3. Switch

3

SWITCH

I don't know why I said yes to eating lunch with Sophia. The only thing on my mind is to get the fuck out of here at the earliest possible moment. My focus is on my physio, regaining my strength, and figuring out how to string two words together properly.

And trying not to question why my mom looks so tired, only to be met with instant dismissals that the bed in my house isn't comfortable. That she's gotten so used to the warm weather in Florida that the damp Jersey fall air is no good for her lungs and she's under the weather.

I'm not buying any of it.

So, I think, maybe, that I took one look at Sophia with her long dark hair and pretty lips and thought perhaps I just wanted to be around someone who understood for a change. That I could escape the sympathetic glances.

"We could always start with the basics. Spastic hand paralysis or flaccid paralysis?" Sophia asks, glancing down at my hand.

Not exactly the understanding I was looking for. I slide my hand off the table and rest it in my lap. "That's a pretty…forward question."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." She laughs, and it's a pretty sound.

I shake my head as the food I ordered at breakfast this morning appears in front of me without my having to ask. I pick up the fork and firmly press the tines into my finger until they leave a row of four tiny yet imperfect divots.

The sharp pain of them centers me.

"Mine was spastic," she says, flexing her fingers in front of her.

She has no idea how reassuring hearing that is as she uses her napkin and holds a water glass like it's a crystal ball. "I see orthotic devices, mobilization exercises, and grip and pinch strengthening in your future."

"Funny. How long did…it take?"

"My hand? Four months, but I'm going home soon, not that I remember home."

"Amnesia?" I ask.

Sophia nods.

"I've lost about a decade," I say. "I remember enlisting but nothing beyond basic training. I remember some of my brothers, but not all of them. Some of them look so different to the last time I remember them. I don't remember any of their old ladies except one because I knew Gwen when we were kids."

"It sucks, doesn't it?" Sophia pauses for a moment and looks out of the window. "All of mine is gone. Every single memory. I don't even remember my family. It's like living in this other world where you once existed but don't anymore. Or like someone set you down as a blank canvas in the world."

There's a wistfulness. She comes across as so funny and confident and irreverent, but I think back to seeing her panic when I saw her missing eye.

Then I pause for a minute. I remember something that actually happened from two days ago. Maybe that's progress.

Neither of us eats our food.

"I'm sorry, Sparrow," I say.

She shrugs and smiles like it doesn't matter. But the smile doesn't touch the corner of her eye. "We can only move forward."

"Aren't you angry about it?" I ask.

The mask slips. "Furious," she says, her voice a strangled whisper. "Some days I think if I let the rage out, I'd blow all the windows out of this room." Then she sniffs, straightens a crease in her sweater, and sits up straighter. "Still, we've got our breathing exercises to get us through, right?"

The words are laced with sarcasm that matches my own feelings on the subject.

I pick up the water glass and watch the liquid slosh inside. "I can't ride my bike."

My body has been too broken, my vision too blurred, my hand too shaky to get on my bike, even though I can remember how to do it.

"That really sucks. I'm sorry it's stopped you from doing something you clearly loved. My parents want me to move home and live with them, and while I can't remember living with them when I was younger, or living alone since, I'm certain it's a recipe for disaster."

She laughs at this, and I can see the tug of war in her features. It's as if her laughter is uncontrolled, even as she looks sad from our conversation.

"Bat," she mutters. "Just bat."

"Bat?" I ask.

"Breathe, adjust, think," she says. She closes her eyes, breathes, rolls her shoulders back, and then settles.

When she opens her eyes, she's composed again.

"Clever trick."

She circles her finger around the room. "That's why we pay this place the big bucks. Well, mainly we pay them the big bucks because we're in a five-star hospital with views over Central Park and caviar on the menu, but you know what I mean."

"That's a fair assessment."

"It's pretty privileged to scoff at the fact I have access to the fanciest health care, but it can't fix everything. I laugh at the most inappropriate topics. I still struggle with figurative things and have trouble remembering anything new. I forgot two of my brothers' names just this morning and had to check on my Notes app."

She picks up her fork and starts to eat, so I follow her lead.

I'm sure the food is perfectly seasoned, but everything has tasted like cardboard since the…

I struggle to think the word accident .

