The Wife He Couldn't Forget

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“There you are. I’ll grab my shower quickly. Then I’ll get some breakfast together for us, okay?”

* * *

Xander caught the briefs she’d thrown at him and nodded. “Yeah, sounds good.”

The bathroom door closed behind her, and he sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling weak again. Damn, but this was getting old, he thought in exasperation as he pulled on his boxers and stood up to slide on his jeans. They dropped an indecent distance on his hips.

He stepped over to the chest of drawers and opened the one where he kept his belts. He was surprised to find the drawer filled with Olivia’s lingerie instead. Maybe he’d misjudged, he thought, opening another drawer and then another—discovering that the entire bureau was filled with her things. That wasn’t right, was it? It was as if he didn’t share a room with her anymore. She said she’d moved his clothes to the guest room, but it seemed odd that she’d have moved everything. And shouldn’t there be empty spaces left behind where his things had been?

Xander spied the pair of trousers he’d worn yesterday, lying on the floor. He picked them up and tugged the belt free from its loops. As he fed the belt through his Levi’s he wondered what else he’d forgotten. What else was so completely out of sync in this world he’d woken up to? Even Olivia was different from how he remembered her. There was a wariness there he’d never known her to have before. As if she now guarded her words, not to mention herself, very carefully.

Olivia came through from the bathroom, and his nostrils flared as he picked up the gentle waft of scent that came through with her. A tingling began deep in his gut. She always had that effect on him. Had right from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. So how was it that he could remember that day as if it was yesterday, yet his brain had switched off an entire chunk of their life together?

They went downstairs—Olivia tucked under his shoulder with her arm around his back, he with one hand on the rail and taking one step at a time. His balance and coordination were still not quite there, and he fought to suppress his irritation at being so ridiculously helpless and having to depend on his wife to do such a simple thing. He normally flew down these stairs, didn’t he?

“What would you like for breakfast?” Olivia asked when they reached the kitchen.

“Anything but hospital food,” he replied with a smile. “How about your homemade muesli?”

She looked startled at his request. “I haven’t made that in years, but I have store-bought.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just have some toast. I can get that myself.”

Olivia gently pushed him onto a stool by the counter. “Oh no you won’t. Your first morning home, I’m making you a nice breakfast. How about scrambled eggs and smoked salmon?”

His mouth watered. “That sounds much better. Thanks.”

He watched her as she moved around the kitchen, envying how she knew where everything was. None of it was familiar to him. The kitchen was different to the poorly fitted cupboards and temperamental old stove that had been here when they’d bought the property in a deceased estate auction. The place had been like a time capsule. The same family had owned it since it had been built. The last of the family line, an elderly spinster, had lived only on the ground floor in her later years, and nothing had been done to modernize the property since the early 1960s.

The aroma of coffee began to fill the room. Feeling uncharacteristically useless, Xander rose to get a couple of mugs from the glass-fronted cupboard. At least he could see where they were kept, he thought grimly. Automatically he put a heaping spoon of sugar in each mug.

“Oh, no sugar for me,” Olivia said, whipping one of the mugs away and pouring the sugar back in the bowl before putting the mug back down again.

“Since when?”

“A couple of years ago, at least.”

Just how many of the nuances of their day-to-day life did he need to relearn, he thought as he picked up the mugs and moved toward the coffee machine. She must have seen the look that crossed his face at the news.

“It’s okay, Xander. Whether I take sugar or not isn’t the end of the world.”

“It might not be, but what about important stuff? The things we’ve done together, the plans we’ve made in the past few years? What if I never remember? Hell, I don’t even remember the accident that caused me to lose my memory, let alone what car I was driving.”

His voice had risen to a shout, and Olivia’s face, always a window to her emotions, crumpled into a worried frown—her eyes reflecting her distress.

“Xander, none of those things are important. What’s important is that you’re alive and that you’re here. With me.”

She closed the distance between them and slid her arms around his waist, laying her head on his shoulder and squeezing him tight as if she would never let him go. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, trying hard to put a lid on the anger that had boiled up within him at something so simple, so stupid, as misremembering whether or not his wife took sugar in her coffee.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pressing a kiss on the top of her head. “I just feel so bloody lost right now.”

“But you’re not lost,” Olivia affirmed with another squeeze of her arms. “You’re here with me. Right where you belong.”

