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The Wife He Couldn't Forget
Yvonne Lindsay


A husband’s amnesia means a second chance at love in this story by USA TODAY bestselling author Yvonne Lindsay.After an accident leaves Xander Jackson with no memory of the past several years, he doesn’t realize he walked out on his marriage. And his wife Olivia grabs this chance to start over with the man she still desires.Allowing Xander to believe they’re still the passionate, loving couple they once were is one thing. But Olivia must also hide all evidence of the devastating loss that destroyed their relationship. It’s the biggest gamble of her life…and everything depends on reclaiming Xander’s heart.









Olivia snuggled up closer to Xander, loving the fact she could.


“I was thinking about the accident,” Xander said, “and wondering when the last time was that I told you how much you mean to me. It frightened me to think I might have died without ever telling you again. And I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me? Why? I’m still your wife.”

She gasped. Would he pick up on the slip she’d made referring to herself as still being his wife?

“You’ve been so patient with me since I was released from the hospital. I appreciate it.”

He leaned closer until his lips touched hers. Olivia felt her body unfurl with response to his touch. She couldn’t help it—she kissed him back. Their lips melding to one another as if they’d never been apart. But doing this was perpetuating another lie.

With a groan of regret, Olivia gently pulled away.

“If that’s how you show your appreciation, remind me to do more for you,” she said, injecting a note of flippancy she was far from feeling.

Somehow she had to get them back to where they once had been.


The Wife He Couldn’t Forget

Yvonne Lindsay






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


A typical Piscean, USA TODAY bestselling author YVONNE LINDSAY has always preferred her imagination to the real world. Married to her blind date hero and with two adult children, she spends her days crafting the stories of her heart, and in her spare time she can be found with her nose in a book reliving the power of love, or knitting socks and daydreaming. Contact her via her website: www.yvonnelindsay.com (http://www.yvonnelindsay.com).


This story is dedicated to my fabulous readers, whose continued support I cherish.


Contents

Cover (#u99a3ef6b-e775-5be2-8b15-9a2025e3f203)

Introduction (#u2881280a-fd38-5284-8d28-fc63eeacdd8d)

Title Page (#ub6053562-6773-59bd-b492-346788cb158c)

About the Author (#uf503cf31-2435-5bb7-bfd1-5159784a6f4c)

Dedication (#uae32325e-a9e9-53f2-aa6d-9e6f200958a2)

One (#uc0ae1441-c419-5509-a6d2-deb7a1985688)

Two (#ub7b6de3e-3d08-5a7f-8452-ea7861bdbc9f)

Three (#u4b6c92b8-4855-5841-be7e-b3e9ecadb91d)

Four (#u8ca882d8-2668-505b-b440-d9c01f524884)

Five (#ud4c5c73d-aed3-5d5b-be99-a98950416e2c)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

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Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#ulink_38880fa5-902c-53b8-80fe-892cd3fa80d5)

She hated hospitals.

Olivia swallowed hard against the acrid taste that settled on her tongue and the fearful memories that whispered through her mind as she entered the main doors and reluctantly scoured the directory for the department she needed.

Needed, ha, now there was a term. The last thing she needed was to reconnect with her estranged husband, even if he’d apparently been asking for her. Xander had made his choices when he left her two years ago, and she’d managed just fine, thank you, since then. Fine. Yeah, a great acronym for freaked out, insecure, neurotic and emotional. That probably summed it up nicely. She didn’t really need to even be here, and yet she was.

The elevator pinged, and its doors slid open in front of her. She fought the urge to turn tail and run. Instead, she deliberately placed one foot in front of the other, entering the car and pressing the button for the floor she needed.

Damn, there was that word again. Need. Four measly letters with a wealth of meaning. It was right up there with want. On its own insignificant, but when placed in the context of a relationship where two people were heading in distinctly different directions it had all the power in the world to hurt. She’d overcome that hurt. The pain of abandonment. The losses that had almost overwhelmed her completely. At least she’d thought she had, right up until the phone call that had jarred her from sleep this morning.

Olivia gripped the strap of her handbag just that little bit tighter. She didn’t have to see Xander if she didn’t want to—even if he had apparently woken from a six-week coma last night demanding to see her. Demanding, yes, that would be Xander. Nothing as subtle as a politely worded request. She sighed and stepped forward as the doors opened at her floor, then halted at the reception area.

“Can I help you?” the harried nurse behind the counter asked her, juggling an armful of files.

“Dr. Thomas, is he available? He’s expecting me.”

“Oh, you’re Mrs. Jackson? Sure, follow me.”

The nurse showed her into a blandly decorated private waiting room, then left, saying the doctor would be with her shortly.

Unable to sit, Olivia paced. Three steps forward. Three steps back. And again. They really ought to make these rooms bigger, she thought in frustration. The click of the door opening behind her made her spin around. This was the doctor, she assumed, although he looked far too young to be a neurological specialist.

“Mrs. Jackson, thank you for coming.”

She nodded and took his proffered hand, noting the contrast between them—his clean, warm and dry, hers paint stained and so cold she’d begun to wonder if she’d lost all circulation since she’d received the news about Xander.

“You said Xander had been in an accident?”

“Yes, he lost control of his car on a wet road. Hit a power pole. His physical injuries have healed as well as could have been expected. Now he’s out of the coma, he’s been moved from the high-dependency unit and onto a general ward.”

“And his accident? I was told it happened six weeks ago? That’s a long time to be in a coma, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. He’d been showing signs of awareness these past few days, and his nerve responses were promising. Then last night he woke fully, asking for you. It caught the staff by surprise. Only his mother was listed as next of kin.”

Olivia sank into a chair. Xander? Asking for her? On the day he’d left her he’d said they had nothing to say to each other anymore. Were they talking about the same man?

“I...I don’t understand,” she finally managed.

“His other injuries aside, Mr. Jackson is suffering from post-traumatic amnesia. It’s not unusual after a brain injury—in fact, studies show that less than 3 percent of patients experience no memory loss.”

“And he’s not in that 3 percent.”

The doctor shook his head. “Post-traumatic amnesia is a phase people go through following a significant brain injury, when they are confused, disoriented and have trouble with their memory, especially short-term memory loss. Although, Mr. Jackson’s case is a little more unusual with some long-term memory loss evident. I take it you were unaware of his accident?”

“I rarely see anyone who is in regular contact with him and I was never particularly close with his mother. I’m not surprised no one told me. I haven’t seen Xander since he walked out on our marriage two years ago. We’re just waiting for a court date to complete our divorce.”

Olivia shuddered. Even now she couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.

“Ah, I see. That makes things problematic then.”

“Problematic?”

“For his release.”

“I don’t understand.” Olivia furrowed her brow as she tried to make sense of the doctor’s words.

“He lives alone, does he not?”

“As far as I know.”

“He believes he’s coming home to you.”

Shock held her rigid in her chair. “H-he does?”

“He believes you are still together. It’s why he’s asking for you. His first words when he woke up were, ‘Tell my wife I’m okay.’”

Dr. Thomas began to explain the nature of Xander’s injuries, but his words about loss of physical form due to the length of his coma and difficulties with short-term memory on top of the longer-term memory loss barely filtered through. All she could think of was that after all this time, her estranged husband wanted her.

“Excuse me,” she interrupted the doctor. “But just how much does Xander remember?”

“As far as we can tell, his most recent clear memory is from about six years ago.”

“But that was just after we married,” she blurted.

