My head shakes of its own accord. "This will not help; I'll never be the man they all remember and want to return."
"Your injuries to your shoulder and leg will continue to heal with physical therapy. Your prognosis is excellent, but only with continued work. Choosing to not work on any injury will do nothing but prolong the issues." He pauses, shoving his hand in his pocket.
“As we've discussed, the damage you've sustained to your Parietal and Temporal lobe doesn't necessarily mean you will never recover. We attribute your memory loss to your traumatic brain injury, and as a result, you have post-traumatic amnesia. This doesn't have to be a death sentence."
"But..." I wait because I know there's more.
His head drops. "You may never recover from the memory loss, but until we have more information, I refuse to guess what the future holds."
"And the fucking headaches? I suppose I'll get used to them or learn to live with them." My chest constricts as I fight off the fear hunting me down day and night of living a normal life.
"I can't promise you anything, but I can say working with a specialist is my best advice for you, and the only hope you may have of regaining your life." He folds his arms, waiting for me now.
"What if," I press my fingers into the sides of my head, praying for some relief. "I don't want to?"
"I suppose that's something you have to figure out on your own." He shifts, moving his weight from one foot to the other. "Let me make the referral, and you can make the decision from there."
"Even if I decide to go, I don't have much hope." I watch as his demeanor changes, he disagrees with me.
Doctor Burgess moves forward, readying to deepen the argument, I'm sure but is interrupted by a sound out in the hallway. Before he can finish his sentence, the entrance is filled frame to frame with a mountain of a man.
"Do you remember who I am?" His deep timbre breaks the silence.
He's pushed quickly to the side as his boss walks into the room. "He can't recall things before the accident, asshole."
"Jackson," I offer my hand as he approaches me. "happy to see all of you again."
"You're looking good, Hatch." He shakes it with a grin. Jackson Cole is the owner of Cole Securities, the company my father hired to extract me from my captors. Or so I'm told, I have no recollection of anything, including my father.
I move to the edge of the bed. "Doing much better, thanks to great doctors."
"Just doing my job, gentlemen." He scribbles something in my file before smiling at me. "I'll let you visit and swing by a little later."
"Sounds like a plan."
"You might not remember who you are, but you're still country as hell!" The big guy takes my hand, slapping me on the back.
I wince, trying to laugh it off. "Yeah, I suppose so. Glad to see you, Mark."
Quinn Miller, another team member, glares at Mark. "Sometimes, I really wonder about you."
"I get that a lot, people can't stop thinking about me." Mark grins like a shit-eating opossum.
"But I'm what their dreams are made of." Quinn flexes, making all of us roll our eyes. He laughs, reaching to shake my hand. "How you doing, man?"
"Fine. I mean, as good as can be expected."
Jackson sits forward in his seat, brows pulled tight. "Have you had the chance to spend some time with your family?"
"Uh, no. I'm still trying to find my bearings." My parents came when I first arrived. Man, what a total disaster. My mom couldn't stop crying, and my dad was stoic. I didn't have the heart to tell them I only agreed to meet them because everyone else thought this was the best idea.
Quinn perches on the chair across from me. "I can't imagine what you're going through, I wish I had some incredible advice for you, but all I can offer is friendship."
"Yeah, man. We're here for you, you're family now." Mark's face draws, I can tell he means every word.
"I know, thank you. But right now, I'm lost." I fiddle with my fingers, which helps to keep from facing them.
Jackson presses on. "Have you given any thought about going home when you're released to see if you can acclimate?"
"We're not trying to push you, just concerned for you. Your dad moved heaven and hell to find you and bring you home." Quinn spouts, pricking my ire with his tone and the overall conversation.
I stand, pacing the room. "Yes, you've all explained how you rescued me, and I can't thank you enough, but nothing changes the fact I don't know who the fuck I am."
"When your father contacted me, I rejected the mission at first. There were hardly any details, and you were only missing a few weeks at that point. He pulled his senator card, and I still refused. He then spoke to me as a father. By the time he was finished, I was all in." Jackson leans forward on his knees.
“I'm positive your parents don't care if you need time to figure things out because all they wanted was you back on US soil and safe. Be honest with them, take the time you need, but don't cut them out of your life. There might be a day you'll regret not trying.”
My pacing slows with every word, something deep inside me pulls and tugs, knotting my stomach. "Maybe the therapist Doctor Burgess wants me to talk to isn't such a bad idea."
"I don't understand how it could hurt, and please, don't think we're pushing you out. We're here, brother." Mark's voice reverberates in my chest, his words settling in and taking root.
I lean against the wall, and my breathing slows. "I can't go home to who I was, and I'm not sure they understand, I may never be the son I was before. I'm not even sure I'm me anymore."
"I can't think of a better place to find out, and we'll be a call away," Quinn adds.
"Right now, I can't go back to who I was, but I can move forward and see what happens."
Jackson stands, moving closer to me. "You have plenty of time, take what you need and consider moving forward in some way."
My newfound brothers spend the afternoon with me until Jackson needs to make his flight time back to the West Coast. I can't explain how much this means to me I'm not alone.
As they ready to leave, each makes sure I have their cell numbers. My parents brought me a new phone once I recovered enough to learn how to use one again.
I'm told my recovery has been astonishing, most never recover. I realize I'm one of the lucky ones. Funny thing is, I don't feel lucky. I'm not sure how to describe what I think, except for sadness, and I have no idea why.
"Now, if I can only figure out the rest of my life."
Chapter Four
Creed
Two years later…
"Creed?" The soft words echo around me, and longing fills my chest. I gasp with the pain of missing something or someone. She sounds broken, much like me. "Creed... come home. Find your way back to me."
I shoot straight up in bed, sweat dripping from my body. The dream is always so vivid, like I'm looking down at the scene, watching as it happens in real-time. I shake my head, trying to find my bearings.