Page 75 of Parrish

Chapter Twenty-six

Jack Parrish

Feeling as if someone has physically ripped my heart from my chest, I step out of Reina’s room and roughly comb my fingers through my short hair. Bile rises from my stomach and I swallow hard around the lump in my throat, forcing that shit back down.

“What’s wrong?” Wolf says, causing me to lift my head. I didn’t realize they had followed me back into the intensive care unit.

“Is she okay?” Layla questions.

My lips part to reply but the words don’t come. I can’t bring myself to speak the truth. Hell, I can’t even allow myself to process it.

One of the doctors follows me out of the room and calls my name. Tearing my eyes from Wolf, Pipe, and Layla, I look at the man dressed in scrubs and pray he’s about to tell me this is all bullshit. Everything that just happened it that room, the way Reina blankly stared at me and those dreadful words she spoke—it’s all a sick fucking joke.

“Mr. Parrish, we have concluded that your wife is suffering from a bout of amnesia. My colleagues are asking her some questions, but it might help us piece together what’s happening if you can enlighten me on a few things.”

Amnesia.

Not willing to believe what he’s saying, I shake my head. The shit thing is, as much as I don’t want to entertain any of this, I know cooperating is all I can do to help. If I can make better sense of whatever is going on with my wife, then the doctors can fix what’s wrong with her sooner rather than later. They’ll erase this whole fucking nightmare from our lives.

“When we removed her breathing tube, we began to ask her some standard questions. We asked her name, and she replied with Reina DeCarlo.”

Swiping a hand over my face, my shoulders slump with defeat and I respond. The tone of my voice just as dead as the look in my wife’s eyes when she stared at me moments ago.

“That’s her maiden name,” I rasp.

In response, he gives me a curt nod and makes a note on her chart.

“She knew her birthday but was unable to determine how old she was or what year we are currently in,” he reveals.

“What does that mean?” I ask, watching as he continues to scribble some shit.

Pen poised, he pauses for a minute and ignores my question as he lifts his eyes to mine.

“Can you tell me who Danny is?”

“Danny is my son,” I reply. Thinking better of my answer, I lose my patience and point a finger over his shoulder, towards the room where my wife lays clueless. “He’s her son!”

“Whom she doesn’t seem to remember.”

Thanks for the reminder.

“You mentioned he was named after your brother, Daniel…” His sentence trails off as he studies me intently, waiting for me to elaborate.

“Daniel’s been dead for years,” I grind out. There is no remorse in my tone—a result of two brothers who spent most of their time at war and never fighting for the same team.

“He died in the same fire Reina survived,” I say.

It’s my turn to pause and I close my eyes as I swallow that incessant lump in my throat that keeps threatening to choke me.

“They were engaged,” I mutter.

The words leave a foul taste in my mouth and I realize I’ve never really acknowledged Reina as my brother’s fiancé. Not really. In my mind, heart, and soul, Reina’s been mine and only mine since the day I asked her for a slice of cherry pie. Life before us doesn’t exist for me. Not hers or mine and yet now, I’m being forced to accept something I’ve pushed out of my head.

Reina was Daniel’s.

My brother had part of my wife’s heart and it’s all she knows now.

It’s all she remembers.

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