I force myself to try to remember the details I couldn't recall yesterday. What did King and Halo tell me about the accident? The lie is I was out on my bike and was the victim of a hit-and-run. My president found me on the side of the road.

But what was the truth? Halo and his old lady think I'm a fucking hero. Something to do with her. Saving her from something. Stepping in the way of something meant for Halo. I can sense darkness. A warm summer night maybe.

A baby?

Fuck. Who has a baby?

"Spastic," I say finally. "I struggle to bend my fingers...hurts to squeeze."

She puts her cutlery down and reaches for my hand. I've got no idea why I offer it to her, palm up. Within a second, she's somehow maneuvered her hands to either side of mine and is stretching my palm, opening it up. Then her thumbs begin to work on the muscles that feel as though they are in a permanent state of spasm.

I can barely hold back a groan.

Perhaps I should feel bad that her lunch is going cold, but I can't bring myself to remind her to eat. I close my eyes and let her do whatever this fucking sorcery is.

For the second time since the accident, my cock perks up and takes notice. Both boners have been because of Sophia. Sensory deprivation is a thing when you're in medical care. The only people who touch you are generally doing something to you. Poking you with needles, cutting parts of your body open, changing dressings. Even bed baths, the most intimate of things, feel cold because there is a high level of embarrassment, and mine were always done by a male nurse called Jude.

The touch of a woman is…

My mind drifts. For a moment, I try to pretend I'm anywhere other than here. On the bank of a lake. A beach. Even the clubhouse. But this bothers me because I don't know which room is mine now, and in my daydream, my dad is still there in his cut that proclaims him to be road captain, even though I know he and Mom retired to Florida. Wait, was he wearing a cut when he came by on…?

I can't remember what day he came before today. I can't remember if he was wearing a cut then or not. I remember jack fucking shit.

I open my eyes in frustration. Sophia is focused on my palm.

"You've been here too long if you know how to do that," a man says.

"Learned from the best, Raheel." Sophia glances to the man walking by the table. "Raheel is my physical massage therapist. Has been since I first arrived. He's amazing."

Raheel grins at Sophia, but it's the kind of smile that says he's proud of his patient. Not anything more.

Which…why the fuck do I care if it's anything more or not?

"That's very kind of you, Sophia. I hear you're considering leaving us soon."

"Everybody thinks I'm ready," she says, but there's a wariness in her tone.

Her four-word answer tells me everything I need to know. That she's not ready. But my guess from the way she is around me, and the way she spoke in our session, is that her reluctance has nothing to do with her physical capabilities.

"You'll crush it," Raheel says.

"Of course," she says, too brightly.

He falls for it.

And through it all, she keeps massaging my palm, and I'm too much of a selfish dick to stop her.

A young woman appears behind Raheel. "Your guests are here, Theo. I've put them in the main visitors' room."

I slide my hand from Sophia's. "Thanks for lunch, but I have to go."

We both look at my barely touched plate, but she smiles. "Anytime. Let me know if you want a rain check. Or another hand massage. I'm good at them."

"Maybe, Sparrow." I stand and push my chair out behind me.

The main visitors' room is large, with multiple different seating areas. It's plush, but at the same time, you can tell there is accommodation for mobility devices and different needs. King, Vex, and Halo look utterly out of place amongst the sea of beige furnishings and piped-in elevator music.

The other people seated in the guest area keep a wide berth from them.

"Switch." Halo stands, the first to see me. His eye is bruised, his knuckles raw, like he's just been in a fight. "You're looking good."

The use of my road name chafes. "Wish I could say the same for you."

I smile because they are expecting me to, and suddenly I realize Sophia and I have that in common. We're both saying what we're supposed to. I'm supposed to be happy to see my friends when the truth is infinitely more complex.

King stands and hugs me, but he winces and returns his right arm to its place in front of his body, as if it's in an invisible sling. "How are you feeling?" he asks.

"Like I need…a ride."

"Man, that sucks. Can only imagine," Vex says as he hugs me. "Must be utterly frustrating."

They all take a seat on the fancy sofa and chairs. Vex has come see me most. He seems to understand more than the others that this is going to be a long game. And that trite get well wishes barely scratch the surface of how I'm truly feeling. He doesn't bombard me about the past but waits until I ask specific questions.