That meant he remembered nothing of them finishing renovations on their late 1800s home overlooking Cheltenham Beach, nothing of the birth of their son five years ago.

Nothing of Parker’s death just after he turned three.

She struggled to form the words she needed to ask her next question.

“Can he...does he...will he remember?”

The doctor shrugged. “It’s possible. It’s also possible he may never remember those lost years or that he may only regain parts of them.”

She sat silently for a moment, letting the doctor’s words sink in; then she drew in a deep breath. She had to do this. “Can I see him now?”

“Certainly. Come with me.”

He led Olivia to a large room on the ward. There were four beds, but only one, near the window, was occupied. She steeled herself to move forward. To look at the man she’d once pledged her life to. The man she’d loved more than life itself and who she’d believed loved her equally in return. Her heart caught as she gazed on his all-too-familiar face, and she felt that same tug anew when she saw the similarities to Parker. They’d been like peas in a pod. She rubbed absently at the ache in the center of her chest, as if the motion could relieve the gaping hole there.

“He’s sleeping naturally, but he’ll probably wake soon,” the doctor said at her side after a cursory glance at Xander’s notes. “You can sit with him.”

“Th-thank you,” she replied automatically, lowering herself onto the seat at his bedside, her back to the window and the sunshine that sparkled on the harbor in the distance.

Olivia let her eyes drift over the still figure lying under the light covers. She started at his feet, skimming over the length of his legs and his hips before drifting over his torso and to his face. He’d lost weight and muscle mass—his usually powerful frame now leaner, softer. A light beard covered his normally clean-shaven jaw, and his hair was in dire need of a cut.

She couldn’t help it. She ached for him. He would hate being this vulnerable and exposed. Xander was a man used to action, to decisiveness. To acting rather than being acted on. Lying helpless in a hospital bed like this would normally drive him nuts. Olivia started in shock as Xander’s eyes opened and irises of piercing gray met hers. Recognition dawned in Xander’s gaze, and her heart wrenched as he smiled at her, his eyes shining in genuine delight. She felt the connection between them as if it were a tangible thing—as if it had never been stretched to the breaking point by circumstances beyond both of their control. Her lips automatically curved in response.

How long had it been since she’d seen his smile? Far, far too long. And she’d missed it. She’d missed him. For two awful, lonely years Olivia had tried to fool herself that you could fall out of love with someone just as easily as you had fallen in love with him, if you tried hard enough. But she’d been lying to herself. You couldn’t flip a switch on love, and you couldn’t simply shove your head in a hole in the ground and pretend someone hadn’t been the biggest part of your life from the day you’d met him.

She loved him still.

“Livvy?” Xander’s voice cracked a little, as if it was rusty and disused.

“It’s me,” she replied shakily. “I’m here.”

Tears burned in her eyes. Her throat choked up, and she reached out to take his hand. The tears spilled down her cheeks as she felt his fingers close tight around hers. He sighed, and his eyes slid closed again. A few seconds passed before he croaked one word.

“Good.”

She fought back the sob that billowed from deep inside. On the other side of the bed Dr. Thomas cleared his throat.

“Xander?”

“Don’t worry—he’s sleeping again. One of the nurses will be by soon to do observations. He’ll probably wake again then. Now, if you’ll excuse me...?”

“Oh, yes, sure. Thank you.”

She barely noticed the doctor leave, or one of the other patients shuffling into the room with his walker and a physical therapist hovering beside him. No, her concentration was fixed solely on the man in the bed in front of her and on the steady, even breaths that raised his chest and lowered it again.

Her thoughts scattered to and fro, finally settling on the realization that Xander could have died in the accident that had stolen his memory and she might never have known about it. That she might never have had another opportunity to beg him for one more chance. It opened a whole new cavern of hurt inside her until she slammed it closed. He hadn’t died, she reminded herself. He’d lived. And he’d forgotten that he’d ever ended things between them.

Xander’s fingers were still locked around hers. As if she was his anchor. As if he truly wanted her to be there with him. She leaned forward and gently lifted his hand up against her cheek. He was warm, alive. Hers? She hoped so. In fact she wanted him as deeply and as strongly right now as she had ever wanted him. A tiny kernel of hope germinated deep inside Olivia’s mind. Could his loss of memory allow them that second chance he’d so adamantly refused?

Right here, right now, she knew that she’d do anything to have him back.

Anything.

Including pretending the problems in their past had never happened? she asked herself. The resounding answer should have shocked her, but it didn’t.

Yes. She’d do even that.


Two (#ulink_50f962a3-f58d-5ddc-8209-218b66a51a50)

Olivia let herself in the house and closed the door, leaning back against it with a sigh as she tried to release the tension that now gripped her body. It didn’t make a difference. Her shoulders were still tight and felt as if they were sitting up around her ears, and the nagging headache that had begun on the drive home from the hospital grew even more persistent.

What on earth had she done?

Was it lying to allow Xander to continue to believe they were still happily married? How could it be a lie when it was what he believed and when it was what she’d never stopped wanting?

You couldn’t turn back the clock. You couldn’t undo what was done five minutes ago any more than you could undo what happened in the past two years. But you could make a fresh start, and that’s what they were going to do, she argued with herself.

It might not be completely ethical to take advantage of his amnesia this way, and she knew that she was running a risk—a huge risk—by doing so. At any moment his memory could return and, with it, Xander’s refusal to talk through their problems or lean on her for help of any kind. Yet if there was a chance, any chance that they could be happy again, she had to take it.

She pushed off the door and walked down the hall toward the large entertainer’s kitchen they’d had so much fun renovating after they’d moved into the two-story late nineteenth-century home a week after their marriage. She automatically went through the motions, putting the kettle on and boiling water for a pot of chamomile tea. Hopefully that would soothe the headache.

But what would soothe the niggling guilt that plucked at her heart over her decision?

Was she just doing this to resolve her own regrets? Wrapped in her grief over Parker’s death and filled with recriminations and remorse, hadn’t she found it easier to let Xander go rather than fight for their marriage—hell, fight for him? She’d accused him of locking her out of his feelings, but hadn’t she done exactly the same thing? And when he’d left, hadn’t she let him go? Then, when she’d opened her eyes to what she was letting slip from her life, it was too late. He hadn’t wanted to even discuss reconciliation or counseling. It was as if he’d wiped his slate clean—and wiped his life with her right along with it.

It had hurt then and it hurt now, but time and distance had given her some perspective. Had opened her eyes to her own contribution to the demise of their marriage. Mistakes she wouldn’t make again.

The kettle began to whistle, momentarily distracting her from her thoughts. Olivia poured the boiling water into the teapot and took her favorite china cup and saucer from the glass-fronted cupboard where she displayed her antique china collection. After putting the tea things on a tray, she carried everything outside. She set the tray down on a table on her paved patio and sank into one of the wood-and-canvas deck chairs. The fabric creaked a little as she shifted into a more comfortable position.

Bathed in the evening summer sun, Olivia closed her eyes and took a moment to relax and listen and let the sounds of her surroundings soak in. Behind the background hum of traffic she could hear the noises of children playing in their backyards. The sound, always bittersweet, was a strong reminder that even after tragedy, other people’s lives still carried on. She opened her eyes, surprised to feel the sting of tears once more, and shifted her focus to pouring her tea into her cup. The delicate aroma of the chamomile wafted up toward her. There was something incredibly calming about the ritual of making tea. It was one of the habits she’d developed to ground herself when she’d felt as though she was losing everything—including her mind.

