Page 20 of Manhattan State of Mind

“I can fix your hair, Luce,” her mom offers.

“No, it’s not about my hair. Please just tell him I’m sleeping or something.”

The words plunge me into a freefall, a nosedive from the pinnacle of Quinn & Wolfe HQ.

I’m the man she met a year ago. A complete stranger. The head of her company. The Big Bad Wolf she used to fear. Not the man who cared for her, who loved her, who screwed up royally with her, and who has been paying the price every goddamned day since.

This isn’t just bitter resentment. This is worse. This is a void. A black hole.

Lucy’s frustrated groan filters through the door. “Oh, fucking hell.”

“Language, Luce!”

“I know why he’s here—it must be a mix-up with my insurance not covering this hospital! How much does this place cost per night?”

“I don’t believe that’s why he’s here,” Dr. Ramirez interjects. “Perhaps he was in the vicinity and thought to visit on behalf of the company. Please try to stay calm.”

“Your pal Matty came in to see you earlier, after I arrived,” her mom chimes in. “He said he told your team. Does he work with this guy?”

I press both hands to the wall, dragging in ragged breaths.

It’s all right. It’s temporary. I’ll fix this.

“Are you all right, Mr. Wolfe?” The young nurse lingering around taps my bicep.

I clench my jaw and whirl to face her, shooting her a hostile glance. I wish she would fuck off instead of trying to constantly get my attention. “I’m fine,” I mutter. “Thank you.”

The nurse takes a step back in surprise and quickly scampers away as Dr. Ramirez appears. She gestures for me to follow her down the corridor.

We walk in tense silence, distancing ourselves from Lucy’s room until we’re out of earshot.

Dr. Ramirez glances up at me, her smile brittle.

“She doesn’t remember me,” I grind out, my voice a rasp. I rub at my stubble, wrestling for control. “I wasready for her not wanting to see me, but this… she doesn’t even remember me. Not in any way that matters.”

Dr. Ramirez touches my arm. “She remembers you. But as the man she met a year ago. I’m guessing a few things have changed since then?”

You could say that.

“Correct,” I answer, my voice grinding like gravel.

She nods. “I understand this must be difficult.”

“So, you’re telling me,” I begin slowly, “that Lucy has erased our history? That she’s scrubbed me from her memory?”

Dr. Ramirez gives me a long, measured look. “Unwillingly, yes.”

I take a steadying breath before locking eyes with her.

A pit forms in my stomach. “What’s my move here, doc? Do I waltz in there and jolt her memory back into place?”

She recoils slightly, caught off guard. “I can’t tell if you’re joking, Mr. Wolfe.”

“Neither can I,” I growl back.

She motions me toward the chairs nearby.

“Your frustration and confusion are completely normal,” she tells me as we sit. “But we must be careful not to overwhelm her with the past. Pushing information could create false memories and skew her understanding of things. Your case is complicated, indeed, a rare occurrence—it’s not often we encounter a situation where a boyfriend or partner is completely forgotten.”