Maggie-

I lay staring at the ceiling of my hospital room, forming the little grey and white specks into shapes in my mind.  I've turned the TV off, tired of the countless reality shows that it continues replaying. There are only so many times I can watch the  Kardashian's argue in their pristine kitchen.

My eyes roam the walls littered with comedic yellow smiley faces asking me to describe how I feel with a numbered scale. A stack of books gathers dust next to the half-eaten sandwich I was barely able to force down and wilting get better flowers lie next to the window, petals unable to withstand soaking up the harsh Arizona sun.

My room is for once dead quiet amidst the usual chaotic revolving door of doctors and nurses. Their constant pop quizzes and numerous tests plagued me for the last few days and while I'm grateful for the silence I've become restless. A girl can only be kept in a cage for so long.

I roll gingerly to the side, my hip planting deeper into the uncomfortable thin mattress, and stare daggers at the wilting flower unable to handle the heat of the sun that I'm so desperate to feel. I groan and roll my eyes at my ridiculous mind.

I'm jealous of a dying flower.

I miss the sun. I miss real food, I'm dying for a home-cooked meal, or even a soggy cheeseburger from that run-down McDonald's down the street from my apartment. I miss my friends, Bethany, Sam, and now even Jack.

A voice from outside my door startles me and I sit up awaiting more tests. My doctor seems to be involved in a conversation with one of the nurses, but I watch as the handle to my hospital door moves gently indicating more tough questions are to come.

To my surprise, the handle quickly readjusts back to its waiting position and my shoulders relax into the thin white sheets as I hear her clicking heals grow quieter as her steps move away from my door.

I've gotten used to Dr. Moore's medical tests, blood pressure, heart rate, even the occasional yet obnoxious lights she flashes in my eyes to check my pupils. However, her questions never got any easier, it was like a guessing game where the answers inexplicably altered the course of my own history.

I imagine my doctor as a talk show host dressed in all white, gleaming at the opportunity to probe my mind while an eager audience of nurses stand by with blank pages of paper, ready to fill them with notes about my failed memory for later study.

Who is your mother?

"That one's easy, Carol Carpenter."

A clear vision of my mother appears from my otherwise foggy memories and I imagine the audience clapping. I imagine short dark hair which is always meticulously cared for, light eyes and a crease laid permanently between her brows from all the times she's relayed her disappointment.

But of course, my audience wasn't at all interested in who she really was.  A relentless woman, strong, fierce, pestering, and rude. Yes, rude. My mother is one of a kind, and I'm her disappointing child, her only child.

Who is your father?

A lump forms in my throat from the question posed, this one harder than the last.

"William Carpenter."

Where is he?

The questions harden, and a fuzzy memory of a wrinkled smile passes quickly through my mind. My audience goes silent, eagerly awaiting my response, pens ready to strike.

"He passed away when I was a young girl, even before I had properly learned my ABC's." A small knot forms in the back of my head and begins to throb. Remembering anything about that man other than the nightmares that plague me, is difficult.

Where do you live?

I imagine my quaint two-bedroom apartment in downtown Phoenix and almost smell the coffee Bethany would make for me every morning.

"I live in an apartment complex with my best friend, Bethany."

Wrong. 

The audience collectively gasps, their pens swirling around the page with urgency.

"Then I'm not sure where I live." I answer sheepishly, before sinking into my interviewee's chair, the hard cushion of a hospital mattress. "Is it- Is it with him?"

What is your profession?

My host ignores my wavering voice moves onward without skipping a beat.

"I work at a prestigious club called Scottsdale Palace.  I serve men and women their cocktails after a hard day's work."

Wrong.

"Then I'm not sure where I work, do I even have a job?" The knot in my skull begins to grow and the migraine intensifies as I debate hiding under the sheer white sheets.

You're a literary agent for Red-Wolf Publishing.

"I read novels for a living?" The pressure on my skull slightly releases as I compare serving booze with reading a book.

Who's the man with piercing blue eyes and dark hair, enacting chills with every glance?

The impossible question with an impossible answer rings through my aching head as the goosebumps on my arms seem to raise to impossible heights.

"I don't know." I whisper as my audience's stares penetrate directly through my skin, digging for answers. I imagine his diamond eyes clearly through an unruly storm, chaotically destroying my surroundings. "I'm told he's mine."

The creaking hospital door rings in my ears and my eyes jerk open. The pressure fades and the vivid daydream dissolves around me.

"Knock, knock." Jackson stands casually in the doorway in his usual faded black t-shirt and jeans. He leans against the frame, casually running his hand through his soft chocolate-colored hair, but his brow is furrowed with worry.

I watch as his sleeves strain against the muscles in his arms and a few tattoos peek out from under the thin fabric. My mind wanders as I wonder what's underneath. On a few days in the past his usual black tee has been replaced with a thin white shirt and I noticed a more full tattoo covering his ribs. Curiosity pokes at my brain but I haven't found the courage to ask him to lift his shirt.

After a noticeable amount of time, I meet his already waiting blue eyes and realize he's caught me gawking. My cheeks flush and it's too late to stop the smile already halfway spread across my face. Luckily, he doesn't seem to notice my blush, and only returns the smile I've lent him as his shoulders relax.