She lifted her cup, taking a long sip of the hot brew and savoring the flavor on her tongue as she thought again about her decision back at the hospital. The risk she was taking loomed large in her mind. So many things could go wrong. But it was still early days. Xander had a long road to recovery ahead, and it would be many days yet, if not weeks, before he was released from hospital. He had yet to walk unaided, and a physical therapy program would need to be undertaken before he could come home again.

Home.

A shiver ran through her. It wasn’t the home he’d lived in for the past two years, but it was the home they’d bought together and spent the first year of their marriage enthusiastically renovating. Thank goodness she’d chosen to live with her memories here rather than sell the property and move on. In fact, the decision to stay had very definitely formed a part of her recovery from her grief at Parker’s death followed so swiftly by Xander’s desertion of her, as well.

She’d found acceptance, of a sort, in her heart and in her mind that her marriage was over, but her love for Xander remained unresolved. A spark of excitement lit within her. This would be their new beginning. After his release from hospital, they’d cocoon themselves back into their life together, the way they had when they’d first married. And if he regained his memory, it would be with new happier memories to overlay the bitterness that had transpired between them before their separation.

Of course, if he regained his memory before coming home with her, it was likely they’d never get the chance to rebuild their marriage on stronger ground. She had to take the risk. She just had to. And she’d cope with Xander’s real world later. The world in which he worked and socialized was not hers anymore. Keeping his distance from his friends and colleagues would be easy enough, initially—after all, it’s not as if his bedside cabinet had been inundated with cards or flowers. Just a card signed by his team at the investment bank where he worked. Until he was strong enough to return to his office anyway. By then... Well, she’d cross that bridge when they got there.

Xander’s doctors had categorically stated he was in no condition to return to work for at least another four weeks, possibly even longer depending on how his therapy progressed. It should be easy enough to fend Xander’s colleagues off at the border, so to speak, Olivia thought as she sipped her tea and gazed out at the harbor in the distance. After all, with Xander in the high-dependency unit at the hospital, and with family-only visitation—which she understood equated to the occasional rare visit from his mother who lived several hours north of the city—it wasn’t as if they’d be up-to-date beyond the minimal status provided by the hospital. She’d call one of his partners in the next few days and continue to discourage visitors at the same time.

She felt a pang of guilt. His friends had a right to know how he was, and no doubt they’d want to visit him. But a careless word could raise more questions than she was comfortable answering. She daren’t take the risk.

It was at least two years late, but Xander’s amnesia was offering her another chance, and she was going to fight for him now. She just had to hope that she could successfully rebuild the love they’d shared. The fact that he woke today, obviously still in love with her, was heartening. Hopefully, they would have the rest of their lives to get it right this time.

* * *

Xander looked at the door to the hospital room for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. Olivia should be here by now. After a heated debate with Dr. Thomas about whether or not he’d go to a rehab center—a debate Xander had won with his emphatic refusal to go—the doctor had finally relented and said he could go home tomorrow, or maybe even later today. He’d used the mobile phone Olivia had left with him—his had apparently been pulverized in the accident and his laptop, as well, had been smashed beyond repair—to call the house and get her to bring him some clothes. He’d missed her, and she wasn’t answering her mobile phone, either.

He’d go home in his pajamas if he had to. He couldn’t wait to get out of here and back to their house. He liked to kid himself he could even see its green corrugated iron roof from the hospital window. It gave him a connection to Olivia in the times she wasn’t here.

It had been three weeks, but, God, he still remembered that first sight of her when he’d fully woken. The worry on her exquisitely beautiful face, the urge to tell her that everything would be all right. Sleep had claimed him before he could do anything more than smile at her. This damn head injury had a lot to answer for, he cursed inwardly. Not only had it stolen the past six years from his memory but it had left him as weak as a kitten. Not even capable of forming proper sentences on occasion. Each of the therapists he’d seen had told him he was doing great, that his recovery was progressing well, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough until he could remember again and be the man he was before his crash.

He couldn’t wait to be home. Maybe being around his own familiar things in his own environment would hasten the healing process. He looked out the window and cracked a wry smile at his reflection in the glass. At least one thing hadn’t changed. His levels of impatience were right up there where he always remembered them being.

Xander caught a sense of someone in the doorway to his shared room. He turned and felt the smile on his face widen as he saw Olivia standing there. Warmth spread through his body. A sense of rightness that was missing when she wasn’t with him.

“You’re looking happy,” Olivia remarked as she came over and kissed him on the cheek.

Her touch was as light as a butterfly. Even so, it awakened a hunger for more from her. He might not be at his physical peak, but the demands of his body still simmered beneath the surface. They’d always had a very intense and physically satisfying relationship, one he couldn’t wait to resume. He laughed inwardly at himself. There was that impatience again. One thing at a time, he told himself.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “I might be able to come home today. I tried to call you—”

“Today? Really?”

Was he imagining things or did the smile on her face look a little forced? Xander rejected the thought immediately. Of course she was as genuinely excited as he was. Why wouldn’t she be?

“Dr. Thomas just wants to run some final tests this morning. Provided he’s happy I should be able to leave here later this afternoon.”

“Well, that’s great news,” Olivia said. “I’ll shoot back home and get some things for you.”

Xander reached out and caught her hand in his. “In such a hurry to leave me? You just got here. Don’t go yet.”

Her fingers curled around his, and he turned her hand over before lifting it to place a kiss on her knuckles. He felt the light tremor go through her as his lips lingered on her skin and her fingers tightened, saw the way her pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

“I miss you when you’re not here,” he said simply, then examined the hand he held more closely. Her nails were short and practical, and even though she’d scrubbed at them, he could still see traces of paint embedded in her skin. It made him smile. “I see you’re still painting. Good to know some things haven’t changed.”

She bit her lower lip and turned her head, but not before he saw the emotion reflected in her eyes.

“Livvy?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Sure, I’m fine. I’m just worried I’m going to have to cart you home in those,” she said lightly as she tugged her hand free and pointed at his striped pajamas with a disparaging look on her face. “And yes, I’m still painting. It’s in my blood. Always has been, always will be.”

He laughed, like she wanted him to, at the line he’d heard her say so many times. He saw the strain around her eyes lift a little.

“Fine, you better go then, but come straight back, okay?”

“Of course. I’ll be as quick as I can,” she said, bending down to kiss him on the forehead.

Xander leaned back against his pillows and watched her departing back. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right. They’d talked about him going home for days. Now that the time was finally here, was she afraid? He mulled the idea over in his head. It was possible. He’d been through a lot, and maybe she was worried about how he would cope on his reentry into the real world. She was such a worrier, always had been. He guessed that came with the territory of being the eldest out of four kids growing up on a farm without their mother. His Livvy was used to micromanaging everything around her so that nothing would go wrong.

When he’d married her, he’d silently promised himself that he would never be a burden to her—that he would never make himself one more responsibility she had to shoulder. Even now, he was determined to make certain that his recovery didn’t weigh her down. He’d do whatever it took to ensure that the rest of his recuperation went smoothly so that the worry would disappear from her eyes once and for all.

“Nothing will go wrong,” he said aloud, earning a look from the guy in the bed opposite his.

* * *

Olivia hastened to the car parking building and got into her car. Her hand shook slightly as she pressed the ignition, and she took a moment before putting on her seat belt and putting the car in gear.

He was coming home. It was what she wanted, so why on earth had she run like a startled rabbit the minute he’d told her? She knew why. It meant she would have to stop putting her head in the sand about the life he’d created when he’d left her. It meant taking the set of keys that she’d been given, among the personal effects the hospital had held since his accident—ruined bloodstained clothing included—and going to his apartment to get his things.

