“You’re pretty,” Alister says. Instinctively he wants to reach out for your hand, but you might not appreciate being touched.“Are you single?”
His eye is swollen shut, there’s bandages wrapped around his head, he’s laid up in a hospital bed, but he’s still flirting with you. He vaguely remembers the doctor mentioning you have a husband. Wait, is he the husband? Pain shoots through his head when he thinks too long about it.
Alister doesn’t remember anything. The doctor told him something about a wall collapsing while he was rescuing someone from a fire. Apparently he’s a firefighter. That doesn’t make sense. He’s pretty sure he wanted to be a fisherman. Maybe. At some point. Or no, maybe his mom was a fisher? Does he have a mom? There’s an abnormal blankness to his memories. Like everything about him is slipping through his fingers and he’s too slow to hold them. He’s missing something—someone. You?
The splitting headache grows worse. He would’ve complained more had he not wanted to impress you.
He can see are your pretty eyes. Alister thinks he loves you, whoever you are.
There’s a ring on your finger he barely notices. So you are married? Who’s the husband? Alister wants to see who his competition is. They’re nothing compared to him. No way, he’s a firefighter or fisherman or something.
“Hey,” he says. Alister lifts a hand, then drops it. His body won’t listen to what he wants. “Leave your husband for me.” This makes the most sense to him. Obviously you’re meant to be with him.
The drugs and apparent amnesia are kicking his ass, it seems.
Sleep pulls at him, but he’s not ready to stop seeing you. You’ll go back to your husband and leave him alone.