As he brushed my knuckles with his thumb, I placed my other hand on top of his to stop him. Mistaking it for affection,he gingerly lifted my hand to his lips. His breath warmed my knuckles, then the door opened without so much as a knock. I rushed to put distance between us, but Lincoln tightened his hold on me.
A man in a white coat approached the empty chair on the other side of Lincoln’s bed. He was young, probably a resident, with dark hair weirdly spiked at the top of his head, and wrinkled scrubs. He eyed a yellow stack of Post-it Notes, then looked to Lincoln.
“Hello, Mr. Carter. Hello, Ms…?” The doctor paused, looking at me.
“Reyes.” I made quick eye contact with Lincoln and added, “Nina Reyes.”
Lincoln’s lips move slowly, clinging to the distinct shape of each of the four letters in my name. His tongue darted out, moist shining on the fleshiest part of his bottom lip, soundlessly learning by heart every curve in my name. My pulse ticked up at the tender intensity his gaze held me with. I’d only seen this look on him one other time—the day I met him.
“My name is Dr. Kwan,” he said, focusing on Lincoln, “and I am the specialist on call. Lincoln, Nina doesn’t appear to be family and isn’t listed as an emergency contact. I need to make sure it’s okay that I discuss your prognosis with her here.”
Lincoln’s brows knitted tightly before he nodded. “Of course, it’s okay. Nina and I are together.” He squeezed my hand timidly as he said it.
“Nina and I are together.”The words echoed in my head.Shit. He thought I was his girlfriend. My fingers gripped the edge of the blanket, nails biting into cotton. Part of me wanted to correct him. The other part—the louder part—stayed silent, burning to know how he’d come up with this.
The doctor needed to know, though. “Lincoln, you didn’t remember my name. We met when we were seventeen.” Ishared more for the doctor than for Lincoln. “Do you remember anything?”
Lincoln gave it a squeeze, coaxing me to meet his eyes. “Nina,” he repeated my name softly again. “That’s just so beautiful, babe. But no, I’m sorry. I don’t remember us meeting, just talking to Vinny about how you were going to move in with his family, and why. I don’t remember it ever happening.” He refused to let go of my hand.
“Lincoln,” the doctor interrupted, “we haven’t had an opportunity to talk about your injury.” He paused, ensuring he had Lincoln’s attention. “Good news is you’re awake and stable. CT scan was reassuring—no bleeding, no swelling. There is a mild traumatic brain injury, and it’s presenting some cognitive symptoms.”
My chest tightened as answers clicked into place, but it was Lincoln who spoke. “What cognitive symptoms?”
Dr. Kwan glanced down at his scribbles. “You’re experiencing some short-term confusion. That means having trouble recalling events and personal memories before the accident. Your procedural memory is untouched. So getting dressed, cooking, or doing your job’ll come naturally.”
Lincoln cleared his throat next to me. “So… I just forgot shit?”
The doctor smirked for a second. “Right now, yes. Most mild injury-related memory loss resolves naturally within days. Just rest and relax for a few days. Shouldn’t be cause for concern.”
“Shouldn’t be cause for concern”?Lincoln couldn’t remember meeting me at seventeen. He remembered nothing about me. Not even my name. All this handholding-and-babe crap? This wasn’t acceptance. Not even tolerance. He just didn’t remember me. All his tormenting of me… erased. The pain he’d caused me… forgotten.
“Doctor,” I prodded, trying to push on the severity of his wound. “Lincoln doesn’t even remember events from when we were teens?—”
Dr. Kwan raised his hand in an admonishing gesture, taking a few moments to scribble something else on his Post-it and reviewing Lincoln’s chart at the bottom of his bed. He hummed. Just hummed, as if he couldn’t figure out the Wordle of the day.
“Excuse me,” he said, standing up. “I’m going to consult with a colleague.”
Dr. Kwan left the room, and I pulled out my phone to shoot a text to Vinny, expletives included, for him to call me ASAP.
“Nina…,” Lincoln whispered, and I put my phone away. “I’m sorry about your parents.”
“Lincoln,” I said, unwilling to discuss my life-defining trauma with this guy who’d made it his personal punch line. “It was a long time ago, let’s?—”
“Maybe, it’s been a long time for you.” His eyes bore into mine with understanding and mirrored the grief that had shone in his eyes the day we met—a day that hadn’t even ever happened for him. Back then, I’d thought we might become friends, today, I knew who Lincoln Carter was. “But it sucks to lose a parent, no matter how long ago.” Lincoln gulped and lowered his gaze. “Anyway, talk to me about being high school sweethearts, how awesome is that?”
“You think that’s awesome?” This very same Lincoln had told me just hours ago to savor my miserable job like a sad, lonely brat.
Except this Lincoln’s eyes, bright and glimmering, refused to look away from me. This Lincoln exuded the energy of a puppy wagging his tail about childhood love, and the warmth felt misplaced. I struggled to hold his stare. He was at his most vulnerable, and I wasn’t shutting down the fantasy he’d created.
Dr. Kwan returned then, accompanied by a taller physician with dark skin and silvering hair. He introduced himself as Dr. Collins.
The senior doctor glanced at Lincoln’s chart, then met Lincoln’s eyes with a blank, authoritative stare. He asked Lincoln questions while Kwan jotted away on Post-its. The questions ranged from “Have you been given water yet,”to “Tell me again what’s keeping you in observation,” then “What do you remember about your nurse,” and the classic name, date, and what brought you in today. He was probably confirming Lincoln’s ability to understand complex explanations and form new memories post head injury.
“Mr. Carter, based on the current assessment, your injury is classified as a mild traumatic brain injury. Technically, your memory loss is a form of retrograde amnesia. However, we expect it to resolve itself within the next few days to weeks.”
He paused, then added, “You’re able to perform self-care and daily tasks safely. Medically, you don’t require inpatient care at this point.”
I looked at him, furrowing my brow. “What about the confusion and memory gap? Shouldn’t he stay under observation?”
