you, too.”
“Damn, baby sis.” Cole rolls his eyes. “This amnesia has turned you soft as fuck.”
I rip off a piece of the sandwich and throw it at him. “Asshole.”
His grin is all teeth. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”
I do.
I take a hearty bite of my food then wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Thank you for—”
“Someone’s feeling better today,” the nurse chirps from the doorway. She gestures to the wheelchair in front of her. “Feel like going for a stroll in this thing?”
Given I’ve been confined to a bed for almost six weeks, it sounds like heaven.
I couldn’t hold back my smile if I tried. “Absolutely.”
I’m so excited about leaving, I attempt to stand up on my own. Unfortunately, my legs feel like spaghetti and I stumble instead.
“Woah,” Jace says, rushing to catch me before I bust my ass. “Take it easy, killer.”
Cole comes around to the opposite side of me. “You good now, Bambi?”
My mind says yes, but my body vehemently disagrees.
I shake my head. “I can’t. It’s too soon.”
Jace isn’t having it. “No, it’s not. You got this.”
Cole tightens his grip on my arm. “And we got you.”
I know.
“Okay,” I relent. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter 9
“Are you sure you don’t want any hel—”
I close the bathroom door before Sawyer can finish her sentence. It’s not that I’m not grateful for her offer to help, I just want to be able to go to the bathroom in peace for once. And thanks to starting physical therapy, I’ve been upgraded to crutches which means I finally can.
If all goes well, hopefully I’ll be discharged soon.
I’m hobbling over to the toilet when I catch my reflection in the mirror and freeze.
Holy shit.
Even though my brain has finally accepted the fact that I’m eighteen and not eight, I haven’t given much thought to what I might look like.
“Woah.”
Steadying one crutch against the sink, I touch the glass, just to make sure I’m not hallucinating.
Long dark hair, tan skin, big brown eyes, high cheekbones, a slightly upturned nose, and full lips.
The last recollection I have of my appearance, I was the epitome of awkward looking…but now?
Now, I look just like her.
Turning my head ever so slightly, I peer at the scar running down the side of my neck. It’s about four inches in length and stops at my collarbone. The fading pink color tells me it must be new.
I vaguely recall the doctor telling me I went through the windshield during the accident and a shard of glass got lodged in my neck, missing my carotid artery by less than a centimeter.
Sucking in a breath, I lift up my shirt, inspecting the scar on my lower abdomen. The one that cost me a kidney thanks to a piece of shrapnel during the accident with my mom. Not only does it appear smaller than I remember, it’s faded quite a bit.
But it’s still a glaring reminder of the day my mother tried to kill me.
Shoving that thought down and turning my focus to something positive, I raise my shirt higher, checking out the merchandise.
My boobs aren’t ginormous or anything, but I’m definitely not disappointed with what mother nature gave me.
I want to examine the rest of my body, but my bladder starts protesting my little peep show so I take care of business before I shuffle back to my hospital room.
I walk in on my dad, brothers, Sawyer, and my doctor having what looks to be a pretty heated discussion.
Oh, boy.
“You’re never home,” Jace barks at our dad. “There’s no way you can take care of her.”
As much as I hate hearing them argue, Jace has a point. Amnesia or not, there is one thing I definitively remember most about my father.
His absence.
That said, he’s really been stepping up his game lately and has been visiting me a lot.
Dad juts his chin. “I can take some time off work.”
Crossing his arms, Jace stares him down. “No. She’s staying with me and Dylan at our apartment. This way we can watch over her.”
I’m tempted to remind him that I’m not a child, but I know Jace’s heart is in the right place and he’s only looking out for me.
Dad’s visibly irate now. “Last I checked, I was the father here, Jace.”
Jace snorts. “Only when it’s convenient—”
“Stop!” I shout, because I honestly can’t stand another second of this.
Everyone turns to look my way.
“Hello, Bianca,” Dr. Jones greets me and there’s no mistaking the pity in his eyes. “We were just discussing plans for your upcoming discharge.”
Normally