Jackson, although a new face, has been the one constant in my ever changing world. Our daily walks help me feel sane, taking my mind off the impending questions of my doctors and granting answers to my own questions.

"You alright?" He asks in his British accent, breaking the awkward silence.

"Yes!" I shout a little too loud as I jump from my rickety bed.

"Why are you so jumpy?" He asks through a genuine smile, one I've noticed he doesn't share often, and my heart lurches in my chest. "It's like you've been caught with your knickers down."

"I'm just ready." I complain while ripping one of the heart rate monitors from my chest. "I'm sick of being hooked up to wires."

"Bloody hell, Mags." Jackson growls before running to the machine beeping frantically beside me.

"That kind of stung." I complain while rubbing the burning red mark it left behind.

"No shit! You're not supposed to fucking rip them off." Jack's face turns stern and I can't help but crack a smile as he removes my fingers and investigates the mark.

His cold fingers brush against my burning flesh and I feel my cheeks light up once more as I suck in an unexpected breath. I calm myself debating on the best way to distract my raging hormones as I stare at the ceiling and avoid watching his cautious fingers prod at me as he helps remove the other patch.

"Let's get out of here, for good this time." I desperately plead.

"Maggie, you know I want you to come home but I can't just break you out of here." He says as he grabs my hand and rubs circles in my palm. "It's not a prison, you're here for your own good."

I sigh and look down at our intertwined hands. I haven't had the heart to tell him I'm going home with Bethany. I like Jackson, I really do. In fact, with the raging hormones I seem to have woken up with, you might even say I have a little crush on him. Everyone says I used to love him, but in my mind I've only known him for a short time.

I've never been in love before. I've been on many dates, experienced my fair share of first kisses, I've even had a couple close friends who were men. I know it's out there, I've read countless Colleen Hoover books and I've cried right along with their heartbreak, but I've never felt the temporary madness that Louis de Bernières speaks of. I've never had my every thought consumed by another being, or felt that I couldn't live a moment longer if I knew if they didn't exist.

Something inside me feels a bond with Jack, it's like I know he's in the room before I've even looked up and that side of me misses him deeply. But something else, almost like a warning bell, fills me with a sense of uncertainty. While I'll admit that I'm not sure which side of my heart I'm more inclined to listen to, I'm just not ready to move in with the handsome yet strange and slightly angry British boy I just met.

Well- Sort of just met.

"Mags?" Jackson asks, prompting me to wake from my daydream and I realize I'm just staring at his thumb rubbing circles in my palm. "Are sure you're alright? You keep zoning out."

"Sorry." I nod and bite my bottom lip then watch his perfect diamond eyes fall to my mouth. He hasn't kissed me since I've woken from my coma and I think he wants to.

Do I want him to? What if his lips are the missing ingredient, maybe a portion of my memory will return when our lips finally touch for the first time since the accident?

Maybe, just once-

My eyes fall to his full lips and my heart begins to race, alerting the rest of the heart rate monitors still linked to me.

A loud beeping noise fills every corner of the room and a blush paints my cheeks as my eyes fall to the floor embarrassed. Jackson pulls his lip ring between his teeth and a cocky smile lights up his face as he finally turns off the monitor. It's not fair that he's so easily alerted each time he speeds up my heart.

Between Jackson, my mind, my heart and my hormones I'm starting to suffocate.

"I need to get the hell out of here." I complain before he grabs my hand and pulls me into the hallway.

I'm still wearing this embarrassingly thin light blue hospital gown that flows in the wind as I walk. Luckily I was smart enough to wear underwear and even though it's frowned upon, I slipped a bra on before our walk.

I dare a doctor or a nurse to ask me to take it off. Whether it's a blessing or curse is still yet to be determined, but my breasts are ample. So walking around the hallways naked with barely a sheet draped around me would definitely be a no-go.

Upkeep is hard in the hospital. Showers are pretty much nonexistent and I cringed when I heard about the sponge baths I was given.

Luckily, Bethany occasionally comes by and painfully assists me in brushing out the deep knots in my long sun-kissed brunette hair, formed from laying in bed all day. Unluckily, she hasn't been by today, so my spaghetti hair flows backwards as we pick up the pace, dodging nurses and doctors who are all too busy to pay any attention to the girl fleeing in a sheer gown.

"You seem distracted today." Jackson says snapping me out of my reverie.

"I'm sorry. It's just-" I struggle to find the right words. Despite the fact that I can't sort out my feelings towards him, he's been kind. Caring for me day and night as if he feels he's the very reason I've been stuck in this hospital. I'd hate to hurt his feelings.

"You can tell me anything, Maggie." He offers his support again, just like he has the past few days since I've been awake.

We walk into a wing of the Mayo Clinic Hospital that's lined with floor to ceiling windows, looking out to a small garden area. I walk to the window and gaze out at the tall palm trees lining the path to the hospital garden, which flow back and forth gently in the wind as the sun shines brightly down on them.

