. Because you have to be perfect to be loved, right? If you’re not perfect, if you don’t conform to how others want you to be, you’re not worthy of love. I’m not worthy of love, and I never will be.”

The words were tumbling out, one after the other, originating from a part of my brain that I hadn’t even known held these thoughts. Had I forgotten them like everything else in my life?

“That’s not true,” Tameron said, sounding shaken up. “We love you the way you are, Bean, scrambled brains and all.”

“That’s pity,” I fired back. “That’s not love. You pity me, and you’re tolerating me because you’re loyal…and because Nash tells you to.”

“Bullshit,” Creek said forcefully. “And deep down, you know better.”

“No, I don’t. Because if I was worthy of love, why did Jarek walk away from me? Why did he act as if he loved me, only to break my heart?”

The volcano inside me erupted, the lava of fury spilling over. I stumbled over to the wall and slammed my head against it. Someone shouted something, but it barely registered with me.

I headbutted the wall again. How could something hurt yet be satisfying at the same time?

“Bean, stop!” Nash said, grabbing me.

I spun around to evade him but tripped and slammed into him, sending both of us crashing to the floor. Two seconds later, Nash was on top of me, pinning me to the floor. “Get off me!” I screamed, kicking wildly.

But he held me down, not giving an inch, not even when my knee hit him in the ribs. He just shifted his weight and used it to hold me down.

And just like that, the fight left me…and I started sobbing.

Loud wails came out of me, and Nash let me go. I rolled onto my side and curled into a fetal position. How could I face them after what I had done?

I’d hurt Nash. Oh good God, I’d hurt Nash.

But before I could even process the potential consequences, two strong hands picked me up as if I weighed nothing, and Nash put me on his lap like a small child, tucking me against his chest. He was sitting on the floor holding me, and I lost it. So much sadness, anger, and fear came out of me that I couldn’t stop crying until my tears literally ran dry and everything hurt.

When I looked up, everyone else had left, and it was just Nash and me. His jaw was already bruising, and I winced. “I hurt you.”

“You did, but not on purpose.”

“What?”

“You were trying to evade me, and you tripped. You didn’t mean to hurt me, and after that, you panicked.”

If I’d had more tears, I would’ve started crying all over again. “I don’t deserve your friendship…”

“Yes, you do, Bean. I’m sorry you can’t see that, but you do.”

I was still sitting on his lap and his legs had to be numb by now. Not that he would ever complain. Clumsily, I scrambled to my feet. He followed my example, though slower and not without wincing.

“Fuck, I’m not twenty anymore,” he groaned, stretching out his back.

I opened my mouth to tell him how sorry I was, but he held up a warning finger. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

“Can I say sorry for hurting you?”

“Sure, but I told you it was an accident. You were clearly not yourself, and I got in the line of fire.”

My shoulders hunched. “I hate these anger attacks.”

“I know, and I can’t even imagine how frustrating they must be because they aren’t who you are, Bean. You’re not that angry, bitter person.”

“Maybe I’m turning into one.”

“We won’t let that happen. I promise.”

I hung my head. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to get over Jarek.”

He put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “At least you’ve found your answer as to whether you loved him, huh?”

I nodded. “I even made a whole list of why I didn’t love him, just to play devil’s advocate, but when I went through it, I could refute each and every single one of those reasons.” I shook my head as despair filled me all over again. “I had him, Nash. How did I lose him? What did I do wrong?”

“I wish I could tell you, but I’m as baffled as you are.” He tilted my chin up and met my eyes. “But, Bean, it has to be some kind of stupid misunderstanding because that man loves you.”

Hope fluttered in my heart. “You think so?”

“It was clear from the way he looked at you, with pure hearts in his eyes. He loves you, so don’t give up just yet.”

“But what do I do when he won’t even respond to my texts?”

Nash scratched his chin. “Maybe guilt-trip him and tell him he at least owes you an explanation?”

Hmm, I could do that. I dug up my trusted notebook—which was almost full, so time to get a new one—and made a note to text that to Jarek later. “I need to order a new notebook.”

“I got you covered. I set up an automatic order, so your new one will be delivered tomorrow.”

On impulse, I hugged him, and the relief when those strong arms came around me was intense. “Thank you, Nash. For everything.”

“You’re so welcome, kid.”

When he stepped back again, I checked the bruise on his chin. “I’ll do your laundry for a month. I owe you that much for hurting you.”

He shrugged. “You don’t owe me jack shit, but hell if I’m gonna say no to your offer. I hate doing laundry.”

“I know.”

He rubbed my head affectionately. “Go text your man and then get some sleep, kid. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? What was happening tomorrow?

“We’re traveling to Maryland to see that professor so he can run some tests on you,” Nash said before I could ask. “Check page 95 in your book.”