She knew she should have done it before now. Should have gathered together what he would expect to find at their home. His wardrobe, his toiletries. Those were pretty much all he’d taken with him when he’d left. There was nothing for it but to steel herself to invade the new home he’d created. At least she knew where he lived. That was about the only thing the legal separation documents had been any good for, she thought grimly as she drove the short distance from Auckland City Hospital to the apartment block in Parnell where Xander had taken a lease.

She parked in one of the two spaces allocated to his apartment and rode the elevator to the top floor. Letting herself in through the door at the end of the corridor, she steeled herself for what she would find on the other side. As she stepped through the entrance hall she found herself strangely disappointed.

It was as if she’d stepped into a decorator’s catalogue shoot. Everything perfectly matched and aligned—and totally lacking any character. It certainly didn’t look as though anyone actually lived here. There was none of his personality or his love of old things, no warmth or welcome. She walked through the living room and toward a hallway she hoped would lead to his bedroom. It did, and she was surprised to discover the bedroom was in the same pristine, sterile condition. Not so much as a stray sock poking out from the simple valance that skirted the king-size bed. It wasn’t like the Xander she’d known at all—a man who was meticulous in all things except what she teasingly referred to as his floor-drobe. Maybe he had a cleaning service come through. Or maybe, the thought chilled her, he really had changed this much.

Anyway, she was wasting time. She needed to get his things and take them back to her house on the other side of the harbor bridge and then get back to the hospital again before he began to think she wasn’t coming to take him home after all.

In the spare room closet Olivia found a large suitcase, and she quickly grabbed underwear, socks and clothing from the walk-in wardrobe in Xander’s bedroom. From the bathroom she grabbed shower gel, cologne and his shaving kit. She wondered briefly if he remembered how to use it. It had been a while since he’d shaved properly. Only last week she’d teased him about the furry growth that ringed his jaw. Privately, she found she quite liked it. It made him seem a bit softer, more approachable than the cold stranger who’d stalked so emphatically out of her life.

She shook her head as if she could rid herself of the memory just as easily and wheeled the case to the front door. Should she check the refrigerator? She cringed a little at the idea of finding nine-week-old leavings rotting inside, but she figured she would have to do it sometime. She poked around in the drawers until she found a plastic garbage bag and then, holding her breath, opened the shiny stainless-steel door of the fridge.

Empty. How odd, she thought as she let the door close again. Not even a half bottle of wine stood in the door. If she hadn’t taken Xander’s things from his bedroom and en suite herself, she would hardly have believed he even lived here. She pulled open a pantry door and was relieved to see neatly labeled containers and a box of his favorite cereal stacked on the shelves. Okay, so maybe whoever had made the apartment look so spick-and-span had cleaned out the fridge, as well. She made a mental note to try and find out from somewhere, perhaps among his personal papers, if he had a cleaning service. If so, she’d need to put their visits on hold indefinitely.

She looked around the open-plan living room and dining area to see where he might keep his personal files and records. There was nothing to suggest a desk or office space in here. Maybe there was another bedroom? Olivia went back down the hall that led to Xander’s bedroom, and spied another door. She opened it, stepped inside and immediately came to a halt.

Her heart thumped erratically in her chest as her eyes fixed on the photo on the desk in what was obviously Xander’s home office. She recognized the frame as one she’d bought for him for his first Father’s Day and in it was the last photo they’d taken of Parker before he died.


Three (#ulink_7ac1c74c-b2c3-5595-a59c-385874117032)

Her hand went to her throat as if she could somehow hold back the sob that rose from the deepest recesses of her grief. She hadn’t even realized Xander had taken the picture with him when he’d left. He must have hidden it away when, after the funeral, she’d packed up Parker’s room and shoved all the boxes in the attic, along with his albums and the framed photos they’d had scattered around the house.

It had hurt too much to see the constant reminders of his all-too-short life.

If only...

Those two words had driven her almost insane. If only Xander hadn’t left the gate open, or hadn’t thrown the ball quite so vigorously for Bozo, their dog. If only Bozo hadn’t run out into the street in pursuit of the ball and—even now, she gasped against the pain from the memory—if only Parker hadn’t run out into the street after him. If only she hadn’t told Parker to run outside and play with Daddy in the first place, instead of staying safely in the studio with her that day.

Racked with her own guilt and her anger at the world in general and Xander in particular, she’d done the only thing she could to alleviate the searing pain. She’d packed up Parker’s short life and hidden it, telling herself she’d look at his things again when she was able. Every piece of clothing, every toy, every photo—hidden away.

All except this one. She reached out a finger and traced the cheeks of her little boy, locked behind the glass. A child forever—never to grow up and go to school, play a sport or meet girls. Never to stretch his wings, push his boundaries or be grounded for some misdemeanor or another.

Her hand dropped back to her side. She stood like that for several minutes before shaking herself loose from the memories and trying to remember why she’d come in here in the first place. Yes, the cleaning service, that was it. Olivia rifled through Xander’s filing system—as linear and exact as she remembered—and found the number she was looking for. A quick phone call to suspend services until further notice was all that was required, and then she was on her way.

Before she left the room, though, she lifted the photo from Xander’s desk and shoved it in a drawer. It hurt to shut her baby away like that, but if she had to come back here again, she couldn’t bear to see the stark reminder of all they’d lost.

Thankfully traffic through the city to the harbor bridge approach was lighter than usual and she made the trip home in good time. She dragged the suitcase up the flight of stairs and into the guest bedroom, and quickly unpacked and hung up Xander’s shirts and trousers and a few suits, still in their drycleaner bags, in the closet and shoved his underwear, socks and T-shirts into the small chest of drawers. She put his toiletries in the bathroom across the hall. It wouldn’t be a lie to tell him she’d moved his things in there so he could recuperate in his own space. She just wouldn’t mention that she’d moved them from across town rather than from down the hall.

Before leaving the house again, she folded a set of clothes and a belt into a small overnight bag for him and then flew out the door. She was jittery with emotional exhaustion and lack of food by the time she got back to the hospital. Xander was standing at the window when, slightly out of breath, she finally arrived.

“I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind about taking me home,” he said lightly when she approached him.

Even though his words were teasing, she could hear the underlying censure beneath them. And she understood it; really she did. Under normal circumstances she would have been back here much earlier. But their circumstances were far from normal, even though he didn’t know that yet.

“Traffic was a bitch,” she said as breezily as she could. “So, are we good to go? I have some clothes for you here, although I’m thinking you’ll find everything on the big side for you now. We might need to get you a whole new wardrobe.”

Her attempt at deflection seemed to work. “And I know how much you love shopping,” he said with a laugh.

She felt her heart skip a beat. He’d always teased her about her shopping style. While she liked getting new things, she hated crowded stores. She had the tendency to decide what she wanted before she left the house and, with no dillydallying, get in, get the product and get right back out again as quickly as possible. No window-shopping or store browsing for her. Unless it was an art supply store, that was.

Olivia told herself it was ridiculous to be surprised that he’d remember that. After all, he hadn’t lost all his memory, just the past six years. She forced a laugh and handed him the bag of his things.

“Here you go. Will you need a hand to get dressed?”

He’d had issues with balance and coordination since awakening from his coma. Physical therapy was helping him regain his equilibrium and motor skills, but he still had some way to go.

