Page 96 of Bean

He hesitated. “Yes, but your brain will never return to how it was. Your memory issues may improve, but they won’t go away, and that’s true for most of your other symptoms as well.”

“But there’s still hope things can get better?”

“Yes.”

“What do I have to do for that? I will do whatever it takes. Even five percent better would make a massive difference for me.”

Alfred nodded. “I will set you up with some specialists in this field who I think can help you. There’s a memory specialist I’ve worked with who has seen some amazing results with people with TBIs, and I can also recommend a psychologist who may be able to help.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He shook his head. “No, Bean, thank you. Thank you for your service to this country and to the freedom we hold so dear. And thank you for offering up your time and energy to let me study your brain. It’s my profound hope the results will help people like you heal better and faster.”

I couldn’t have put it better myself.

But even that bit of hope couldn’t overcome the profound sadness and sense of loss that simmered inside me.

I wanted Jarek.

I needed Jarek.

I loved him. And I was not giving up.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

JAREK

I had never wished harder that the drink fizzing away in the lowball glass was more than just tonic water and lime. Not that drinking had ever solved any of my problems, but it would feel nice to deal with the missed calls and messages with a non-sober brain.

Getting drunk would have ruined me though. I would drunk-text Bean. Or, god forbid, drunk-text Gio, and I couldn’t have that.

I swirled the liquid in myglass, listening to the soft clink of ice, which I could barely hear over the chatter in the bar. It wasn’t my bar. It wasn’t where Zayd was or any of my friends. It wasn’t where I might run into Bean’s family. Or Bean himself.

It was some nondescript hipster piece of shit place with wood paneling on the walls and the smell of fresh lacquer. The beer menu was all IPAs from Seattle breweries with weird names like Pirate’s Golden Eye or Poison Apple or whatever edgy shit the young kids were coming up with these days.

Andrei looked uncomfortable too, except he was also on cloud nine because he was sitting next to Ivy, who was in her element. She was still in her pantsuit from work, but her lipstick had worn off and her hair was mostly falling out of her braid, andshe was winking at the bartender, which I knew was sending my brother into a feral frenzy.

I wanted to care. On any other day, I might have, but I was busy wallowing in my heartbreak.

My phone buzzed, and I shoved it deeper into my bag.

“You’re going to have to take his call someday,” Andrei pointed out.

I lifted a brow at him. “Why is that, exactly? It’s not like we were married.”

Ivy gave me a flat, irritated look. “Because you two were more than fuck buddies, and you know it. And ghosting the guy you’re in love with is not it, my friend.”

I hated her a little right then, but only because she was right. I was wallowing in a broken heart, but I was also wallowing in the fact that I had ghosted him, which made me feel guilty. I had never been the kind of man to run from my problems like this, so why was I doing it now?

Oh right. Because the first man I had ever become truly vulnerable for had created aTen Things I Hate About Youlist.

Gio had done a lot of shitty things in our marriage, but he’d never made a list of all the reasons he could never love me and left them on display.

Although…it wasn’t like Bean had left them on display. He’d put them in his notebook, and I’d only been given permission to look at the sex stuff. Finding it had been an accident, but he hadn’t made the list to show me.

Unless he had. Unless he was hoping I’d snoop and find them and break up with him so he didn’t have to do the dirty work.

But if that was the case, why was he still calling and texting?