Okay then. Apparently, I was getting on a plane…with the man I’d almost knocked out cold. Nash was a saint.

I was usually exhausted after an anger outburst like that, and this time was no exception. I slept for most of our flight to Chicago, then watched a movie for the second part to Baltimore. Nash had rented a car, and after landing, he drove us to a hotel in Bethesda, a DC suburb. By the time we got there, I was wiped all over again, and I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The next morning, we had breakfast in the hotel and then headed to the NIH, where we would meet Dr. Woods. We didn’t have to wait long in the somewhat sterile waiting area. Dr. Woods was a grandfatherly type who looked like Albert Einstein’s long-lost son, and he immediately put me at ease. “Call me Alfred,” he said, shaking my hand firmly. “If you can remember it.”

“Probably not.”

“No worries, I won’t take offense. Coffee?”

We settled in his office, which was as messy as Tameron’s room, and he grabbed a little recorder. “Do you mind if I record our conversations? That way, I can fully engage and listen rather than having to take notes, and my assistant will later make a summary of what we discussed.”

“No problem at all.” I liked it better, actually. It meant we were having an actual conversation rather than what felt like an interrogation.

“Before we start, I want you to be mindful of your own triggers. Don’t venture into anything that could trigger a strong reaction, okay? I’m not here to traumatize you, just to study your brain.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“Okay. What can you tell me about the accident?”

I took a deep breath. An hour later, I had shared everything I could, though I had to fall back on Nash for a lot.

“It was smart of you to bring a friend who knows you this well,” Alfred said—not that I had remembered his name, but he’d reintroduced himself a few times when he realized I was lost.

“He knows me better than I know myself.”

Alfred pointed at Nash’s chin, now covered in a rainbow-colored bruise. “What happened there?”

I shrunk a little. “I hurt him.”

“It was an accident. I got too close when he had an anger attack,” Nash corrected me.

Alfred looked from Nash to me, and a smile bloomed on his face. “Friends like that are rare.”

Didn’t I know it.

The next step was a series of MRIs. The first was like the one I had done plenty of times before. Despite the racket, I fell asleep, taking a much-needed power nap.

The second batch was functional MRIs, where I had to perform certain activities while they measured my brain’s response. He had me repeat words, read words in French, recite something from memory—I chose Psalm 23, which was still a comfort to me even after everything that had happened—and then look at the faces of people, familiar and unfamiliar.

We returned to the hotel exhausted, even Nash, though he’d spent most of the day waiting for me, reading. “Doing nothing is tiresome,” he told me.

After devouring a room service meal, I dragged myself into bed and fell dead asleep.

The next day, I had another round of MRIs, this time the special multidimensional ones that promised to offer more insights into those…astro-something-or-other brain cells.

When it was all done, we met with Alfred in his office. “Thank you so much for your patience, Bean. I know those tests are not fun.”

“They’re not, but if it can help someone, even if it’s not me, it’ll be worth it.”

“Will he get any results?” Nash asked.

“I can give you the first results right now, but the more detailed ones will take a while. We need time to study your MRIs and compare them to others, both healthy brains and brains with similar injuries, to see the differences.”

“Did you see anything concerning?” I asked, shifting to the edge of my seat.

“Your brain injury is severe, Bean. I’m not gonna lie to you. Honestly, it’s a bit of a miracle you survived. I credit the trauma team at the hospital you were brought to with realizing the extent of the damage and immediately taking measures to contain it. If they hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

I blew out a breath. I knew this, of course, but hearing it filled me with gratitude—a much-needed perspective after my pity party the other day. “I’m so grateful for their quick actions.”

“What’s also fascinating to see is that your brain is still recovering. I see a distinct difference between the scans Dr. Hanley sent me and the batch we did. That’s remarkable, especially considering the extent of your injuries.”

I frowned. “So there’s still a possibility for improvement?”

He hesitated. “Yes, but your brain will never return to how it was. Your memory issues may improve, but they won’t go away, and that’s true for most of your other symptoms as well.”

“But there’s still hope things can get better?”

“Yes.”

“What do I have to do for that? I will do whatever it takes. Even five percent better would make a massive difference for me.”

Alfred nodded. “I will set you up with some specialists in this field who I think can help you. There’s a memory specialist I’ve worked with who has seen some amazing results with people with TBIs, and I can also recommend a psychologist who may be able to help.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He shook his head. “No, Bean, thank you. Thank you for your service to this country and to the freedom we hold so dear. And thank you for offering up your time and energy to let me study your brain. It’s my profound hope the results will help people like you heal better and faster.”

I couldn’t have put it better myself.

But even that bit of hope couldn’t overcome the profound sadness and sense of loss that simmered inside me.

I wanted Jarek.

I needed Jarek.

I loved him. And I was not giving up.