Chapter 6 Nina #2
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?”
The doctor shook his head gently. “Those symptoms can persist but typically don’t worsen.
We recommend rest, limited stimulation, and close monitoring at home.
We will send a letter to his workplace to excuse him for at least the next week or two.
We will provide detailed instructions on warning signs that would require immediate return. ”
He glanced at Lincoln. “We expect you to need some support during recovery. Do you have someone who can assist you?”
Lincoln nodded slowly. “Yes, my girlfriend—”
I caught my breath and tried to interrupt where this was going, but the doctor cut in. “Good. That support system is crucial. I anticipate in-home support won’t be an issue?”
“No, we’ve been together for a long time,” Lincoln added. “I’m sure that’s not an issue.” He winked my way, dimpled smile and all. This was the Lincoln I knew: cocky, presumptuous, and unbothered by other people’s feelings.
Dr. Collins continued, checking his pager and tapping on his iPad to, I assumed, the next patient.
“We’ll go ahead and discharge you,” he said, heading to the door.
“You’ll need a follow-up in a few days. If any concerning symptoms arise—severe headaches, worsening confusion, seizures—please call emergency services.
” He pulled on the doorknob. “Light sensitivity, dizziness, even to the point of losing balance, and irritability are all perfectly normal.”
The doctor smiled. “Just take it easy, and let your body heal.” Then Dr. Collins headed out without looking back.
Dr. Kwan stayed for a few seconds, more out of lagged response than care, then scooted away. With spiraling thoughts, I quickly headed after the doctors, not caring that Lincoln called after me.
“Hey,” I whisper-yelled, catching up to Dr. Collins, Kwan now behind me. “Doctor, can I speak with you for a moment?” I asked, pulling him aside.
He nodded, stepping closer.
“Honestly, I’m not comfortable being his primary caregiver. There must be other options.”
The doctor studied me for a moment. “This is a difficult situation, we’ve been unable to reach the emergency contact. Your cousin, yes? The safest option is to discharge him with someone he knows.”
I bit my lip. “Doctor, you’re not understanding me. Yes, I know Lincoln, and he’s close with my cousin, but—” I took a deep breath. “Doctor, Lincoln’s wrong. Truth is—”
He offered a reassuring smile but still cut me off. “We’ll provide detailed instructions, medication schedules, and support services, if needed. Patients with his injury need assistance at home, and having someone familiar, even if it’s complicated, is always best.”
“Why can’t he stay?” I asked, hissing out the words. “We aren’t together like that, Lincoln should know. He won’t want me caring for him when he does.” My voice was getting high-pitched and slightly frantic.
“Ms. Reyes—” Dr. Collins was interrupted by an announcement calling for additional support in the emergency room.
The older doctor dismissed Kwan with a flick of his eyes.
“His condition is not emergent. Holding him here is not an option.” He exhaled.
“Besides, revealing the true nature of your relationship at this moment is not advisable. It could be detrimental.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Lincoln’s best chance to recover is relying on someone he’s attached to. ”
His words should have comforted me, but a knot tightened in my chest.
The speaker now called for Dr. Collins to report elsewhere. “I need to go now, but let me be clear”—he met my anxious eyes with impatience—“right now, you’re Lincoln’s best option.”
I didn’t want the fact that it was Lincoln to turn me into the type of person who’d walk away from someone in need.
He’d helped me get out of the car’s way.
I could help him until Vinny figured something out.
I’d do this, even for Lincoln fucking Carter.
I bit my lip, swallowing the chaos of resentment, confusion.
With a sigh, I went to respond, but the doctor had already left.
Beneath my frustration was something messier, a tangle of feelings I had no energy for. With a deep inhale, urging my heart to settle, I opened the door to make a plan with Lincoln.
As soon as I peaked in, Lincoln’s head shifted my way.
His smile spilled across his cheeks, boundless and unchecked, dimples deeper than in the cocky, uneven grin I knew.
His eyes shone in relief to have me back, and it knocked the air out of my lungs that this man could be so happy to see me.
For one traitorous heartbeat, I forgot every reason why I hated him.