“I think I can manage,” he said with the quiet dignity she had always loved so much about him.

“Just call me if you need me.”

Xander looked her straight in the eye and gave her a half smile. “Sure.”

She smiled back, feeling a pang deep inside. She knew he wouldn’t call her. He was nothing if not independent—and stubborn. Yes, there’d been a time, early in their marriage, when they’d each been the center of the other’s world. But that had all changed.

He was so lucky he didn’t remember, she thought fiercely. Lucky that he was still locked in the best of their marriage and couldn’t remember the worst of them both.

* * *

Xander took the bag through to the shared bathroom and closed the door behind him. A tremor ran through his body as he allowed the relief he’d felt when he’d seen Olivia return run through him. Ever since she’d left earlier today he’d been tense and uncomfortable, so much so the nurse preparing his discharge papers had remarked on the spike in his blood pressure.

He couldn’t understand it. Olivia was his wife. So why had he suddenly developed this deeply unsettled sensation that things weren’t what they should be between them? He shoved off his pajamas and stepped into the shower stall, hissing a little as the water warmed up to a decent temperature. He couldn’t wait to be out of here. Even with Olivia’s daily visits to break the monotony of sleep, eat, therapy, eat, sleep, over and over again, he wanted to be home.

Xander roughly toweled himself off, swearing under his breath as he lost his balance and had to put a hand on the wall to steady himself. His body’s slow response to recovery was another thing driving him crazy. It was as if the messages just weren’t getting through from his brain to his muscles.

He looked down at his body. Muscles? Well, he remembered having muscles. Now his build was definitely leaner, another thing he needed to work on. He pulled on his clothing and cinched his belt in tight. Olivia had been right. His clothes looked as if they belonged to another man entirely. He couldn’t remember buying them, so they had to be something from his lost years, as he now called them.

A light tap at the door caught his attention.

“Xander? Are you okay in there?” Olivia asked from outside.

“Sure, I’ll be right out.”

He looked at his reflection in the small mirror and rubbed his hand around his jaw, ruffling the beard that had grown during his stay here. He looked like a stranger to himself. Maybe that was part of Olivia’s reticence. The beard would have to go when he got home. Xander gathered his things off the floor and shoved them in the bag Olivia had brought and opened the bathroom door.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“Let’s go then,” she answered with that beautiful smile of hers that always did crazy things to his equilibrium.

Had he ever told her how much he loved her smile, or how much he loved to hear her laugh? He couldn’t quite remember. Another thing he would have to address in due course.

They stopped at the nurses’ station to say goodbye and collect his discharge papers, and then they began the walk down the corridor toward the elevator. It irked him that Olivia had to slow her steps to match his. It bothered him even more that by the time they reached her car he was exhausted. He dropped into the passenger seat with an audible sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry—I should have gotten you to wait at the front entrance and driven round to get you,” Olivia apologized as she got in beside him.

“It’s okay. I’ve had plenty of time to rest. Now it’s time to really get better.”

“You say that like you haven’t been working hard already.” She sighed and rested one hand on his thigh. The warmth of her skin penetrated the fabric of his trousers, and he felt her hand as if it were an imprint on him. “Xander, you’ve come a long way in a very short time. You’ve had to relearn some things that you took for granted before. Cut yourself some slack, huh? It’s going to take time.”

He grunted in response. Time. Seemed he had all too much of it. He put his head back against the headrest as Olivia drove them home, taking solace in the things he recognized and ignoring his surprise at the things that had changed from what he remembered. Auckland was a busy, ever-changing, ever-growing city, but it still disturbed him to see the occasional gaping hole where, in his mind at least, a building used to stand.

“Did the school mind about you taking time off to spend with me?” he asked.

“I don’t work at the school anymore,” Olivia replied. “I stopped before—”

“Before what?” he prompted.

“Before they drove me completely mad,” she said with a laugh that came out a bit forced. “Seriously, I quit there just over five years ago, but I’ve been doing really well with my paintings since. You’d be proud. I’ve had several shows, and I’m actually doing quite well out of it.”

“But it was never about the money, right?” he said, parroting something Olivia had frequently said to him whenever he’d teased her about not producing a more commercial style of work.

“Of course not,” she answered, and this time her smile was genuine.

By the time they arrived at the house he felt about a hundred years old, not that he’d admit it to Olivia, who, to his chagrin, had to help him from the car and up the front stairs to the house.

As she inserted a key into the lock and swung the door open he couldn’t help but twist his lips into a rueful smile.

“Seems like not that long ago I was carrying you across that threshold. Now you’re more likely to have to carry me.”

He regretted his attempt at humor the moment he saw the concern and fear on her face.

“Are you okay?” she said, slipping an arm around his back and tucking herself under his arm so she supported his weight. “You should rest downstairs for a while before tackling the stairs to the bedroom. Or maybe I should just get a bed set up down here for you until you’re stronger.”

“No,” he said with grim determination as they entered the hall. “I’m sleeping upstairs tonight. I’ll manage okay.”

She guided him into the sitting room and onto one of the sofas.

“Cup of coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

While she was gone he looked around, taking in the changes from what he remembered. French doors opened out onto a wooden veranda—they were new, he noted. There’d been a sash window there before and—he looked down at the highly polished floorboards—there’d been some ancient and hideous floral carpet tacked onto the floor. Seems they’d done quite a bit of work around the place.

Xander levered himself to his feet and walked around the room, trailing his hand over the furniture and the top of the ornate mantel over the fireplace, which was flanked by wingback chairs. Had they sat here on a winter’s evening, enjoying the warmth of the fire? He shook his head in frustration. He didn’t know. He sat in one of the chairs to see if it triggered anything, but his mind remained an impenetrable blank.

“Here you are,” Olivia said brightly as she came back into the room. “Oh, you’ve found your chair. Would you like the papers?”

“No, thanks. Just the coffee.”

“Still struggling with concentration?”

He nodded and accepted the mug she handed him. His fingers curled around the handle with familiarity and he stared for a while at the mug. This, he knew. He’d bought it at the Pearl Harbor memorial when they went to Hawaii for their honeymoon. He took a sip and leaned back in the chair.

“That’s good—so much better than the stuff they serve in the hospital.” He sighed happily and looked around the room again. “I guess we did it all, huh? Our plans for the house?”

Olivia nodded. “It wasn’t easy, but we completed it in just over a year. We...um...we got impatient to finish and hired contractors to handle a lot of it. I wish you could remember haggling for those French doors. It was a sight worth seeing.”

He must have pulled a face because she was on her knees at his side in a minute. She reached up to cup his cheek with one hand and turned his face to hers.

“Xander, don’t worry. It’ll come back in its own good time. And if it doesn’t, then we’ll fill that clever mind of yours with new memories, okay?”

Was it his imagination or did she sound more emphatic about the new memories than him remembering his old ones? No, he was just being oversensitive. And overtired, he thought as he felt another wave of exhaustion sweep through him. It was one thing to feel relatively strong while in the hospital, when there were so many people in worse condition he could compare himself with. Quite another to feel the same in your home environment, where you were used to being strong and capable.

He turned his face into her palm and kissed her hand. “Thanks,” he said simply.

She pulled away, a worried frown creasing her brow. “We’ll get through this, Xander.”

“I know we will.”

She got up and smoothed her hands down her jeans. “I’ll go and start dinner for us, okay? We should probably eat early tonight.”

He must have fallen asleep when she left the room because before he knew it he was awoken with another of those featherlight kisses on his forehead.