The words made sense, but Xander struggled with accepting them. Right now he didn’t feel as if he belonged here at all. And the idea was beginning to scare him.

Five (#ulink_054be3dc-acc1-5ed6-8fad-eb4b05774c85)

Olivia could feel him mentally withdrawing from her and it made her want to hold on to him all the harder. The medical team had warned her that Xander would experience mood swings. It was all part and parcel of what he’d been through and what his brain was doing to heal itself. She gave him one more squeeze and then let him go.

“Shall we eat breakfast out on the patio?” she asked as brightly as she could. “Why don’t you pour our coffees, and then maybe you could set the table out there for me while I finish making breakfast.”

Without waiting for a response, she busied herself getting place mats and cutlery and putting them on a large wooden tray with raised edges so that if he faltered nothing would slide off. She couldn’t mollycoddle him all the time, but no one said she couldn’t try to make things easier for him, either. She went ahead and opened the doors that led onto the patio, ensuring that the way was clear for him with nothing to trip over.

“There, I’ll be out in a minute or two,” she said after he’d filled both mugs with coffee. He seemed to hesitate. “Something the matter, Xander?”

“I didn’t notice yesterday if you still take milk or not.”

His voice was flat, with an air of defeat she’d never heard from him before. Not even after Parker died.

“I do, thanks.”

She turned around to the stove and poured the beaten eggs into the pan rather than let him see the pity that she knew would be on her face. As she stirred the egg in the pan, she listened, feeling her entire body relax when he picked up the tray and slowly began to move out of the kitchen. When the eggs were almost done, she sprinkled in some chopped chives from her herb garden and stirred the egg mixture one last time before loading the steaming mix onto warmed plates. She garnished the egg with some dots of sour cream, another sprinkle of chives and some cracked pepper, then added the smoked salmon shavings on the side. Satisfied the meal looked suitably appealing, she carried the plates out to the patio.

Xander was standing on the edge of the pavers, staring at the cherry blossom tree he’d planted when they moved in.

“It’s grown, hasn’t it?” Olivia remarked as she put the plates down on the table. “The tree. Do you remember the day we planted it?”

“Yeah, I do. It was a good day,” he said simply.

His words didn’t do justice to the fun they’d had completing the raised brick bed and then filling it with barrow loads of the soil and compost that had been delivered. After they’d planted the tree, they’d celebrated with a bottle of imported champagne and a picnic on the grass. Then, later, made love long into the night.

“Come and have breakfast before it gets cold,” Olivia said, her voice suddenly thick with emotion.

They’d made so many plans for the garden that day, some of which they’d undertaken before their marriage fell apart. She hadn’t had the time or the energy to tackle the jobs they’d left undone on her own. In fact, she’d even debated keeping the house at all. Together with the separate one-bedroom cottage on the other side of the patio, where she had her studio, the property was far too big for one person alone.

But now he was home again, the place already felt better. As if a missing link had been slotted back in where it belonged. She pasted a smile on her face and took a sip of her coffee.

Xander desultorily applied himself to his plate of eggs.

“Is it not to your liking?” Olivia asked.

“It’s good,” he replied, taking another bite. “I don’t feel hungry anymore, that’s all.”

“Are you hurting? They said you’d have headaches. Do you want me to get your painkillers?”

“Livvy, please! Stop fussing,” he snapped before throwing down his fork and pushing up from his seat.

Olivia watched as he walked past the garden and out onto the lawn. His body was rigid, and he stood with his hands on his hips, feet braced slightly apart, as if he was challenging some invisible force in front of him.

She stared down at her plate and pushed her breakfast around with her fork, her own appetite also dwindling as the enormity of what she’d done began to hit home. He wasn’t a man to be pushed or manipulated; she’d learned that years ago. She’d made decisions before that had angered him. Like the day she brought Bozo home from the pound without discussing it with him first. And the day she stopped taking her birth control.

A shadow hovered over her, blocking the light. Xander’s hand, warm and strong and achingly familiar, settled on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

She placed a hand on top of his. “It’s okay. I guess I am fussing. I’ll try to keep a lid on it. It’s just that I love you so much, Xander. Hearing about your accident terrified me. Thinking that I could have lost you...” Her voice choked up again.

“Oh, Livvy. What are we going to do?” he said wearily, wiping a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb.

