What If Mercedes had Amnesia
This story follows Mercedes Jones, who, after finding out some devastating news and getting into a car crash, realizes she can't remember who she is or Who she's engaged to.
The low hum of a luxury engine purred as Mercedes pulled her sleek silver Mercedes-Benz SUV into the parking lot. She smiled at the irony—her fiancé always joked that the car was named after her. Adjusting the strap of her leather tote, she glanced at her engagement ring and allowed herself a small smile. Today was about reminding Steven that, despite his stress, they were building a future together.
Her moment of peace was shattered by the growl of a large engine pulling into the spot next to hers. She glanced over just as a brand-new black Ford pickup truck came to a stop, towering over her SUV. She didn't even need to see who was driving to feel her mood sour.
Sam Evans.
The door swung open, and Sam climbed out, every bit as irritating as she remembered. He wore his signature cocky smirk, his blond hair tousled like he hadn't even bothered to try. He looked more rugged than usual, his jeans and boots smudged with dirt, as though he'd just come from some outdoor adventure.
"Well, if it isn't Princess Mercedes," Sam drawled, slinging his jacket over one shoulder.
Mercedes's nostrils flared. "Don't call me that."
"What, Princess? It suits you." His smirk deepened as he leaned casually against his truck. "Or would you prefer 'Short Stack'? That one always seemed to hit the mark."
"Sam," she snapped, slamming her car door shut more forcefully than necessary. "Don't you have a tractor pull to get to or something?"
"Nah," he said easily, some falling into step beside her as they walked toward the building. "Figured I'd swing by and see my brother. But look at this—we're on the same schedule. Guess the universe just loves throwing us together."
"Or it hates me," she muttered under her breath.
"What was that, Princess?" he asked, leaning closer, clearly enjoying how much he was getting under her skin.
She stopped abruptly and turned to glare at him. "I don't know why you insist on calling me things like 'Princess' or 'Short Stack.' It's tired, Sam. It wasn't funny in high school and is not funny now."
He shrugged. "You just make it so easy. Besides, you called me 'Meathead' for two years straight, so I'd say we're even."
"That's because you were a meathead." She resumed walking, her heels clicking against the pavement.
"And you were the perfect little overachiever," he shot back, grinning. "Cheer captain, debate champion, Glee Club star—you really did it all, huh?"
"Some of us had ambitions beyond stuffing our faces with pizza after football games," she said sweetly.
He laughed, his deep, rumbling voice echoing through the lot. "Still got that fire, Princess. Steven really knows how to pick 'em."
The mention of Steven was like a bucket of cold water, reminding her why she was here in the first place. She shook her head, refusing to let Sam rile her up any further.
By the time they reached the elevator, Mercedes had managed to pull herself together. She stepped inside, keeping her gaze fixed on the doors as Sam leaned against the wall with infuriating ease.
"You know," he said after a moment, "for someone who's got it all figured out, you sure picked the wrong Evans."
Her jaw clenched, but she refused to take the bait. The elevator dinged, and she stepped out without a word, her heels clicking purposefully against the polished floor.
Sam followed her, his boots thudding heavily behind her. "You're welcome for the company, by the way," he called out.
"Don't flatter yourself," she shot over her shoulder.
As they approached Steven's office, Mercedes confidently reached for the door, ready to surprise her fiancé. But something in the pit of her stomach twisted, a faint warning that she couldn't quite place.
Sam, still trailing her, raised an eyebrow. "You going to knock, or are you just going to barge in like usual?"
She rolled her eyes and pushed the door open. "Watch and learn, Meathead."
Neither of them was prepared for what they saw on the other side.
Mercedes stepped into Steven's office, a confident smile on her face. But that smile evaporated in an instant.
Steven, Mercedes's fiancé, wasn't at his desk. He wasn't even seated in one of the plush armchairs by the window.
He was standing in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around a woman in a formfitting red dress. The woman's fingers trailed lazily along the back of Steven's neck, and before either of them noticed the intrusion, she leaned in and kissed him.
The sound of Mercedes's sharp gasp cut through the room like a knife.