“I made spaghetti Bolognese, your favorite.”

She helped him stand and they walked arm in arm into the dining room. It looked vastly different from the drop-cloth-covered space he remembered. He looked up at the antique painted glass and polished brass library lamp that was suspended from the ceiling.

“I see you got your way on the prisms,” he commented as he took his seat.

“Not without a battle. I had to concede to the ugliest partner desk in all history for the study upstairs to get this,” she said with a laugh.

He smiled in response. There it was. The laugh he felt had been missing from his life for so long. Odd, when it had only been nine weeks since his accident. It felt so much longer.

After dinner Xander propped himself against the kitchen counter while Olivia cleaned up. He tried to help, but after a plate slipped from his fingers and shattered on the tile floor, he retreated in exasperation to the sidelines to watch.

“Stop pushing yourself,” Olivia admonished as she swept up the last of the splinters of china on the floor with a dustpan and brush.

“I can’t help it. I want to be my old self again.”

She straightened up from depositing the mess in the kitchen trash bin. “You are your old self—don’t worry so much.”

“With Swiss cheese for brains,” he grumbled.

“Like I said before, we can plug those holes with new memories, Xander. We don’t have to live in the past.”

Her words had a poignant ring to them, and he felt as if she wanted to say more. Instead, she continued tidying up. When she was done, she looked at him with a weary smile. Instantly he felt guilty. She’d been doing a lot of driving back and forth from here to the hospital and helping when she could with his physical therapy. And he knew that when she was painting, she’d often work late into the night without eating or taking a break. Why hadn’t he noticed the bluish bruises of exhaustion under her eyes? Silently he cursed his weakness and his part in putting those marks there.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for an early night,” Olivia said with a barely stifled yawn.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he teased.

Together, they ascended to the next floor, too slowly for Xander’s liking but an unfortunate necessity as his tiredness played havoc with his coordination.

“Did we change bedrooms?” he asked as Olivia led him to the guest room at the top of the stairs.

“No,” she answered, a little breathlessly. “I thought you’d be more comfortable in here. I’ve become a restless sleeper, and I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Livvy, I’ve been sleeping too long without you already. I’m home now. We’re sleeping in the same bed.”


Four (#ulink_eed67726-1075-52a9-b3a0-746d5b66eb02)

Sleep in the same bed?

Olivia froze in the doorway of the guest bedroom and watched as Xander made his way carefully down the hall to the master suite. She followed, then halted again as she watched Xander strip off his clothes and tumble, naked, into the side of the bed that had always been his. He was asleep in seconds. She watched him for a full five minutes, unsure of what to do. In the end, she grabbed her nightgown from under her pillow and slipped into the en suite bathroom to get ready for bed. By the time she’d washed her face and brushed her teeth her heart was pounding a million miles a minute.

He’d done so many things automatically in the few short hours since they’d returned to the house. It had been reassuring and frightening at the same time. It showed the damage from his injury hadn’t destroyed everything in his mind, but it certainly raised questions, for her at least, about how long she’d have before he might remember everything.

Olivia gingerly slid under the bedsheets, trying not to disturb Xander, and rolled onto her side—taking care to stay well clear of him—so she could watch him sleep. She listened to one long deep breath after another, finding it hard to believe he was actually here. His breathing pattern changed, and he suddenly rolled over to face her.

“What are you doing all the way over there on the edge? I’ve missed you next to me long enough already.” His voice was thick with sleep; he reached an arm around her to pull her toward him and snuggled her into his bare chest. “You can touch me. I’m not made of spun glass, you know.”

And with that, he was asleep again.

Olivia could barely draw a breath. Every cell in her body urged her to allow her body to sink into his, to let herself soak up his warmth, his comfort. He felt so familiar and yet different at the same time. But the steady heartbeat beneath her ear was the same. And, right now, that heart beat for her. How could she not simply relish the moment, take pleasure in it, accept it for what it was worth?

Gold. Spun gold. Jewels beyond compare.

How many achingly lonely nights had she lain here in this very bed since he left her? Made futile wish after wish that they could lie here together, just like this, again? Far, far too many. And now, here he was. All her dreams come true, on the surface at least.

They said you couldn’t turn back time, but isn’t that effectively what his accident had done?

She sighed and relaxed a little. The moment she did so her mind began to work overtime. If his memory came back, would he forgive her this deception? Could he? She’d basically kidnapped him from the life he’d been leading before the accident. Brought him here to resume a life he’d chosen to leave behind.

She’d never been a deceitful person, and now it felt as if a giant weight hovered above her, held back by nothing more than a slowly fraying thread. One wrong step and she would be crushed; she knew it. Doing this, bringing him home, acting as if nothing bad had ever happened to them? It was all a lie. She felt it was worth telling—would he feel the same way? Only time would tell.

Olivia drew in a deep breath through her nose, her senses responding to the familiar scent of the man she’d already lost once in her life. She wasn’t prepared to lose him again. She had to fight with all her might this time. Somehow she had to make this work.

She shifted a little and felt Xander’s arm close more tightly around her, as if now he had her in his arms he wouldn’t let her go, either. It gave her hope. Tentative, fragile hope, but hope nonetheless. If, in his subconscious mind, he could hold her like this, then maybe, just maybe, he could love her again, too.

* * *

Olivia woke to an empty bed in the morning and the sight of Xander standing naked in front of their wardrobe with the doors spread wide-open.

“Xander?” she asked sleepily. “You okay?”

“Where are my clothes?” he asked, still searching through the rails and the built-in drawers.

“I put them in the spare room when I thought you’d be convalescing there.”

He made a sound of disgust. “Convalescing is for invalids. I’m not an invalid.”

Olivia sat up and dropped her legs over the edge of the bed. “I know you’re not,” she said patiently. “But you aren’t at full strength, either. What is it that you want? I’ll see if I can find it for you.”

At least she hoped she’d be able to find it for him. She hadn’t brought everything of his from the apartment. What if he had something he particularly wanted to wear and she’d left it behind? Now he was home it would be a lot harder to go back to his apartment and get more of his things. She castigated herself for not thinking about that sooner.

“I want my old uni sweatshirt and a pair of Levi’s,” Xander said, turning around.

Olivia’s eyes raked his body. He’d lost definition, but he was still an incredibly fine figure of a man. There was a scar on his abdomen, pink and thin, where his spleen had been removed after the crash. The sight of it made something tug hard deep inside her. He could so easily have died in that accident and she wouldn’t have this chance with him. It was frightening. She already knew how fragile life could be. How quickly it could be stolen from you.

Her gaze lingered on his chest where she’d pillowed her head for most the night. Beneath her stare she saw his nipples tighten and felt a corresponding response in her own. She sighed softly. It had been so very long since they’d been intimate and yet her body still responded to him as if they’d never been apart. And his, too, by the looks of things.

“Why don’t you grab your shower and I’ll go get your clothes,” she suggested, pushing herself up to stand and heading for the spare room.

The sheer need that pulled at her right now was more than she could take. She had to put some distance between them before she did something crazy—like drag him back to bed and slake two years of hunger. As if he read her mind, he spoke.

“Why don’t you grab it with me?” Xander said with a smile that make her muscles tighten.

“I’m not sure you’ve been cleared for that just yet,” she said as lightly as she could.

Before he could respond, she headed into the hallway and hesitated, waiting until she heard the en suite door close and the shower start. Then she went to the narrow spiral wooden staircase that led to the attic. Her foot faltered on the first step, and she had to mentally gird herself to keep putting one foot on each step after another.

