Page 88 of Don't Forget Me
He still knew who he was. Nick Jacobs, megastar with nothing but his fame.
And his wife.
Sherrie walked into the living room of the house they shared in L.A. A year ago, they were having marital problems, but she’d assured him that was all in the past. With the help of a counselor, they’d healed the rift between them. He just wished he could remember that.
“Hey, sweetie.” Sherrie bent to press a kiss to his lips. “It’s good to see you out of bed.” Since returning to L.A. a few days ago, he hadn’t had the energy to get up or the desire to spend all day sitting in the wheelchair he couldn’t stand.
His only response to her was to grunt.
“Someone is in a bad mood.” She shook her head, a hand going to her stomach.
A stomach that currently contained his son or daughter. That was right. Nick Jacobs, the father. It was the only good part about waking up and finding out he couldn’t remember why he was in that accident or what he’d done for twelve entire months.
Taking painkillers—a lot of them—and driving. It didn’t sound like something he’d do, but Sherrie and the man who’d supposedly worked as Nick’s assistant during the movie—Franklin—explained to him about the problem with pills he’d developed.
How had it gotten that far? He grew up with parents who were more into their booze and drugs than their children.
The police let him go home to L.A. after questioning, but he’d have to return to Florida in a few months to start court proceedings. Because he’d caused an accident, injured someone. A dad, they told him. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, but he wiped it away. Nick Jacobs didn’t cry.
Stephen would be ashamed of him.
For some reason, thinking of Stephen brought the girl from the hospital to his mind, the one he hadn’t been able to get out of his head. Her broken look when he asked who she was would forever haunt him. The doctor said it was another coma patient who was obviously suffering mental issues after waking, that it wasn’t the first time she’d barged into his room.
But she hadn’t looked like a crazed fan.
No, she’d looked sad.
Sherrie’s heels clicked across the white tile floors as she gathered her coat and purse. “I’ve hired an aide. She’ll be here by noon. Are you okay until then?”
Okay? Yes, he was fine in a wheelchair he could barely manage to move around in, in a house with high counters and narrow doorways. Yet, the thought of her staying didn’t sit right with him.
“I’m fine.” He practically growled the words, but she didn’t even flinch. He’d never been the easiest man to be married to with his dark moods.
She pasted on a smile. “Good. I need to head out. Brunch with the girls and then some shopping. You and I will be doing quite a few interviews, and I must look my best. Toodles.” She waved her fingers.
When the door clicked shut behind her, he breathed a sigh of relief. She was his wife, and they’d worked things out, yet he couldn’t stand the vapid way she spoke, the narrowing of her eyes every time she looked at him.
“I’m imagining it,” he said to himself. His stomach grumbled, and he gripped the wheels of his chair, trying to turn them toward the kitchen. He could at least get something to eat.
It took more strength than he’d admit, but he managed to reach the pantry. It was stocked with food, but he knew Sherrie would never set foot in a grocery store. Nick’s agent arranged for a personal shopper who knew where to put everything—even the secret items. It was the only reason he knew what there’d be.
There were all sorts of health foods, but there was only one thing he wanted. On the third shelf from the top was a single box of Lucky Charms. He couldn’t see it because it was hidden behind a giant bag of granola, but it was the shelf he’d always hidden his cereal on so Sherrie didn’t throw it out.
Judging the height, he looked around for something he could use to help him. There was a spatula on the counter. It was better than nothing. He grabbed it before turning the chair back around.
Gripping the arms, he pushed himself up, using as much leverage as he could. Then, balancing on one arm, he reached the other up with the spatula to bat the granola out of the way.
Only, it didn’t slide to the side. The spatula hooked on it, pulling the bag on its side. Large pieces of granola and raisins rained down on Nick’s head. With a curse, he put the spatula between his teeth and reached out to wrap his fingers around the metal shelf. With a lunging push, he went for the cereal, knocking it from the shelf. Luckily, the box was still closed, so it hit the ground without spilling.
Not so luckily, Nick’s grip on the shelf slipped as the wheelchair rolled backwards. Breaks! He’d forgotten breaks!
A scream built in his throat but never left it as his entire body slammed into the ground, pain rocketing through his legs. His head bounced off the corner of the pantry door, and the last thing he heard was his own voice as a face flashed through his mind.
“Who are you?”
And then, the girl from the hospital was gone, just like everything else.
This time, when Nick woke, a different face greeted him. A middle-aged woman with inky black hair pulled away from her face to reveal deep laugh lines smiled at him. “Welcome back.”