Steven jolted back, his face going pale as he saw Mercedes standing frozen in the doorway. The woman, startled, took a step back, but not before giving Mercedes a quick once-over and smirking as if she'd just won some kind of twisted game.
"Mercedes—wait, it's not what it looks like," Steven stammered, stepping toward her with his hands raised.
"Oh, so you didn't have your tongue down her throat just now?" Mercedes snapped, her voice shaking with fury.
The woman chuckled softly, clearly unfazed. "Steven, do you want me to leave?"
"Leave," Mercedes hissed, glaring at her. "Before I do something you'll regret."
"I won't leave til he tells me to." The woman purred.
Mercedes started towards her, but Steven stopped her. "Go, Penny, now!" He growled.
The woman shrugged, grabbing her purse off the desk. "He's all yours—if you still want him," she said with a wink as she sauntered out of the office.
Mercedes clenched her fists, her heart pounding in her ears as Steven reached for her arm.
"Baby, please," Steven begged, his voice desperate. "You have to let me explain."
She yanked her arm away from his grasp. "Explain? Explain what, Steven? How long has this been going on? Was she a mistake, or am I the mistake?"
"Stop it, Mercedes, you are no man's mistake." he said, his tone growing more frustrated. "You don't understand—"
She cut him off with a resounding slap across his cheek. "Don't you dare tell me I don't understand? I understand perfectly."
Steven stumbled back, rubbing his jaw. "You're overreacting—"
"Overreacting?" Mercedes's voice rose, her anger spilling over. "I just caught my fiancé making out with another woman before `our engagement party. But sure, I'm the one overreacting."
The sound of hurried footsteps behind her made her realize Sam had entered the office. He took one look at the scene, his expression darkening. "What the hell, Steven?"
Steven shot him a glare. "Stay out of this, Sam."
"Like hell I will," Sam retorted, his eyes narrowing. "What are you doing kissing someone else when you've got her?" He gestured toward Mercedes.
"Sam, this isn't your business," Steven snapped.
"You made it my business when you decided to be a complete idiot," Sam said, stepping protectively closer to Mercedes.
Mercedes shook her head, her anger quickly dissolving into heartbreak. "I can't do this," she whispered, turning toward the door.
"Mercedes, wait!" Steven called after her. He tried to follow, but Sam stepped in his way, blocking him.
"She doesn't want to talk to you right now," Sam said firmly.
"Move, Sam," Steven growled.
"No," Sam said, his voice low. "You've done enough."
Mercedes didn't wait to hear the rest of their argument. Her heels clicked against the tile as she stormed out of the building and into the parking lot, tears blurring her vision. She could hear Steven and Sam shouting behind her, but she didn't stop.
Climbing into her SUV, she gripped the steering wheel tightly, her chest heaving as she tried to calm herself. But the betrayal was too raw, too overwhelming.
She started the engine and sped out of the parking lot, ignoring the voices calling her name.
Her hands trembled as she drove, the familiar streets passing in a haze. She didn't have a destination—she just needed to get away.
But as she approached the bridge, a car cut her off, swerving recklessly into her lane. She slammed on the brakes, but it was too late.
The SUV skidded, crashing through the guardrail.
The last thing Mercedes saw was the rushing water below before everything went black.
The screech of tires and shattering metal echoed in the night as Mercedes's SUV broke through the guardrail. The sleek vehicle plunged into the icy river below, flipping as it hit the water. Cold rushed in, filling the cabin and cutting through her like a blade.
Mercedes fought to free herself, her fingers trembling as they struggled with the seatbelt. Darkness crept into the corners of her vision as the frigid water rose higher, stealing her breath. Her last coherent thought was not of Steven's betrayal but of the way Sam had looked at her—his face raw with anger and something else she couldn't name.
Sam paced furiously in the parking lot, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. He'd called Mercedes twice already, each unanswered ring stoking the fire of his anxiety.
Steven stormed out of the building, his face pale and tight with worry. "She's not picking up," he said, his voice cracking.
"No kidding," Sam snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut. "What were you even thinking, Steven? If you had just kept it in your pants—"
"I didn't know she was going to kiss me!" Steven interrupted, his voice defensive. "She came onto me, Sam. I pushed her away."
