New Year, Knew You / Double Breasted (Paperback SIGNED)

Emily

I didn't remember buying a new alarm clock. Or getting drunk last night. I have to assume the two are related – it’s the only explanation for the incessant pounding in my head. 

Keeping my eyes closed, I reached out, blindly feeling for the alarm, my arm feeling strangely weak and weighted. Instead of the wooden side table that sat beside my bed, my fingertips encountered cool, sleek metal. 

I frowned, attempting to force my heavy eyes open. My success was limited as I snapped them shut, wincing at the stabbing pain the light shot through my eyes into the depth of my brain. 

Am… am I dead?

No, you ninny, no one feeling this level of pain could be dead. 

I pried one eye open, then the other, blinking and squinting as I took in the unfamiliar room. White walls and grey floors with tubes and wires that ran from beeping machines to me. 

I blinked. 

Shit. Is this… a hospital? 

A nurse hovered at my side. 

"Emily? Emily, can you hear me?"

I lifted a hand, moving with a slow lethargy as I reached up to touch my face. 

Definitely not dead.

My fingers traced dressings stuck to my forehead, and as I explored the dress. Their size surprised me, as did the pain that arched through my skull as I grazed my fingers across the bandage. 

The nurse reached for my hand, pulling it away from my head as she continued to ask if I could hear her. 

I swallowed, nausea swirling in my stomach.  

What happened?

"I can hear you," I tried to say, but the words sounded both muffled and jumbled as they left my mouth. 

"Welcome back,"' the nurse smiled, reaching over my head. I heard a buzzer go off as she withdrew. "I'm just calling the doctor, and we'll get you all checked over."

"Where's Cal?" I tried to ask, feeling my mouth struggling to form words. 

"Just rest for a minute, Emily. Let your body adjust."

I closed my eyes, a distressed whimper sneaking up my throat. Between the lights, the sounds and the constant throbbing, stabbing pain in my head, I had no idea how to cope with this level of sensory overload. 

"Mrs. Jameson? I'm Doctor Jenkins. Can you open your eyes for me?"

Cal’s mother is here? Oh no!

I forced my lids open, immediately shuttering them against the light, then reopening them at half-mast. 

"Good." He had a kindly face, grey hair, and more wrinkles than I expected for a man of his age. "I'm just going to check you over. Can you tell me your name?"

"Emily Knight," I whispered, the words slightly more audible. 

He paused in the act of reaching for my hand. 

"Knight?" he repeated. 

I tried to nod, the reaction instinctive. Pain shot through my head, my world shifting, my vision blurring. I snapped my eyes closed, my world continuing to spin as I struggled to suck in air, trying desperately to suppress the nausea swirling in the pits of my stomach. 

The machine beside me buzzed, blaring out an ear-piercing trill. 

I felt the doctor shift beside me, and a moment later, the machine stopped buzzing. He moved down the bed, placing his hands on the soles of my feet. 

"Okay, Emily. Can you push against my hands?"

I pushed, feeling weak but grateful for his approving sounds. 

"Good." He let my feet go, moving up my body as he checked for movement. "Can you tell me what day it is?"

"New Year's Eve," I whispered, eyes still shuttered. 

"Close but not quite. Your accident happened two days ago. You've been in a coma since then." He touched my neck, feeling around the back and asking if anything hurt. 

The muscles were sore, whiplash perhaps? But I didn't feel overwhelming pain like that in my head. 

"What happened?"

"Do you know what year it is?"

"If it's the new year, then it has to be twenty-fifteen."

The doctor's hand rested on my shoulder. 

"Twenty-fifteen?" he clarified. 

"Mm."

"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked, his tone soothing, his voice quiet.

I wracked my brain, desperate to remember. "A party. Cal, my fiancé, was there. We were driving home." I shot up, trying to focus on one of the two doctors weaving before me. "Where's Cal?"

Double vision. Nausea. Pain. Bandages. We’ve been in an accident. Shit. Shit. Shit! Where’s Cal?

"Your hus—fiancé is fine. He wasn't involved in the crash. He's just popped home to get a change of clothes, but we'll advise him of your waking and ensure he returns soon."

I closed my eyes, embracing the dark. "Okay. What happened?"

"Your car came off the road and hit a tree. Emily, I need you to open your eyes so I can do some tests. Can you do that for me?"

The tests were straightforward but left me exhausted and in more pain. 

"Right, we're going to get you some more pain medication. You'll likely sleep after it's administered. That's for the best right now. The double vision is to be expected but should wear off in the next day or so. We're going to run a few more tests, but I'll talk about them after you rest."

"Okay," I muttered, eyes squeezed tight against the bright lights. 

"We'll also move you out of ICU to a ward. Your vitals look good, though this concussion is nasty. You've received a few minor abrasions and have some rather painful bruising, but overall you're lucky it's not worse." 

