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Of everything he’d heard and experienced and felt in the last day, Devin starting St. Michael’s Solutions was the one thing that absolutely did not surprise him. The man had always been controlling, and apparently, he was rich as sin to boot, or at least that was the impression Benny had gotten. It also made sense that the others had signed on with him. Therapy had bonded them into a team of sorts. Them against the world, and it seemed that had stuck.
Beth and Tate being a couple was something else entirely.
He accepted them in his heart, mostly because he could feel how much his sister loved the big man. His brain was going to take a little longer to catch up.
Yeah, he could accept all of those things as real and tangible.
But the miraculous healing? The fact that they were all experiments of a kind? The fact that he’d been held against his will for more than eight months?
Those things were harder to grasp.
He was a damned good medic who believed in science, even if he’d seen more than one miracle on the battlefield. Accepting what had happened to them, and more importantly, what had happened to him, was going to take a hell of a lot longer than accepting the fact that his sister had found love or that his friends had formed a partnership.
Since he’d left the sliding door open, he heard the shower start in the other suite and his thoughts shifted back to Jordan.
Last night he’d been too tired and too overwhelmed to really push anyone for answers. But today, after ten hours of sleep, his mind was remarkably clear. For the first time since he’d woken up in Davenport’s car, he felt almost like his old self.
And his old self wanted answers.
He figured food was the way to anyone’s heart, so while Jordan showered, he’d whip up some breakfast. Then he was going to grab the box they’d left in the back of the SUV so Jordan didn’t have to tote it in when she got up.
When they’d finished eating, he’d get some answers.
Chapter Seven
Jordan stepped out of her room, her fingers sliding through her hair as she finished the last section of her braid. Then she walked into the kitchen and stopped in her tracks.
Benny sat at the kitchen table, Spot in his lap, and on the floor next to him was the open box containing his artwork.
“Breakfast is ready,” he said, his voice so clipped and cold it seemed to freeze the air around them. “Get yourself a cup of coffee, and then we need to talk.”
Jordan forced her feet to move, willed her heart back into a normal rhythm. “Yeah, we do. I’d hoped to give you some time to acclimate before we had this discussion.”
His hand, which had been resting over a sketch of her naked on their bed, curled into a fist. “I don’t need to be handled, damn it.”
His voice had gone hot and was perilously close to a snarl.
Each word hit her like a bullet. “You’re right.” She walked to the counter and put a pod in the coffee machine. “There didn’t seem to be a good time to tell you yesterday, especially not with the others around. Then you needed food and sleep. I planned on telling you today.” She gestured toward the box of his art. “I saw your doodles yesterday on the notepad and realized your art might help you work your way through whatever this is. But I wanted you to sleep first.”
She turned back to the counter and doctored her cup, then snagged a piece of bacon and sat across the table from him. “You and I became lovers at the end of therapy. You moved in three weeks later.”
There was no way in hell she was telling him they’d planned on getting married.
He didn’t remember it, and she wasn’t going to hit him with that one. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“And Spot?” he asked as he continued to stroke the cat.
“She was a stray that showed up at the ER on base, and you went all alpha when they talked about sending her to a shelter. My apartment accepted pets and yours didn’t, so you moved in with me and brought her along.”
She said the words simply, but every one of them carried a series of painful and joyous memories. Recollections he clearly did not share.
“I don’t remember any of that,” he whispered. His voice had gone from rough and angry to small. Not frightened exactly, but something close enough to make her heart ache.
“Well, then you better start working on remembering it.” He didn’t need her pity or softness now. That had been for yesterday. Today, the gloves came off. “If they figure out you’re alive, they’re going to come looking for you. Never mind what happened between us. Getting your memory back may be the thing that saves your damn life.”
If she hadn’t already braided her hair, she would have run her fingers through it in frustration. Not at him, but at this completely fucked-up situation.
“I want to remember you,” he said, and just like that, his voice sounded broken again.