Sam rounded on him, his eyes blazing. "You call that pushing her away? Because from where I was standing, it sure as hell didn't look like it!"
"She's my fiancée," Steven said, his voice rising. "I wouldn't—"
"You wouldn't? You already did! She saw you, Steven. She saw you." Sam jabbed a finger at him, his voice trembling with anger. "You broke her heart, and now she's out there, alone, because of you!"
Steven opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the wail of approaching sirens. Both men froze, their heads snapping toward the flashing red and blue lights.
Sam's stomach dropped. He didn't wait to think. Without another word, he strode to his truck and climbed in.
"Sam, wait!" Steven called, running after him. He yanked open the passenger door and climbed in.
Sam didn't say a word. His jaw clenched tight, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel and drove toward the bridge.
The scene at the bridge was a scene of chaos. Police officers directed traffic, and floodlights illuminated the broken guardrail. A crane hoisted Mercedes's mangled SUV from the water, its once-sleek frame crumpled and dripping.
Sam slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the truck, his heart pounding.
"Where is she?" he shouted, running toward the ambulance.
The sight stopped him cold.
Mercedes lay on a stretcher, her body limp and her skin unnervingly pale. Her hair clung to her face in damp curls, and her soaked clothes clung to her slight frame. She looked lifeless, except for her chest rising and falling faintly under the weight of the oxygen mask.
Sam's breath hitched, his feet carrying him forward without thought. "Mercedes!"
"Sir, you need to give us space," a paramedic said, stepping in front of him.
Sam ignored them, his knees hitting the pavement beside her. "Mercedes, you have to wake up. Come on, Short Stack. Don't do this to me."
Steven appeared behind him, his face ashen. "Is she—"
"She's alive," the paramedic said curtly. "But she's hypothermic and may have a concussion. We need to move her now."
Sam stood abruptly, turning to Steven. "Take my truck and head to the hospital."
"What?" Steven blinked, his expression confused.
"Take my truck!" Sam barked, shoving the keys into Steven's chest. "And call her parents. They deserve to know."
Steven hesitated, but the urgency in Sam's tone left no room for argument. He nodded and turned toward the truck.
At the hospital, the nurse stepped into the waiting room, her expression professional but sympathetic.
"Ms. Jones is stable," she said. "The doctor will update you soon, but one of you can go in now to see her."
Steven stood immediately. "I'm her fiancé. I'll—"
"No," Sam interrupted, stepping in front of him.
Steven frowned, his expression twisting in frustration. "She's my fiancée, Sam, not yours. She would want me there."
Sam took a step closer, his eyes cold and unforgiving. "No, the hell she wouldn't. This accident is your fault. You sit here and wait for her parents."
"Sam—"
"No," Sam cut him off, his voice low and dangerous. "You've done enough. You don't get to go in there and pretend like you care after what you did."
"What like you do? You two can't even stand each other!" Steven spat.
"If you step foot in her room before she tells you its ok, I will have you removed," Sam growled. "And once they learn why she left crying, I am sure her parents, namely her father, would agree with me."
"Sam, I'm your brother."
"Yeah, unfortunately, you are," Sam said, staring at him.
Steven looked like he wanted to argue, but the weight of Sam's glare kept him silent.
Without another word, Sam turned and walked into Mercedes's room.
The sight of her made his chest tighten. She looked so small in the hospital bed, her usually vibrant energy reduced to quiet stillness. Her hair was damp, framing her face in loose curls, and her complexion was pale, almost fragile.
"Hey, Short Stack," Sam said softly, pulling a chair to her bedside.
Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, they met his. She didn't say anything, but her lips twitched faintly, almost like a smile.
"You scared us," Sam murmured, his voice low and thick with emotion. He reached for her hand, wrapping his larger one around hers. "You scared me."
Mercedes's gaze stayed on him, her expression unreadable. She didn't speak, but her fingers curled weakly against his.
"Rest," he said, brushing a damp curl from her forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."
Her lips twitched again, the ghost of a smile flickering before her eyes drifted shut.
Sam leaned back in the chair, his grip on her hand never wavering.