Chapter 1: Three Lovers, One Hospital Bed
The first thing Adrian registered was the smell. Antiseptic, bleach, something synthetic and clean that scraped the inside of his nostrils. Then came the sound, a low, persistent beeping that seemed to sync with the dull throb behind his eyes. He tried to move, and a wave of nausea crested, forcing him still.
His vision swam into focus on a ceiling of acoustic tiles and harsh fluorescent lights.
“He’s awake.”
The voice was low, rough, with a Scottish lilt he didn’t recognize. He turned his head, a stiff, painful motion, and the world tilted.
Three women were crowded around his hospital bed. It was too many. The space was meant for one concerned visitor, maybe two. This was a blockade.
The one closest to him, a redhead with wild curls and a glare that could strip paint, had her hand wrapped around his wrist. Her grip was like iron. “About time, ye daft bastard.”
From his other side, a woman with dark, sleek hair and unnervingly calm eyes let her fingers trail possessively up the tube of his IV line. “Don’t crowd him, Merida. He needs air.” Her voice was a purr, a complete contrast to the storm in her touch.
“Air?” The third voice came from the foot of the bed. A blonde with a sun-kissed tan and a defiant spark in her eyes was perched on the edge of the mattress, one leg swung over his shins as if she’d just mounted a horse. A nurse hovered behind her, looking exasperated. “Sugar, he needs to remember which one of us he was gonna put a ring on.”
Adrian’s mouth was desert-dry. He tried to form a word, but it came out as a croak. Ring?
The redhead—Merida—leaned in, her face filling his vision. Her freckles stood out like specks of cinnamon on milk-pale skin. “You heard her. You proposed to me first. In Glencoe, with the rain coming down sideways. Don’t you dare forget it.”
The dark-haired woman’s laugh was a soft, silken thing. “Darling, you know flexibility is my specialty.” Her fingers, which had been tracing the IV line, now brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. “We discussed a penthouse. With a view of the whole city. You were very… specific.”
The pressure on his legs shifted as the blonde, Jessie, leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of his hips. The scent of vanilla and whiskey washed over him. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, meant only for him, but it carried in the tense silence. “Adrian Vance, I rode you harder than any bull in Texas. Don’t you dare forget who you are when you’re with me.”
A monitor to his left started beeping faster. The throb in his head intensified, a drumbeat of pure panic. Proposals? Penthouses? He looked from one face to another, searching for a joke, a hint of recognition, anything. He saw only fierce, unwavering certainty in their eyes.
“I…” he rasped, his throat raw. “I don’t…”
Merida’s grip tightened. “Don’t what?”
“I don’t know any of you.”
The words hung in the sterile air, sucking the noise from the room. The beeping monitor was the only sound. Jessie’s confident smirk faltered. The dark-haired woman’s hand stilled on his brow. Merida’s eyes narrowed, her gaze scanning his face, looking for the lie.
“What did you say?” Merida’s voice was dangerously quiet.
“I don’t know who you are,” Adrian repeated, the truth of it cold and terrifying in his gut. He looked at the woman holding his wrist. “Or you.” His eyes shifted to the one touching his face. “Or you.” He tried to sit up, a fresh spike of pain shooting through his skull. “What is this? Some kind of joke?”
The nurse finally pushed forward. “Ladies, that’s enough. He needs rest. The doctor said there might be confusion.”
“Confusion?” Jessie slid off the bed, her boots hitting the linoleum with a sharp click. “He looks me in the eye two weeks ago and tells me he’s never felt more alive. Now he’s confused?”
The dark-haired woman—Helen, he vaguely recalled one of them using the name—stood her ground, her expression unreadable. “Memory is a tricky thing, Adrian. It often hides what we don’t wish to see.”
Merida was the last to release him. She let go of his wrist slowly, and he saw the angry red marks her fingers had left behind. She stared at him, her fiery energy banked into something colder, more calculating. “You’ll remember,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “One way or another.”
They filed out, a procession of simmering emotion, leaving the scent of perfume, leather, and fury in their wake. The door sighed shut behind them.
Adrian sank back into the thin pillow, his heart hammering against his ribs. He stared at the grey sky through the window, the beeping of the monitor gradually slowing to a steadier rhythm. The throbbing in his head was a constant reminder of the void where his life should be.
He looked at the pale skin of his wrist, already beginning to bruise. He looked at the empty space where three impossible women had just been.
A single, clear thought cut through the fog.
What have I done?