Casablanca
She wakes up, blinking slowly, staring at the ceiling. She can't quite remember anything. She has no idea where she is. Names, places, dates, faces. They mean almost nothing to her. People in white robes come and go. People talk and weep. People smile and ask too many strange questions. She feels like she's still drowning. She has no memory of the past few years. It's the result of her brain damage. She is recently divorced. She has been shamelessly cheated. Once again she's the black sheep of her family. But that's okay. She still has her job. She now has her own apartment. The bedroom is small but the rent is cheap. One day, one day she'll finally win the lottery.
For some unknown reason she doesn't want to ask about her father. For some unknown reason she's afraid to look her mother in the eyes. What the HELL has happened to her elder sister? Who the heck is that eager little man? Val got divorced and then married again? Why? How? When? She's so confused. Her head starts to ache. She's bone-tired and exhausted. She dares not fall asleep. What if she wakes up tomorrow morning and suddenly forgets her own name? And what is Joe Morelli doing here?
"Cupcake," He tries to say but falls silent instead.
He isn't supposed to be here. Her mother has made herself brutally clear. He was told that Stephanie can't remember anything between them. He was asked to leave Stephanie alone. She's in a fragile state. He's here to grab his chance. He has invested too much. He can't just give up. And she did accept his ring. And they were actually in love. Well, he's not lying to himself. He is—was—whatever—the winner of the game. He was going to be the happy groom. He was this close to his dream. Average life. Ordinary peace. Small happiness. Everyday wonders. Sweet, sweet home. Beautiful kids. But now she's looking at him as if he's a hairy roach or something extremely unpleasant and equally nasty. The distrust and disgust in her misty blue eyes stab through his heart like a sharpest knife. He's no longer the man she'd been sharing her bed with, he suddenly realizes. He's the dirty rude sneaky rat bastard who took her virginity and wrote it all out on men's public bathroom walls. He's the cheap asshole who threatened to sue her for his broken leg. He's the sly little jerk who tricked and molested her that hot stuffy summer day.
"Cupcake," He tries again.
She grabs something from the bedside table and throws it at his head. "Get out." She hisses. "And don't you EVER call me that again."
He stands up and leaves. He knew she was going to yell. He didn't know what else to do. It was better to play it safe. There was no need to take the risk. He can always come back when she's calmer and more stable. He can always try again. There is always tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. Tomorrow he will have another chance. With the help of her favorite pizza. And a box of her favorite donuts. Yes, tomorrow he will stand a better chance. And maybe, maybe, when he wakes up tomorrow, everything will come back to normal and Stephanie will be herself again. With a small happy smile he gets into his car and pulls away.
With longing eyes Stephanie Plum looks at the plastic chair beside her narrow hospital bed. She's waiting for someone to be here. Who is that someone? She has no idea.