Somewhere along the line, the attic had become the repository for the things she didn’t want to face. But right now she had no choice. She closed her eyes before pushing open the narrow door that led into the storage area lit only by two small diamond-shaped multipaned windows set in at each end. Another deep breath and she stepped inside.

Keeping her line of sight directly where she had stored the large plastic box of clothing that Xander had left behind, she traversed the bare wooden floor and quickly unsnapped the lid, digging through the items until she found the jeans and sweatshirt he’d been talking about.

She dragged the fabric to her nose and inhaled deeply, worried there might be a mustiness about them that would give away where they’d been stored, but it seemed the lavender she’d layered in with his clothing had done its job. There was just a faint drift of the scent of the dried flowers clinging to the clothing. With a satisfied nod, Olivia jammed the lid back on the storage box and fled down the stairs. She’d have to come back later and get the rest of Xander’s clothes. She certainly couldn’t just take a box down to their bedroom right now because she didn’t want to invent explanations for why his things were stored away, either.

In her bedroom—their bedroom, she corrected herself—Olivia laid the jeans and sweatshirt on the bed and was getting her own clothing together when Xander came out of the en suite wrapped in a towel, a bloom of steam following him.

“I see we got the hot water problems fixed,” he said, coming toward her.

“Yeah, we ended up installing a small hot water heater just for our bathroom.” Olivia nodded. “Did you leave any for me?”

“I invited you to share,” Xander said with a wink.

She huffed a small laugh, but even so her heart twinged just a little. He sounded so like his old self. The self he’d been before they realized they were expecting a baby and would be dropping to one income for a while. While they’d never been exactly poor, and her income as a high school art teacher had mostly been used to provide the extras they needed for the renovations, it had still been a daunting prospect. Of course, since then, Xander’s star had risen to dizzying heights with the investment banking firm he now was a partner in. And with that meteoric rise, his income had hit stratospheric levels, too.

“Hey,” Xander said as he walked over to the bed and picked up his clothes. “You expecting me to go commando?”

“Oh, heavens, I didn’t think. Hang on a sec.”

Olivia shot into the guest bedroom and grabbed a pair of the designer boxer briefs she’d brought back from his apartment. She tossed them at him as she came back in the door.

“There you are. I’ll grab my shower quickly. Then I’ll get some breakfast together for us, okay?”

* * *

Xander caught the briefs she’d thrown at him and nodded. “Yeah, sounds good.”

The bathroom door closed behind her, and he sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling weak again. Damn, but this was getting old, he thought in exasperation as he pulled on his boxers and stood up to slide on his jeans. They dropped an indecent distance on his hips.

He stepped over to the chest of drawers and opened the one where he kept his belts. He was surprised to find the drawer filled with Olivia’s lingerie instead. Maybe he’d misjudged, he thought, opening another drawer and then another—discovering that the entire bureau was filled with her things. That wasn’t right, was it? It was as if he didn’t share a room with her anymore. She said she’d moved his clothes to the guest room, but it seemed odd that she’d have moved everything. And shouldn’t there be empty spaces left behind where his things had been?

Xander spied the pair of trousers he’d worn yesterday, lying on the floor. He picked them up and tugged the belt free from its loops. As he fed the belt through his Levi’s he wondered what else he’d forgotten. What else was so completely out of sync in this world he’d woken up to? Even Olivia was different from how he remembered her. There was a wariness there he’d never known her to have before. As if she now guarded her words, not to mention herself, very carefully.

Olivia came through from the bathroom, and his nostrils flared as he picked up the gentle waft of scent that came through with her. A tingling began deep in his gut. She always had that effect on him. Had right from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. So how was it that he could remember that day as if it was yesterday, yet his brain had switched off an entire chunk of their life together?

They went downstairs—Olivia tucked under his shoulder with her arm around his back, he with one hand on the rail and taking one step at a time. His balance and coordination were still not quite there, and he fought to suppress his irritation at being so ridiculously helpless and having to depend on his wife to do such a simple thing. He normally flew down these stairs, didn’t he?

“What would you like for breakfast?” Olivia asked when they reached the kitchen.

“Anything but hospital food,” he replied with a smile. “How about your homemade muesli?”

She looked startled at his request. “I haven’t made that in years, but I have store-bought.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just have some toast. I can get that myself.”

Olivia gently pushed him onto a stool by the counter. “Oh no you won’t. Your first morning home, I’m making you a nice breakfast. How about scrambled eggs and smoked salmon?”

His mouth watered. “That sounds much better. Thanks.”

He watched her as she moved around the kitchen, envying how she knew where everything was. None of it was familiar to him. The kitchen was different to the poorly fitted cupboards and temperamental old stove that had been here when they’d bought the property in a deceased estate auction. The place had been like a time capsule. The same family had owned it since it had been built. The last of the family line, an elderly spinster, had lived only on the ground floor in her later years, and nothing had been done to modernize the property since the early 1960s.

The aroma of coffee began to fill the room. Feeling uncharacteristically useless, Xander rose to get a couple of mugs from the glass-fronted cupboard. At least he could see where they were kept, he thought grimly. Automatically he put a heaping spoon of sugar in each mug.

“Oh, no sugar for me,” Olivia said, whipping one of the mugs away and pouring the sugar back in the bowl before putting the mug back down again.

“Since when?”

“A couple of years ago, at least.”

Just how many of the nuances of their day-to-day life did he need to relearn, he thought as he picked up the mugs and moved toward the coffee machine. She must have seen the look that crossed his face at the news.

“It’s okay, Xander. Whether I take sugar or not isn’t the end of the world.”

“It might not be, but what about important stuff? The things we’ve done together, the plans we’ve made in the past few years? What if I never remember? Hell, I don’t even remember the accident that caused me to lose my memory, let alone what car I was driving.”

His voice had risen to a shout, and Olivia’s face, always a window to her emotions, crumpled into a worried frown—her eyes reflecting her distress.

“Xander, none of those things are important. What’s important is that you’re alive and that you’re here. With me.”

She closed the distance between them and slid her arms around his waist, laying her head on his shoulder and squeezing him tight as if she would never let him go. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, trying hard to put a lid on the anger that had boiled up within him at something so simple, so stupid, as misremembering whether or not his wife took sugar in her coffee.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pressing a kiss on the top of her head. “I just feel so bloody lost right now.”

“But you’re not lost,” Olivia affirmed with another squeeze of her arms. “You’re here with me. Right where you belong.”

The words made sense, but Xander struggled with accepting them. Right now he didn’t feel as if he belonged here at all. And the idea was beginning to scare him.


Five (#ulink_054be3dc-acc1-5ed6-8fad-eb4b05774c85)

Olivia could feel him mentally withdrawing from her and it made her want to hold on to him all the harder. The medical team had warned her that Xander would experience mood swings. It was all part and parcel of what he’d been through and what his brain was doing to heal itself. She gave him one more squeeze and then let him go.

“Shall we eat breakfast out on the patio?” she asked as brightly as she could. “Why don’t you pour our coffees, and then maybe you could set the table out there for me while I finish making breakfast.”

Without waiting for a response, she busied herself getting place mats and cutlery and putting them on a large wooden tray with raised edges so that if he faltered nothing would slide off. She couldn’t mollycoddle him all the time, but no one said she couldn’t try to make things easier for him, either. She went ahead and opened the doors that led onto the patio, ensuring that the way was clear for him with nothing to trip over.