I've been told by multiple people that he was my best friend before, and I'm starting to see why.

I look down at my hand, which actually feels some temporary relief from the stiffness and cramping I felt earlier. It still aches, but it's not as acute.

"What the hell happened to you all?" I ask.

King glances at Halo, Vex, then back to me. "Some trouble on a run last night. We sorted it though. How's the physio going?"

I don't like the way he changes the topic, so I shake my head. "Same shit as…last time we talked." Although, in fairness, I don't one hundred percent remember that conversation. Just a vague memory of King's presence. My medical team assures me this is all quite normal for a traumatic brain injury. Allegedly, I should be thrilled that I am as compos mentis as I am.

Instead, I feel disassociated from my life, who I am, what's important to me. My memories and aspirations and goals in life are a decade old. I look in the mirror and the person I am bears no resemblance to the person I last remember seeing there.

Lost my shit with my psychologist when I mentioned that my image catches me off guard every time I see myself, and then he insisted on digging in to it with me, which I really didn't want to do.

I have more ink, more muscle, and more lines around my eyes now. I hope to fuck it's because I laughed a lot in the last decade.

"Anything coming back to you?" Halo asks.

I fucking hate that question. Well-meaning as my brothers are, it's usually their first question. I shake my head. "That's why I didn't recognize you when I"—I search for the words—"woke up. The hair. The…beard." Because in my head, the last time I saw Halo, he was on leave from the Navy SEALs. He had a buzz cut, was clean-shaven. The long-haired, bearded man was so unfamiliar.

And King was still a mischievous teen, hanging out with Clutch and me in the garage and the clubhouse yard before Vex had even joined. They hadn't even gotten their road names back then, and it's taking me a minute to remember them. Every now and then I need to double-check their cuts to remind me.

"How's Rae and…?" I seek Halo's old lady's name, but it floats away from me.

"Ari," Halo reminds me.

"Yeah, Ari."

Halo grins. "Too fucking good for me. Here, she sent you these, just like last week." He hands me a container that has a bunch of cookies and protein balls and oat bars.

More food. I'm gonna gain fifty pounds while I'm in here.

"You aren't allowed to bring food in," says a woman seated nearby. She's clearly waiting for someone, as she has a handful of expensive-looking gift bags in front of her.

"At twenty-five grand a week, we'll bring in whatever the fuck we want," King says.

He's changed from my last memory of him. He has the confidence of his father, Camelot. Sure and steady. Unyielding. We used to watch our fathers when they were the patched-in members, and we were simply teens who couldn't fucking wait to live the life. I remember how King used to shadow his dad. Listening. Watching. Learning.

It looks like it paid off.

I wonder if I've become the kind of man I aspired to be back then.

"Where'd the club get the money to…?" I swirl my hand in the air. "You know. This."

Vex leans forward, moving a little closer. "We got it when I was able to?—"

"We have the funds. That's all you need to worry about," King says.

"Sorry," Vex says, as if he'd forgotten something important King had told him. Then he gives me a knowing look, like it's paining him to not tell me the truth.

I glance at Halo, then King. Neither of them looks straight at me.

"What the hell is going on?" I ask.

King rubs a hand over his jaw. "Just a precaution."

"A precaution for what?" I ask.

"It's probably best we don't share club business with you…for now. While your head's…fucked. It gives you options."

"What do you mean it gives…what you said?" My vision begins to waver. A sharp ache begins at my temple. It happens multiple times a day.

I need painkillers. I need an ice pack. I need a dark room and quiet.

King turns squarely to face me. "You could leave the Outlaws. Get your ink lasered, and you are free to go. You don't remember shit about this club and what we have or haven't done. You could go down to Florida with your folks. I'd sign off on it."

Leave the Outlaws?

My heart thuds. Being in the club was the most important thing I wanted when I was old enough to even know what being an Outlaw meant. I'm certain nothing has changed, seeing I was injured on club business.

My blood pressure escalates.

The wavering in my vision gets worse.

"No. I might not know who…I am. But I know I'm…a fucking Outlaw."

And as the last word spills from my lips, the world goes dark.