“Babe”—his voice broke the spell—“are you hungry? I’ve got some food.”
Lincoln had a half-eaten sandwich on a tray in front of him and was eating his third cup of Jell-O, two more unopened ones to go.
He licked his spoon clean, a loud pop as he released it from his lips.
This man wasn’t innocent or silly, he had no right to forget what he was capable of.
Memories rushed through my mind, ending with Lincoln pushing me away and his head on the pavement, bleeding into the puddle.
Helping him was the right thing to do, even if I didn’t have the luxury of forgetting.
“Lincoln.” His name came out in a tired exhale. “The doctors said you need someone to keep an eye on you.”
“I know,” he said, finishing the last of the sandwich. “I figured since we live together, it wouldn’t be a lot to ask.”
“We don’t live together.”
“What do you mean?” Lincoln’s brow creased as he tilted his head. “Why wouldn’t we live together if we met at seventeen?”
It was so straightforward for him. Not living together was so ridiculous he didn’t even look my way, he shook the chunks off his hospital gown, frowning at the stain, and opened the fourth container of Jell-O.
I shouldn’t upset him I reminded myself, taking a deep breath. “Well, we don’t. I don’t have enough room in my apartment for you, so I’ll have to stay with you.”
Lincoln narrowed his eyes at me while plowing through the Jell-O. “I’m fine with that.”
Of course this idiot was fine with that. He didn’t remember hating me. I tapped my foot on the floor. “Do you have your wallet?”
He ignored my question. “If it all works out, you can just move in for good.”
I breathed in. And again. “Linc, just don’t, alright?”
Linc. I’d heard the nickname so many times, it slipped my tongue. He was Linc to Vinny, though, to his friends, and I was never that to him. The air thickened in my lungs upon realizing I’d overstepped. Unaware, he just glanced at me happily, piling up all the empty containers.
“Focus, please,” I said. “Do you have your wallet?”
“They said it was there.” He pointed at the chair behind the bed.
I patted his jeans, searching for the wallet. “They want to make sure food sits well with me. Other than that, they’re discharging me shortly,” he said, getting out of the bed.
I watched him carefully. He held on to the sides of the bed until he was solid on his feet.
“Where are you going?”
“Just the bathroom,” he explained. I helped him wheel the IV stand while he used both hands to balance on the wall. We exchanged a look before he opened the door and went inside. “I’ll take it easy. I’ll be okay.”
Not like I’d offered to help him.
The latch clicked, and the bathroom fan hummed to life.
Getting his wallet, I took a picture of his address.
At least Lincoln wouldn’t have moldy stains in his ceiling.
My gaze landed on the untouched cup of purple Jell-O on his tray—his last one.
The only grape one: he’d saved it for last, the way some people save the corner piece of a cake.
An idea formed in my head, deliciously petty.
Using his spoon, I savored every bit of his precious snack, finishing just in time to put the empty container and spoon back on his tray before he opened the bathroom door.
He was shakier on his way out, even swaying a little as I helped get his legs back on the bed. Then his eyes landed on the empty container, eyes going wide.
“Babe,” he said. “Did you eat my grape Jell-O?”
I cleared my throat, pulled out my phone, and looked at Uber rates. Just seeing those prices helped me feel justified. “Of course not, babe.” I couldn’t help the edge to the word. “I know how much you love your grape Jell-O. I would never.”
When I turned to him, he had that smile again, not the smirk that teased his dimples, but the candid smile that made me pause.
“Is that right?” he asked.
“Of course, you were eating it just as I came back.”
“I was, wasn’t I?” He gave me a knowing dimpled smile, no malice crept up on it. We were in some kind of rom-com, the corners of his mouth softened into something warm enough to melt through the sterile hospital air. “That’s how this is going to go?” he asked.
I shrugged and gave him a taste of his own smirk, sans dimples.
It felt bigger than it should have: the petty, impulsive victory of taking something he wanted, when he’d taken so much from me.
I smirked at him, there was definitely some malice on my lips for once, but his expression was still affectionate.
Maybe there was something in it for me after all.
Or at least enough to keep things entertaining.
Vinny better fucking get back to me soon.