She shook her head slightly. “I don’t know. Just take one day at a time, I guess.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I guess that’s all we can do.”

He sat back down at the table and finished his breakfast. Afterward, he looked weary, as if every muscle in his body was dragging. Olivia gestured to the hammock she’d only recently strung up beneath the covered rafters.

“You want to test-drive the hammock for me while I tidy up?”

“Still fussing, Livvy,” he said, but it came with a smile. “But yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”

She gave him a small smile in return and gathered up their things to load the tray he’d brought out earlier.

“Do you want another coffee?” she asked.

“Maybe later, okay?”

She nodded and went back inside. After she’d stacked the dishwasher she intended to tackle the hand washing, but all of a sudden she was overwhelmed with the enormity of the road ahead. She closed her eyes and gripped the front of the countertop until her fingers ached and turned white. For a moment there, outside, when he was staring at the garden, she’d been afraid he’d remember that fateful day when he’d been playing with Bozo and Parker in the yard. She still remembered his shout at Parker to stop. There’d been something in his voice that had made her drop her paintbrush, leaving it to splatter on the floor as she’d turned and run outside in time to hear the sickening screech of tires.

A shudder ran through her body, and she pushed the memory aside. She’d dealt with all of that. Dealt with it and put it away in a filing cabinet in her mind and locked the drawers as effectively as she’d taped the boxes of Parker’s things closed before hiding them in the darkest recess of the attic.

Olivia opened her eyes and applied herself to scrubbing her cast-iron pan clean and wiping the stove top and the benches down until they gleamed. She cast a glance outside to where Xander lay in the hammock, asleep. Maybe now would be a good time to bring his clothes down from the attic and filter them in among the items she’d brought from his apartment. And put the whole lot back in their bedroom where he believed they belonged.

And they did belong there, she affirmed silently. Just as he belonged here, with her.

Mindful that she might not have much time, Olivia moved quickly. This time she managed to avoid looking at the boxes of Parker’s things altogether, right up until she turned around with the storage box and headed back to the door. She had to pass the shadowy nook where she’d put her child’s entire history. If only it could be as easy to put away the pain that crept out whenever she least expected it and attacked her heart and soul with rabid teeth.

The all-too-familiar burn of tears stung at the back of her eyes, and Olivia forced herself to keep moving toward the stairs. She wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not now. Not now, she repeated down each step on the spiral staircase. In her bedroom—their bedroom, she corrected herself again—she shoved her things to her side of the wardrobe and, after grabbing a few extra hangers, she shook out and hung up the clothes that had been packed in the box. Then she went to the spare room and transferred all the things she’d put in there to the bedroom, clearing the bureau drawers that she’d taken over and putting his clothing away.

It didn’t look as though he had much. Certainly not as much as she’d left behind at the apartment. Would he notice? Probably. She was talking about Xander, after all. A man who was precise and who took planning to exceptional levels. Detail was his middle name. It was part of why he was so good at what he did and why he’d rocketed through the company ranks. She doubted she’d be able to sneak another visit to his apartment now he was home, not for a while anyway. And if she did that, it would only cause more problems when he discovered she’d added more clothing to his existing wardrobe. No, she’d just have to stick with what she’d already done.

And hope like crazy that it would be enough.

* * *

Xander woke abruptly. At first confused as to his surroundings, he let his body relax when he realized he was home, lying in the hammock in the garden. He let his gaze drift around him, taking in the familiar and cataloguing the changes that they’d obviously made over time. They’d done a good job, he had to admit—if only he could remember actually doing any of it, then maybe he’d feel less like a stranger in his own home and more as if he belonged here.

Carefully, he levered himself to a sitting position and lowered his legs to the ground. He wondered where Olivia had got to. He couldn’t see her through the kitchen window. He got up and shuffled a few steps forward. Then, as if his brain had taken a little longer to wake up and join the rest of him, he moved with more confidence.

“Livvy?” he called as he went back inside the house.

The creak of floorboards sounded overhead, followed by her rapid footsteps on the stairs.

“Xander? Are you okay?” she called before she reached the hallway where he stood.

He watched as she did a quick inventory of him and suppressed the surge of irritation that she’d immediately jump to the conclusion there was something wrong. It wasn’t fair of him to be annoyed with her, he told himself. This was all as new and as intimidating for her as it was for him.