Page 61 of Bean

I bowed my head. “Dinner.”

“Can you cook chicken?”

I couldn’t help a smile in spite of the fact that it was obvious his memory was giving him hell. “No. But I was hoping, with your help, I could come up with something edible.”

He smiled a little, cocking his head to the side. “I can do edible. Do you have anything ready to cook?”

My heart sank as I turned off the car and reached for the door handle. “Yeah, sweet thing. We have chicken.”

I followed behind him and noticed his steps were more shuffled than usual. He didn’t seem lost, though, so I didn’t let myself worry too much. Obviously, he’d dealt with this kind of thing before, and I would take his lead.

The moment I got the door open, Bean made his way to the bathroom, so I went to my walk-in closet to change into something more comfortable. When I was in sweats, I foundBean sitting on the couch staring at the TV, which was off. He didn’t look up at me as I lowered myself beside him and reached for his hand.

“I was thinking we could order a pizza.”

He looked over at me. “How long has that chicken been out?”

Oh. He remembered. “Just a day. Not on the counter the whole time,” I added with a quick wink. “I’m bad, but I’m not that bad.”

He laughed and shook his head, then blinked rapidly before focusing on my face. “Jarek.”

“Rhymes with Derek,” I parroted back.

He smiled and leaned in, offering me a kiss I happily took. He hummed against my lips, then pulled back just far enough so he could knock our foreheads together. “I don’t think I’m up for sex stuff tonight.”

“Me either.” That hadn’t been true earlier in the day, but it was true now. I just wanted to be near him. “How hard is chicken soup?”

“Not hard,” he said. “But how about chicken and dumplings? I have a really good recipe we can make up quick.”

I took his chin and kissed him before standing and offering him a hand. “That sounds amazing. Lead the way.”

It didn’t take long for him to have a small pile of dough to be rolled—which I was doing—and some chopped carrots, celery, and onions in the pot browning with the chicken. He called it some French word I’d forgotten to write down, but I figured I’d ask him again when his focus was better.

He was going through all the motions, but as time passed, his words began to get lost. He was struggling with his aphasia—getting lost midway through sentences, and he kept frowning and rubbing his temples.

It was starting to scare me a little, but I didn’t want to set him off by asking.

In that moment, I wished I’d had Nash’s number so I could at least ask what to do. But that also seemed like I was babying him, and that was the last thing I wanted. I only regretted not having some kind of game plan for when something like this happened.

“You’re not paying attention!” he snapped, dragging me out of my thoughts.

“Bean,” I said slowly, cautiously.

He held the knife at me, then suddenly flung it into the sink. “No! Why am I doing this if you’re not going to pay attention? I told you over and over, and now we’re here with thisturkeytrying to have a nice…a nice…” His words dropped from a shout to a whisper.

“Honey?”

He looked up at me, but I swore he couldn’t see me in that moment. His right hand flew to his temple. “I need to sit down.”

I grabbed him before he fell over and half-led, half-carried him to the couch. Arranging the pillows with one hand, I eased him down and knelt beside him, pushing the hair off his forehead.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I whispered.

He squeezed his eyes tight shut. “Something doesn’t feel right.”His words were slurred.

Oh god, was he having a stroke?From the little research I’d done, I knew people with a brain injury were at risk for those. “What do I do?”

“I’m…I…” His mouth opened and closed like he was trying to find the words. Then, suddenly, he went completely still.And then he began to shake.