I tried to ask what happened, tried to form the words with my exhausted mouth. But the painkillers were flowing through my system, and the pull of blissfully painless sleep called.

I sank down into the nothingness, embracing the dark. 

* * *

I next woke in a different room with a slightly less painful head. This room had dim lighting and fewer machines. My sister sat with her husband in chairs beside the window, quietly murmuring. 

"Collins?" my whisper was nothing more than a hoarse exhalation of air. 

"Oh, Emily." Collins surged forward, immediately disengaging from Nick to come to my side, her fingers intertwining with mine. "You're awake. Thank God!"

"How long?" I asked, the words struggling to make it past the dry desert of my mouth. 

"Just another few hours."

Nick rose. "I'll get the nurse."

"Cal?" I asked, noting yet again his absence. Fear and anxiety warred in my stomach, a bitter brewing mess. They weren't telling me something. 

Collins soothed a hand over my head, brushing back stray hairs. I tried not to wince at the waves of pain that action sent through my body. 

"You still have exceptionally poor timing. I sent him to get a coffee. He'll be back any minute." 

"He's okay?"

"Em, you were the only one injured." 

I closed my eyes, letting myself sink back on the bed, relief turning my bones to liquid. 

I heard steps; those footfalls as familiar to me as the back of my hand. 

"Cal."

And like a welcome rain after a drought, he appeared big, broad and looking as if his face were carved with worry and exhaustion. 

And a beard. 

When did he grow a beard? 

A fission of something unfamiliar and ugly raced down my back, finding a home in my stomach. 

"Emily." He strode immediately to my bed, handing off the coffee cup in his hand to Collins as he dropped into the vacant seat at the side of my bed, his hand immediately reaching to mine, removing it from Collins' grasp and pressing his palm to my own. "You're awake."

I tried to nod, immediately gritting my teeth against the searing pain pounding through my head. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," he replied immediately, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand. "You were the only one in the car." 

"I don't remember."

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. All that matters is that you're okay."

I tried to squeeze his hand but could only manage a limp flex of my fingers. "I love you."

"Love you too, Pretty Eyes. And I'm sorry. I want you to give me another chance." 

Another chance?

"What?"

He rose, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips. His beard scratched my face in a way that felt unfamiliar. I reached up, brushing a finger over the hair, a rasping sound following my movement. 

"When did you grow this? How long have I been out?" 

The room went electric. Cal's eyes darkened, a frown marking his brow. 

"Emily," he said slowly. "What do you mean? I've had this beard for two years."

I scoffed, rolling my eyes and finding it was yet another movement I couldn't do with a head injury. 

"Ow," I reached up, gingerly touching my temple. "Stop joking around. Everything hurts."

"Em… I'm not joking. I've had this for at least two years." Cal's grip tightened on my hand. "Baby, what day is it?" 

"I… they said it was after new year’s, so maybe the third or something?"

"But what year?" Collins asked from beside Cal, her face pale. 

"Twenty-fifteen." 

Cal collapsed into a vacant chair, shoving fingers into his hair. Beside him, Collins gasped, covering her mouth, her eyes wide as she stared at me.

"What? You guys are scaring me."  

"Baby," Cal whispered, his voice rough. "It's twenty-twenty." 

Nick and a nurse chose that moment to enter the room. 

"Mrs—er, that is—Emily!" The nurse said brightly, walking immediately to the bed. "The doctor is on his way. Let me just check you over." 

She began the tests, fussing with my blankets and asking me questions as I tried to process her reactions. 

It was as she lifted my hand that I realised something. 

"Wait," I said, pulling my wrist away from her and holding it up to my face. I stared at the faded tattoo on my wrist, unable to remember when I’d sat for the artwork.   

This isn't my hand. 

Panic ballooned in my chest, my heart crashing against my rib change as my stomach took a dive. 

This isn't my hand! 

I thrust my arm forward, gulping for air as the limb followed my order. 

This isn't my arm! 

I scrambled, pulling and pushing at the bedsheets, frantically ripping at the hospital gown, pulling it up my legs to stare unbelievingly at the pale limbs which trembled with my shock. 

Pale? I’m never pale!

"Oh my Gods,” I whispered, gaze locked on the pale skin gracing my skin. "Oh, my Gods.”

Voices were calling my name, the sound a background to my panic attack. Hands touched me, but I didn't have the ability to register them. 

This isn't my body. 

My body was tanned and strong with zero tattoos and long elegant fingers that knew how to play the violin with dexterity and talent. 

I flexed my fingers again, feeling the stiffness in their movement. 

What the fuck happened?

One voice cut in. Deep, abrupt, unfamiliar. 

"Emily!" 

My gaze shot up, resting on Doctor Jenkins. 

"What happened?" I croaked, my voice broken. “This isn’t my body. This isn’t my body.” 

"You have amnesia."