“There, I’ll be out in a minute or two,” she said after he’d filled both mugs with coffee. He seemed to hesitate. “Something the matter, Xander?”

“I didn’t notice yesterday if you still take milk or not.”

His voice was flat, with an air of defeat she’d never heard from him before. Not even after Parker died.

“I do, thanks.”

She turned around to the stove and poured the beaten eggs into the pan rather than let him see the pity that she knew would be on her face. As she stirred the egg in the pan, she listened, feeling her entire body relax when he picked up the tray and slowly began to move out of the kitchen. When the eggs were almost done, she sprinkled in some chopped chives from her herb garden and stirred the egg mixture one last time before loading the steaming mix onto warmed plates. She garnished the egg with some dots of sour cream, another sprinkle of chives and some cracked pepper, then added the smoked salmon shavings on the side. Satisfied the meal looked suitably appealing, she carried the plates out to the patio.

Xander was standing on the edge of the pavers, staring at the cherry blossom tree he’d planted when they moved in.

“It’s grown, hasn’t it?” Olivia remarked as she put the plates down on the table. “The tree. Do you remember the day we planted it?”

“Yeah, I do. It was a good day,” he said simply.

His words didn’t do justice to the fun they’d had completing the raised brick bed and then filling it with barrow loads of the soil and compost that had been delivered. After they’d planted the tree, they’d celebrated with a bottle of imported champagne and a picnic on the grass. Then, later, made love long into the night.

“Come and have breakfast before it gets cold,” Olivia said, her voice suddenly thick with emotion.

They’d made so many plans for the garden that day, some of which they’d undertaken before their marriage fell apart. She hadn’t had the time or the energy to tackle the jobs they’d left undone on her own. In fact, she’d even debated keeping the house at all. Together with the separate one-bedroom cottage on the other side of the patio, where she had her studio, the property was far too big for one person alone.

But now he was home again, the place already felt better. As if a missing link had been slotted back in where it belonged. She pasted a smile on her face and took a sip of her coffee.

Xander desultorily applied himself to his plate of eggs.

“Is it not to your liking?” Olivia asked.

“It’s good,” he replied, taking another bite. “I don’t feel hungry anymore, that’s all.”

“Are you hurting? They said you’d have headaches. Do you want me to get your painkillers?”

“Livvy, please! Stop fussing,” he snapped before throwing down his fork and pushing up from his seat.

Olivia watched as he walked past the garden and out onto the lawn. His body was rigid, and he stood with his hands on his hips, feet braced slightly apart, as if he was challenging some invisible force in front of him.

She stared down at her plate and pushed her breakfast around with her fork, her own appetite also dwindling as the enormity of what she’d done began to hit home. He wasn’t a man to be pushed or manipulated; she’d learned that years ago. She’d made decisions before that had angered him. Like the day she brought Bozo home from the pound without discussing it with him first. And the day she stopped taking her birth control.

A shadow hovered over her, blocking the light. Xander’s hand, warm and strong and achingly familiar, settled on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

She placed a hand on top of his. “It’s okay. I guess I am fussing. I’ll try to keep a lid on it. It’s just that I love you so much, Xander. Hearing about your accident terrified me. Thinking that I could have lost you...” Her voice choked up again.

“Oh, Livvy. What are we going to do?” he said wearily, wiping a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb.

She shook her head slightly. “I don’t know. Just take one day at a time, I guess.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I guess that’s all we can do.”

He sat back down at the table and finished his breakfast. Afterward, he looked weary, as if every muscle in his body was dragging. Olivia gestured to the hammock she’d only recently strung up beneath the covered rafters.

“You want to test-drive the hammock for me while I tidy up?”

“Still fussing, Livvy,” he said, but it came with a smile. “But yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”

She gave him a small smile in return and gathered up their things to load the tray he’d brought out earlier.

“Do you want another coffee?” she asked.

“Maybe later, okay?”

She nodded and went back inside. After she’d stacked the dishwasher she intended to tackle the hand washing, but all of a sudden she was overwhelmed with the enormity of the road ahead. She closed her eyes and gripped the front of the countertop until her fingers ached and turned white. For a moment there, outside, when he was staring at the garden, she’d been afraid he’d remember that fateful day when he’d been playing with Bozo and Parker in the yard. She still remembered his shout at Parker to stop. There’d been something in his voice that had made her drop her paintbrush, leaving it to splatter on the floor as she’d turned and run outside in time to hear the sickening screech of tires.

A shudder ran through her body, and she pushed the memory aside. She’d dealt with all of that. Dealt with it and put it away in a filing cabinet in her mind and locked the drawers as effectively as she’d taped the boxes of Parker’s things closed before hiding them in the darkest recess of the attic.

Olivia opened her eyes and applied herself to scrubbing her cast-iron pan clean and wiping the stove top and the benches down until they gleamed. She cast a glance outside to where Xander lay in the hammock, asleep. Maybe now would be a good time to bring his clothes down from the attic and filter them in among the items she’d brought from his apartment. And put the whole lot back in their bedroom where he believed they belonged.

And they did belong there, she affirmed silently. Just as he belonged here, with her.

Mindful that she might not have much time, Olivia moved quickly. This time she managed to avoid looking at the boxes of Parker’s things altogether, right up until she turned around with the storage box and headed back to the door. She had to pass the shadowy nook where she’d put her child’s entire history. If only it could be as easy to put away the pain that crept out whenever she least expected it and attacked her heart and soul with rabid teeth.

The all-too-familiar burn of tears stung at the back of her eyes, and Olivia forced herself to keep moving toward the stairs. She wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not now. Not now, she repeated down each step on the spiral staircase. In her bedroom—their bedroom, she corrected herself again—she shoved her things to her side of the wardrobe and, after grabbing a few extra hangers, she shook out and hung up the clothes that had been packed in the box. Then she went to the spare room and transferred all the things she’d put in there to the bedroom, clearing the bureau drawers that she’d taken over and putting his clothing away.

It didn’t look as though he had much. Certainly not as much as she’d left behind at the apartment. Would he notice? Probably. She was talking about Xander, after all. A man who was precise and who took planning to exceptional levels. Detail was his middle name. It was part of why he was so good at what he did and why he’d rocketed through the company ranks. She doubted she’d be able to sneak another visit to his apartment now he was home, not for a while anyway. And if she did that, it would only cause more problems when he discovered she’d added more clothing to his existing wardrobe. No, she’d just have to stick with what she’d already done.

And hope like crazy that it would be enough.

* * *

Xander woke abruptly. At first confused as to his surroundings, he let his body relax when he realized he was home, lying in the hammock in the garden. He let his gaze drift around him, taking in the familiar and cataloguing the changes that they’d obviously made over time. They’d done a good job, he had to admit—if only he could remember actually doing any of it, then maybe he’d feel less like a stranger in his own home and more as if he belonged here.

Carefully, he levered himself to a sitting position and lowered his legs to the ground. He wondered where Olivia had got to. He couldn’t see her through the kitchen window. He got up and shuffled a few steps forward. Then, as if his brain had taken a little longer to wake up and join the rest of him, he moved with more confidence.

“Livvy?” he called as he went back inside the house.

The creak of floorboards sounded overhead, followed by her rapid footsteps on the stairs.

“Xander? Are you okay?” she called before she reached the hallway where he stood.

He watched as she did a quick inventory of him and suppressed the surge of irritation that she’d immediately jump to the conclusion there was something wrong. It wasn’t fair of him to be annoyed with her, he told himself. This was all as new and as intimidating for her as it was for him.




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