By breakfast the next morning, Adrian had developed a plan.

It was not a good plan. Noah knew this because Adrian had written its first step on the back of a hospital menu: FIND OUT IF THE HUSBAND DESERVES HIM.

"You realize you're recovering from a concussion," Noah said.

"I realize time is valuable."

"The neurologist said you need rest."

"Investigating an injustice is restful."

"An injustice?"

"A beautiful man married to someone who isn't me."

Noah looked at the ceiling. "I am going to need a stronger coffee."

The doctors had explained Adrian's condition that morning. His memories might return gradually, in fragments, or not completely. There was no reliable timetable.

He was medically stable, but headaches and fatigue would remain. They recommended familiar routines without forcing memories, and they insisted that he avoid driving for now.

Adrian had listened carefully. Then, as soon as the physician left, he asked when Elliot would visit.

"You have priorities," Noah observed.

"I'm an efficient man."

Elliot arrived shortly before noon carrying a clean sweatshirt and the charger Adrian always forgot to pack. He had barely crossed the threshold when Adrian sat straighter.

"Elliot. Great. I have a few questions."

"That sounds ominous."

"About your husband."

Elliot slowly set down the bag. "My husband?"

"Yes. What's his name?"

Noah coughed violently into his sleeve.

"Adrian," Elliot said.

"No, I mean your husband's name."

"Adrian."

Adrian blinked. "What a coincidence."

"Isn't it?"

"Last name?"

Elliot smiled. "Hayes."

Adrian considered this. "Common enough name."

Noah stood abruptly. "I'm going to find a vending machine before I commit a crime."

"Bring me chips," Adrian called.

"You're not allowed chips."

"Then bring yourself a personality."

When Noah escaped, Adrian turned back to Elliot with the concentration he usually reserved for acquisition negotiations.

"Is he good-looking?"

"Very."

"How good-looking?"

"Annoyingly good-looking."

Adrian frowned. "Does he have money?"

"More than he needs."

"That doesn't impress me."

"You asked."

"Does he treat you well?"

Elliot's smile weakened almost imperceptibly.

"Most of the time," he said.

Adrian caught the change. "Most?"

"He's busy. Sometimes he forgets things."

"Like your birthday?"

"No. Never my birthday."

"Anniversaries?"

Elliot folded the sweatshirt with unnecessary care. "Sometimes plans get complicated."

Adrian studied him. "That's not an answer."

"It's the one you're getting."

He had come prepared to joke. He had not expected the conversation to brush against the argument that preceded the accident.

Adrian sensed the tension and changed tactics.

"Describe him. Honestly."

Elliot looked at the familiar dark eyes, the stubborn chin, and the ring Adrian kept turning around his finger without noticing.

"He's rich, handsome, arrogant, and unbelievably possessive."

Adrian recoiled. "Sounds like an asshole."

Noah, returning with coffee, stopped in the doorway and nearly doubled over laughing.

"What's so funny?" Adrian demanded.

"Nothing," Noah wheezed. "Nothing at all. Please continue."

Adrian ignored him. "Do you have your own career?"

"I'm an illustrator."

"Good. What do you draw?"

"Children's books, mostly. Editorial commissions when I have time."

"You have a portfolio?"

Elliot showed him several illustrations on his phone: a fox holding a lantern, a city under falling snow, a small boy reaching for a paper moon.

Adrian's expression changed. "These are beautiful."

Elliot felt an unexpected ache. Adrian had said exactly that when he first saw Elliot's drawings four years earlier.

"Thank you."

"Your husband must be proud."

"He says he is."

"He should say it more often."

Noah stopped laughing. He looked between them and quietly set the coffee on the table.

Elliot slid his phone away. "Adrian, there's something we need to talk about."

"I know. The ethical complications."

"Not exactly."

"I would never pressure you to leave someone. I just think you deserve options."

Elliot stared. "Options?"

"A man who remembers dinner reservations, for instance."

"You don't even know whether you remember reservations."

"I can learn."

"You can barely remember what you ate this morning."

"Oatmeal. Awful oatmeal. With blueberries."

"That was yesterday," Noah supplied.

Adrian shot him a murderous glance.

Elliot's phone buzzed with a message from his publisher. The revised sketches were due Friday. He had already requested one extension and hated asking for another.

Adrian noticed the screen. "You should answer."

"It's fine."

"Your work matters."

Elliot looked at him sharply. Adrian seemed confused by the reaction.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing. You just haven't said that in a while."

Adrian's brow furrowed. "Then whoever I've been lately needs to reconsider his priorities."

"You don't know what you've been like lately."

"True. But I know what I think now."

Elliot stepped toward the window and replied to the publisher. The words were simple, but his hands shook slightly as he typed.

He had imagined Adrian's memory returning in a dramatic rush. Instead, his husband was offering him the kind of attention he'd been missing, without knowing it was missing.

That hurt in a way Elliot hadn't anticipated.

"Hey," Adrian said softly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't."

"I can tell when somebody's pretending."

Elliot gave him a small smile. "Then maybe you do remember something."

Elliot sat beside the bed. He wanted to tell the truth. The longer the joke continued, the less comfortable it felt. But Adrian's doctor had scheduled a fuller conversation that afternoon, and Elliot decided they could explain everything together.

"I don't want you competing with anybody," Elliot said.

"Why not?"

"Because you need to recover."

Adrian's expression softened. "You sound worried about me."

"I am."

"Why?"

Elliot looked at the bruise near Adrian's temple. "Because seeing you hurt scares me."

For once, Adrian had no clever response.

He reached out as if to touch Elliot's hand, then stopped. Elliot noticed and placed his hand on the blanket between them.

Adrian rested his fingers beside it, leaving Elliot room to move away.

"I don't know what's happened to my life," Adrian admitted. "Everybody keeps telling me who I was. But when you walk in, I know how I feel right now."

Elliot's throat tightened.

"And how's that?"

"Like I want to make you laugh. Like I want to be someone you can depend on."

Elliot looked away. Those were promises he had once believed without hesitation.

Noah's phone buzzed. He stepped into the hall to answer the hospital's discharge coordinator, leaving the room unexpectedly quiet.

"You should know something," Elliot began.

Adrian interrupted, unusually earnest. "Your husband is lucky."

Elliot gave a sad little smile. "He doesn't always realize it."

"Then he's an idiot."

"Sometimes," Elliot agreed.

A cart rattled past the door, and Adrian briefly closed his eyes against the noise. Elliot reached to lower the television volume, even though nobody had turned it on.

"Sorry," Elliot said. "Habit. You hate background noise when you have a headache."

Adrian looked at him in surprise. "You know that about me?"

"I know a lot of things about you."

"Tell me one."

"You pretend not to like cinnamon in your coffee, but you always finish mine."

Adrian smiled faintly. "That sounds like an excellent reason to keep you around."

Adrian held out his hand. "I know you're married. And I know I'm being ridiculous. But I haven't felt this certain about anything since I woke up."

Elliot hesitated, then let Adrian take his hand. His thumb brushed Elliot's knuckles with a familiarity neither of them could explain.

"Adrian—"

"Give me one chance," Adrian said. "I'll make you forget your husband."