Page 16 of Mountain Mens' Curvy Obsession

“Without a proper diagnosis, he wasn’t able to tell us much other than what we told you. There’s a good chance you’re suffering from something called retrograde amnesia,” Nico says. “He doesn’t know how long it will take for you to remember everything, but he did advise against any attempt at forcing the memories back.”

“Your headaches are also indicative of the same issue,” Booker adds. “On top of that, we don’t know how you’ll cope with a deluge of memories in these particularly delicate circumstances.”

“Particularly delicate circumstances?” I scoff, crossing my arms in response. Admittedly, I’ve grown impatient and restless, but being stuck here with no memory of myself feels like a justifiable reason.

Nico steps into the room, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the floor. “Anya, I promise you the last thing any of us want is to hurt you. But you need to be patient. Give yourself a little more time. Enjoy the not-knowing part. I promise, you’ll miss it when it’s gone.”

“Now, that just makes me more curious,” I grumble.

“Be patient with yourself,” Chance says. “It really is for your own good.”

“I need to find my family. They must be worried sick about me,” I sigh deeply.

The brothers exchange glances, then Chance and Booker get up. “We’ll let you rest,” Nico says, picking up on their movement. They’re avoiding telling me all I should know. Something that tests my trust in them. But I can’t force it out of the brothers, and since I’m rooted here, at least for a while, all I can do is be patient. “I’ll let you know when dinner is ready,” Nico adds with a soft smile. “Perhaps you’ll join us downstairs now that you’re up and about.”

“Thank you,” I reply, my voice barely a mumble.

I watch them leave.

The memory of Chance and Booker’s kisses haunts me, my skin still ablaze as thousands of peculiar yet wonderful sensations trickle through me. It’s all too much because I’m letting the fear and anxiety of the unknown get to the core of who I am. It doesn’t matter where I’ve been, not here, not in this moment.

What does matter is what I will do next.

Whatever the past holds, part of me is adamant that I shouldn’t let it dictate my future.

I’m alive. And healing.

And insanely turned on.

* * *

As the hours pass,I grow restless.

Much like a lioness in her cage, I pace my room for a while. Outside, a sea of white snow unravels in the darkness, a moon shyly peeking back at me from behind the thinning curtain of clouds. The blizzard is on its last legs, and so is my patience.

The fire Chance and Booker started has been impossible to put out. Their kisses linger on my lips. I need more, and in this wintry isolation, in the absence of my own memories, I can’t think of a better way to get through it all.

Without hesitation, I come out of my room.

My entire right side still gives me some trouble, but I can move better. My breathing has improved as well, and I’ve either gotten used to the pain from my head injury, or the pain is actually subsiding.

“She’s looking better each day,” I hear Booker say from a nearby room.

“All that sleep is surely helping,” Chance replies.

My heart flutters with anticipation as I draw closer to their door. Judging by the sounds coming from the kitchen, Nico is busy. I wonder what he’ll say once he learns what I’ve been up to, but the thought only serves to arouse me even more. Where is this coming from, though? Have I always felt this way about them?

Slowly, I move in, my feet bare on the rustic, soft carpet.

“I do agree with the doc, though,” Chance says. “Though I’d love it if we could get cell reception back so we could get more advice out of the man.”

Booker sighs. “I don’t know. I guess. I think she’s strong enough to take the whole truth.”

“I’m not doubting her strength but rather her ability to process the truth without working herself into a migraine or something much worse. Until we get her into town for a CT scan, we don’t know the extent of her head injury. What if learning everything about herself suddenly triggers some kind of aggressive response? We could make things worse.”

“There’s a lot we don’t know yet,” Booker says. “But I guess you’re right. Better safe than sorry. Right now, keeping Anya safe is what we want to focus on.”

What the hell kind of life was I living that I need protection from remembering it? The frustration is building as I reach what turns out to be another bedroom.

---