I Woke Up In The ER To The Girl I Lost 15 Years Ago — Then Her Millionaire Ex Made A Huge Mistake

Part 2

What exactly happened after graduation?

I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.

The man in the suit looked sharply between the two of us.

Is there some kind of problem here? he demanded.

Heather straightened her posture so quickly that she almost became a total stranger again.

There is no problem, Craig, she said evenly.

My patient has a possible concussion, so I am simply assessing his memory.

Craig.

Of course his name was Craig.

He had the rigid posture of a man who had never once apologized to a vending machine after it stole his dollar.

He was tall, clean-shaven, and hospital-adjacent without looking hospital-worn.

His glossy ID badge read, ‘Davis Medical Group, Board Director’.

Davis.

My chest tightened, and this time it had absolutely nothing to do with my fractured ribs.

You two actually know each other?

Craig asked, his eyes narrowing.

High school, Heather said dismissively.

Just high school?

Somehow, that casual dismissal hurt more than the road rash.

It is a small world, Craig said, offering that predatory smile again.

It gets a lot smaller when you are completely horizontal, I shot back.

Heather coughed once into her fist to hide a sound.

Craig absolutely did not laugh.

He stepped aggressively closer to her.

Your mother has called twice tonight, he said.

She wants to make absolutely sure you are still coming to the dinner on Sunday.

I am working a double shift, Heather replied.

She said you would say exactly that, Craig countered.

She clearly knows you very well.

His jaw flexed in obvious irritation.

Heather, can we please not do this right here?

The small trauma bay seemed to shrink rapidly around those tense words.

I was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that I was shirtless under a very thin hospital blanket.

I had absolutely no business witnessing whatever toxic dynamic was happening between them.

Heather must have felt my discomfort because she immediately reached for my medical chart.

Mr. Robinson desperately needs a CT scan, she announced in her professional tone.

We will have to talk about this later.

Craig looked down at me again, and this time I recognized a very specific emotion in his face.

It was not jealousy.

It was pure ownership.

Feel better, Tyler, he said, making my name sound like something unpleasant he had stepped in.

Then he turned and walked out.

The heavy curtain whispered shut behind him.

For a few agonizing seconds, Heather did not move an inch.

The ER kept roaring around us with sirens and shouts, but inside that little bay, everything went dead quiet.

Ex?

I finally asked.

She gave me an incredibly tired look.

You are being very subtle, she noted.

I am on heavy painkillers, I reminded her.

My subtle filter is currently bleeding in trauma bay three.

Fiancé, she corrected.

The word hit me cleanly in the chest.

Oh, I said.

Former fiancé, she added much too quickly.

That correction helped significantly less than it probably should have.

She clipped the plastic chart to the foot of my hospital bed.

We should really focus on your head injury now, she deflected.

I would absolutely love to, I said.

Unfortunately, you just asked me if I remember something from graduation right before a soap opera walked in wearing Italian shoes.

Heather looked at the curtain, then back down at me.

Her green eyes were heavily guarded now.

Do you really not remember? she asked softly.

I tried to force my brain back fifteen years.

Graduation was a blur of cheap folding chairs arranged on the damp football field.

I remembered my mother crying into a crumpled tissue, and my father not bothering to show up.

I remembered Heather walking elegantly across the stage to impossible amounts of applause.

I remembered leaving the ceremony early because I had a closing shift at a local grocery store.

Then later, there was heavy rain, a dark parking lot, and someone crying.

I frowned as a sharp pain sparked right behind my eyes.

Heather gently touched my arm.

Do not force it, she said.

I remember seeing you standing outside the gym, I said slowly.

After the ceremony, you were really upset.

Her fingers tightened slightly against my skin.

I asked if you were okay, and you gave me your denim jacket, she whispered.

That memory came back sharp enough to physically hurt.

It had been a faded blue denim jacket, my absolute favorite.

It had a small hole near the left cuff.

Heather Davis had been standing under the awning while everyone else took happy photos with flowers and balloons.

Dark mascara was streaked down her perfect face.

Her wealthy parents had been arguing near a massive black luxury car.

You said you couldn’t go home, I recalled.

Heather’s eyes shone brightly under the harsh lights.

I didn’t, she said.

Memory opened in my mind like a heavy door being kicked in.

I had driven her in my beat-up Honda Civic to the quiet overlook above the river.

We sat there for hours while the rain ticked softly against the windshield.

She had confessed that her controlling parents had already chosen her college, her major, and her entire life.

She said it felt exactly like ordering a person from a menu.

She said she felt like she was slowly disappearing.

I remembered her laughing when I confessed I had never been accepted anywhere because I hadn’t even applied.

I remembered her asking me what I truly wanted to do with my life.

I remembered telling her that she needed to leave before she became someone she hated.

Then there was something else.

A kiss.

It wasn’t a fantasy, and it wasn’t a dream I had polished over the years.

It was real.

Heather’s warm hand had rested on my damp cheek.

Her mouth had trembled nervously against mine.

The entire world had gone completely silent except for the falling rain.

I stared up at her in shock.

You kissed me, I said.

Her smile was incredibly sad.

You kissed me back, she replied.

My heart monitor made one single, accusing beep.

But the very next day, I said, you were completely gone.

Heather looked down at the floor.

My father put me on a plane to Boston that morning.

I had no phone, and I got no goodbye.

But I wrote to you, Tyler.

You what?

I asked.

I wrote letters, she insisted.

Three of them.

I never got any letters, I said, my voice cracking.

Her face changed drastically.

Before either of us could speak another word, an orderly arrived to wheel me away to imaging.

Heather stepped aside, but as my bed started rolling, she leaned very close.

Then someone made absolute sure that you didn’t, she whispered.

As they pushed me down the busy hall, I saw Craig watching us from beside the nurse’s station.

He stole fifteen years of our lives, so what exactly was I supposed to do now?