Chapter two

Asher's POV

The phone rings in the dark. A single sound that shatters my world.

I grab it blindly, squinting at the bright screen. 3:27 AM. Tasher Fauler. Xander's mom. My stomach drops before I even answer.

"Asher?" Her voice breaks. "Xander has been in a car accident."

Those words steal all the air from my lungs. My body moves on autopilot. Clothes thrown on. Keys grabbed. Heart racing so fast I feel dizzy.

The hospital waiting room is a special kind of hell. Bright lights hurt my eyes. The smell of disinfectant burns my nose. Tasher grips my hand, her normally perfect makeup streaked with tears.

"He was coming home from a shoot," she whispers. "A drunk driver ran a red light and slammed into his car. They said he hit his head on the window."

Fourteen hours. That's how long I wait before they let me see him. Fourteen hours of imagining the worst. Of picturing his beautiful face broken beyond repair. Of wondering if I'll ever see those ocean blue eyes look at me again, even with their usual coldness.

When they finally allow me in, I freeze at the doorway. Xander lies motionless under stark white sheets. His face is bruised, a bandage wrapped around his head. The steady beep of the heart monitor counts the seconds.

"Severe concussion... temporary amnesia... uncertain recovery timeline..." The doctor's words echo in my head as I approach the bed.

Xander's eyes open after three long days of waiting and sleeping on a chair. Those familiar blue eyes that have looked through me for months now hold something new. Confusion. Vulnerability. No recognition.

"So we're together?" he asks again, his voice soft. It's still his voice, that commanding tone that can silence a room, but stripped of its usual sharp edge.

My throat tightens. "Yes. For almost a year now."

He nods slowly, fingers playing with the edge of his blanket like a nervous child. "And I'm a model?"

"The top model at Falls Magazine," I explain. "Your family owns it. I'm the chief editor there."

Another careful nod as his eyes study my face with open curiosity. The Xander I know would never look at me this way. My Xander wears disinterest like armor.

"Are we happy?" he asks suddenly.

The question hits like a slap. Happy? How do I explain that I've spent months loving someone who treats our relationship like an inconvenient business meeting? That some nights I cry myself to sleep wondering why I'm not enough?

"We're... complicated," I finally say.

Silence fills the room. I watch emotions cross his face that I've never seen before. Sadness. Concern. Regret. Without his memories, without his walls, he's an open book.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I must be terrible to you."

My heart twists painfully. "No, you're not terrible. Just... distant sometimes."

"Why do you stay?"

The directness of his question startles me. Why do I stay? Because beneath the ice, I've seen glimpses of warmth. Brief moments when his guard slips. Because I believe something made him this way, and I keep hoping someday he'll trust me enough to let me in.

"Because I love you," I say simply.

His eyes widen slightly, surprised by my honesty. We sit in silence, the heart monitor marking time between us. For once, the quiet doesn't feel uncomfortable.

I reach for my coffee cup on the table, my hand accidentally brushing against his. A spark shoots up my arm at the contact. I pull back quickly, mumbling an apology.

"Don't," Xander says, his fingers capturing my retreating hand. "Come closer."

My breath catches as I lean forward, uncertain what he wants. He pulls me gently until our faces are inches apart. His breath warm against my lips, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my pulse race.

"I want to remember what it feels like," he whispers.

The scent of his shampoo makes my head swim. This isn't right. He doesn't remember me, doesn't remember us. But then his hand touches my cheek, and all rational thought disappears.

I press my lips against his, expecting the quick, emotionless kisses I'm used to. Instead, Xander responds with unexpected passion, his mouth moving against mine with hunger. His hand slides to my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, holding me close as if afraid I might leave.

This is how I've always dreamed kissing Xander would be. Not the cold pecks he normally allows, but this overwhelming connection. His lips are soft but demanding, urging mine to open. I melt into him, giving in to the desire I've hidden for so long.

The kiss feels endless. My hand moves without thinking, sliding beneath his hospital gown to find warm skin. My fingertips trace across his chest, finding his nipple and circling it gently.

Xander breaks the kiss with a soft moan that sends shivers down my spine. I've never heard that sound from him before, never seen his eyes darken with desire.

"Asher," he breathes my name like a prayer.

I continue exploring, watching in wonder as his eyes close, his breathing quickens. Each little gasp is a gift, proof that somewhere inside this man is the passion I've always believed existed.

"That feels..." His words fade into another moan as I roll his nipple between my fingers.

The sound of the door handle turning barely registers before the door swings open. A nurse steps in, clipboard in hand, her eyes widening at what she sees.

I yank my hand back, nearly falling off my chair. Xander quickly fixes his gown, his cheeks flushing red to match the heat in my face.

"I was just checking vitals," the nurse says, fighting back a smile. "But I can come back if you need privacy."

"No, it's fine," I stammer, straightening my shirt. "I was about to get coffee anyway."

Xander catches my wrist as I stand to leave, his eyes meeting mine with none of the embarrassment I expected. Instead, there's wonder there, and a silent plea.

"You'll come back?" he asks, voice barely audible.

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. As I step into the hallway, my lips still tingling from his kiss, one terrifying thought echoes in my mind:

What happens when his memory returns?