Despite the glass blocking the quick path to a hard fall, my stomach grows a little queasy and I'm grateful when Jackson's hand envelopes mine and leads me to a large metal bench. We sit in silence as he waits for me to deliver my news.

How am I supposed to tell him I don't want to come home?

"Look, Jackson, you're really nice and all, and I know we have this history together-" I bite my lip and take a deep breath.

"Nice?" Jack's brows furrow and he almost looks disappointed.

"You don't like being called nice?"

"Nice is what you called Sam right before you tore his heart from his chest." He growls before sitting back in his seat.

"What?" How on earth did I hurt Sam?

The back of my skull starts to pound but I grit my teeth.

"Jack, I don't want to move back in with you." I spit out. "I'm going home with Bethany when it comes time."

"You don't want to come home?" Jack asks and his diamond eyes search mine, shocked.

"That's just it Jack, it's not my home!" I lose control and shout desperately, then quickly lower my voice. "I'm sorry."

His head nods a few times in a mixture of realization then disappointment before he looks to the floor, contemplating. "It's your call."

"You're not mad?" I ask.

"How can I be?" Jackson huffs. "I was hoping somehow I'd be able to win you back but you're different now. I'm different too, I suppose. You changed me after we fell in love."

He lifts his eyes from the floor and leans back on the bench, waving a hand through his chocolate-colored hair. "But I just have to accept, we're strangers now."

My heart wrenches in my chest and the feeling of losing a loved one washes over me. Something inside me longs for him as if the old me is tugging desperately at my heartstrings, yet all I can manage is, "Sorry."

Sorry? Really, Maggie? You couldn't come up with something better to say to the boy whose heart you might be breaking?

"I'm sorry, I never meant for this to go this way-" Of course I didn't. I never meant to crash my car into a damn tree, let alone forget everyone I've met in the last few years.

"I know." He shrugs in defeat but a sudden change comes over his demeanor and after a deep breath, he stands.

"Okay, let's make a deal." He offers, placing one hand in his pocket before a cheeky grin forms on his lips and I must admit I'm intrigued.

"With what terms?" I ask, wanting to know all the details before I agree to anything.

"You can stay with Bethany. I'll bring your shit by her house and I won't bother you there, but that doesn't mean I'm giving up." His confident smile turns arrogant as if he's got a trick up his sleeve. "Terms are, I get you two days a week and you give us a chance to get to know one another."

"And if I disagree with this request?" I tease.

"You can resist all you want, I've always loved a challenge." His cocky attitude is out in full play, a side I haven't seen before and I admit I find it intriguing.

What did you do to make Maggie Carpenter the first fall in love with you Jackson Porter?

"Alright, it's a deal but I'll only agree to once a week." I counter.

"And after you fall in love with me and want more?" He teases then brings his lip ring between his teeth.

My eyes fall to his lips and a shiver runs through my spine. "What makes you so confident?"

"You forget, I know you Mags. While you might not recollect anything about me, I remember everything about you." He pauses, taking his time to stretch and lay his arm around the back of the bench.

He leans in closer to me, inches away so I can smell the intoxicating peppermint lingering on his breath. "The way you like to be talked to, kissed, touched."

Jesus Christ.

My heart pounds in my chest like a kick drum and I stand up abruptly before I'm lured into his web of seduction.

"Holy shit." The words escape my lips and I cover my mouth quickly, embarrassed by the obscenity.

Jackson laughs as if he was expecting me to overreact and I realize I've never seen such a beautiful smile before. He's always seemed so serious, the lighthearted side of him involuntarily pulls at my heartstrings.

"I'll get your shit from my house and drop it off at Bethany's." He says as he stands with a smile and heads towards the hallway.

"You're not going to walk me back?" I ask, suddenly wanting to keep him around.

"Are you accepting my deal?" He asks without turning around.

I follow closely behind him with one arm tied behind my back to keep the hospital gown from opening and giving anyone a free show.

The stubborn girl in me wants to argue, but the other part of me desperately wants to agree. I suppose there's no harm in letting him take me out once a week. Maybe it will jog my memory.

"Fine. Once a week." I say sternly as I attempt to walk quickly enough to keep up with him.

He stops abruptly and turns around. I'm not quite as sharp as I'd hoped, so I collide straight into his chest and let go of my gown. Luckily, his reflexes are masterful and he catches me around my waist before I fall.

"Deal." He says simply and his diamond eyes pierce through mine.  His fingers gently graze my back through the slit in my gown causing goosebumps to rise on my arms.

"No kissing." I manage to stammer before my throat begins to close.

Why did I say that?

"What if you ask for it?" He counters with one brow raised in amusement.

"Don't get your hopes up." I roll my eyes before gazing back at his face,pretending I've forgotten that his arms are still wrapped tightly around my waist.  One of his brows raises in disbelief. "Fine, only if I ask."

"Deal." He says before slapping my ass cheek through my wide-open hospital gown then walks away.

The feel of his open palm colliding with my bum shocks and stings.  I jump at least a foot through the air and reach for the gowns opening immediately, attempting to close it behind me.

Asshole.

"Once a week!" I shout after him as he shrinks down the hallway.