Chapter 15
“Rue!” Logan rushed forward just in time to catch her before she hit the floor. “You okay? Is it your head again?”
She blinked a few times, trying to clear the static buzzing in her brain.
“Probably just from lying in bed too long. My body’s still getting used to, you know… functioning.”
But her mind wasn’t on the pain. It was on that flash in her head—waves crashing on a beach, warm sand under her feet, a voice whispering something she couldn’t quite make out.
“Hey, Logan,” she said slowly. “Have I ever been to the ocean?”
He frowned. “Rue, you were in a coma for four years. Since waking up, you’ve barely left the neighborhood. Where would you have seen the ocean?”
He bent to pick up the fallen photo, his tone shifting.
“I’m calling the hospital tomorrow. You need another MRI. That kind of headache isn’t nothing.”
“It’s probably just a post-concussion thing…” she offered with a weak smile.
Logan gave her a look that shut her up instantly.
“Humor me, okay? Just in case it’s something worse. You don’t play around with your brain.”
He ruffled her hair like she was still ten years old, and despite everything, she laughed.
“Fine. Doctor Logan wins. I’ll go.”
Later that night, after a hot shower and too much time spent staring at her reflection, Rue finally crawled into bed. Her phone lit up on the nightstand.
A WeChat friend request.
Username: Julian Carter
Her stomach twisted. How the hell had he even found her handle?
Against her better judgment—and curiosity she wouldn’t admit even to herself—she accepted the request.
Within seconds, a message popped up.
Julian Carter:
The flowers I gave you were left outside the bar. Want me to bring them to you?
A photo followed: the champagne-colored bouquet, slightly wilted, lying on the concrete beside a trash bin.
Rue sighed.
She remembered Shane taking the flowers and not giving them back. He must’ve set them down and forgotten. Typical.
She typed a quick reply.
Rue:
No need. You can keep them. Or let the bar use them as decor or whatever.
She hit send. A minute passed. The app showed he was still typing. But no message came through.
Then finally:
Julian Carter:
Okay.
She set the phone down and didn’t reply.
The next morning, Rue sat stiffly across from Shane in a brightly lit hospital room that smelled like antiseptic and old plastic. He wore his white coat like he was born in it, hair tousled, a silver stethoscope slung lazily around his neck.
He scribbled something on her file, then looked up.
“Did you feel any ringing in your ears last night? Dizziness? Nausea?”
Rue shook her head. “No, it was more like… a zap. Like someone shoved an electric wire into my skull.”
She rubbed at her temple, searching for the right words.
“And I saw… things.”
Shane leaned in slightly, voice soft. “What kind of things?”
She hesitated, then exhaled.
“A beach. A wedding. Blood.”
There was a beat of silence.
She laughed, trying to shake off the chill running down her spine.
“I’ve probably just been bingeing too many dark shows.”
But when she glanced up, Shane looked like she’d slapped him. His pen jerked, drawing a harsh, jagged line down her chart.
“You sure those images aren’t from your own memories?” he asked, voice low and sharp.
Rue blinked at him. “Shane, I’ve never even been to the beach. And certainly not to some blood-soaked wedding. This brain’s got a clean slate, remember?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled out a fresh prescription pad and scribbled something quickly.
“Come back next week. Full MRI. We need to rule out any structural damage.”
She took the paper from him just as he added, almost offhand:
“And stay away from triggers. Like that photo.”
She nodded and stood to leave, the paper crinkling in her fingers.
But just as she reached the door, his voice stopped her.
“One more thing—my sister’s throwing a little discharge party tonight. You coming?”
