The problem with hospital food is that for how bland it is, when you can finally eat solids, it’s like mana from heaven.

The broth is terrible but I gulp it greedily. The nurses promised that when my body could tolerate that and keep the other soft solids from my lunch down, I would be well on my way of getting out of the hospital.

If I have to will it to stay down, that’s what I’ll do, just so I can get out of here.

The problem?

I have no idea where I’d go. Or what I’d do.

The docs call it ‘retrograde amnesia.’ I can’t look that up to see what it means but I can guess by context. I remember a lot about when I was a kid, but not a lot about what happened in the past few days. Or months, or years, actually.

I have a name, Carlo Yovan. I was apparently shot but no one knows who, or why, or in what context, least of all me.

When the hospital staff interviewed me, they were as in the dark as I am. I am told a jogger found me half hidden in the bushes, that I’d been shot and here I am, sipping down crappy soup. If there’s been any hint to who I am, no one’s said anything. I guess if the police are camped outside my door, that’s a good sign.

“How are you today, sweetheart?” Nurse Alderman is my favorite nurse tending to me. She has a very gentle hand in dealing with me, like when she adjusts the sticky bandages. The head nurse seems to delight in using force in whatever she does.

“Ready to go.” I grab my jello before she rolls my tray out of the way to check the IV. “Is there a time when I’ll be released?”

“Still up in the air, champ. I’ll ask the doctor when he’s on the floor. Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

“Nah. I’m good. I’m getting pretty adept at rolling my thingy,” and I point to the IV stand, “with me.”

“What’s your pain level, on a scale of one to ten?”

Same question, every day. I was annoyed at first but when I started keeping score, I noticed it was getting lower and lower. Guess it’s my wolf blood. I am surprised no one has mentioned that. I guess they haven’t figured it out. “It’s a four today.”

“Glad to hear it. I’ll be back in to change your bandage.”

“Has, um, anyone come by to see me?” Although my memory is sketchy — okay, almost nothing for the past few years — I do have some vague recollections that I ran with a group of guys at one time. I seem to remember we were really close. Their names stay elusively out of reach. It’s weird that no one’s been to see me the entire time I have been in here.

“There’s two guys that used to come in when you were unconscious. They haven’t been back. I’m sure once they come in for their status report, they’ll be glad to see you’re awake.” She pats me on my good arm.

I hope so. This is so weird to know very little about the things that happened to me. Maybe these guys can shed some light on the missing holes in my memory.

* * *

The following days find my strength coming back in leaps and bounds. One of the nurses likes to joke with me about my new, sexy scar. I’m not sure how sexy it is since it’ll be covered by a shirt but I appreciate her attempts to cheer me up.

It’s hard to hold on to anything positive when I feel so isolated and alone. Even my shadow friends who apparently came by when I first arrived hadn’t been back.

Focusing on what I can do, I spend a lot of time staring at the muted television, trying to exercise my memory. I reach for those fuzzy parts that I can see, like through a fogged glass. No detail, just motion and vague feelings. The only thing that stays with me is that I was with a group of guys that I can really only describe as a gang.

That leads me to think that my last name may not be my real last name.

Or maybe it is.

That’s part of the fogged out memory.

So who would want to shoot me? And why? My imagination can fill in with all sorts of helpful reasons but it’s useless to speculate since I have no way to verify, except to wait for my memory to come back.

If it comes back.

After the last doc visit, he started making noises like I can go home. That’s great, I suppose. Not sure where home is and they didn’t find me with any keys. Just my wallet with my blue card for the bank and a picture ID. Can I even assume the address is the right one or was I one of those guys who waited until the last minute to change identification and information?

There’s a knock on my door and two men file into my room. One of them looks out into the hall furtively, then shuts the door.

Are these my friends who had been checking in on me? I smooth a hand through my hair, thankful that I was able to have my first shower since being hospitalized so I’m at least presentable.

After seeing these two guys with sour looks on their faces, I’m kind of regretting they’re here now. These guys, if they’re my friends, don’t seem really happy to see me.

Maybe I’m just paranoid but something tells me this meeting isn’t going to go well. “What’s up?”

One of the guys stands by the door, the other circles to stand by the window. “Carlo.”

“That’s me.”

The guy by the window crosses his arms, looking at me like I’m some kind of worm. “So you want to tell us what happened that night?”

“I’d love to, if I knew what you were talking about. Which night is this?”

“The night you were shot.”

“Are you the cops?”

They exchange looks. “Concerned citizens.”

“Concerned citizens,” I repeat. That’s not suspicious at all. It makes me wonder, though, just what did happen. Apparently they know something. “The truth is…I don’t remember.”

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t remember?” The guy standing at the window is halfway to my bed, mad as hell from the looks of it, before he stops and points a finger at me. “You mean you have no idea how you got that gunshot wound?”

My hand goes to my shoulder. Did the nurses tell him or does he know more than he’s letting on? “That’s what I’m saying. I woke up in this bed and I don’t remember much from the past couple of years. I remember my name, sort of. I remember where I last lived but the nurses say that the people living there now say I haven’t been there in years.” I shrug helplessly. “There are huge holes in my memory that match the one in my body.”

The one standing watch by the door moves to the end of my bed, his head bent to type something on his phone. “I just asked someone to hack into his medical records,” he says before turning his attention to me.

“Are you telling me you believe him?” The first guy says, pointing an accusing finger at me.

“I’m saying I don’t not believe him. But look at him!” the guy waves his phone in my direction. “Do you mean to tell me that completely stupid look on his face is an act?”

“Thanks,” I say plaintively.

The guy winks at me and smiles. Seems like at least one of them is kind of on my side.

The other one frowns, his arms crossing over his chest. He looks like he’s still thinking it over.

“Look.” I glance between them. “Obviously something happened and it’s important to you. I assume, since you’re here in my hospital room, you’re thinking that I’m involved.”

“I know you’re involved,” the grumpy one grinds out between his clenched teeth.

“I’m not denying it,” I say with a lift of my good hand. “I’m saying I don’t remember.”

“Do you want to remember?” The friendly one moves to sit at the foot of my bed.

I shift over so he doesn’t sit on my foot. “Yeah. Having huge areas of my head where I can’t remember what I was doing, or who I was with or…anything…it bothers me. I mean…it’s only bits and pieces, like I’m staring through a thick fog.”

“What are you thinking?” Mr. Grumpy asks his buddy.

“I’m thinking that if we help him recover his memory, we’ll know more about what happened that night.” The guy sticks his hand out. “I’m Var—”

Grumpy lunges across the foot of my bed and swats at his hand. “Are you fucking nuts?”

Var-something laughs softly. “What do you think, Carlo? Would you be willing to help us get our answers if we help you get your memories back? Even if it means that you discover you’re not who you think you are?”

“I don’t know how this amnesia thing works, but I can’t help shake the feeling that it’s over something big. I need to know who I have been these past few years.” There are a whole lot of unanswered questions that I have. Like why has no one filed a missing person on me. Or come to see me. Where are my friends? And what are these gang images I have every so often? “It’s a huge hole and it bothers me.”

“Then here’s what I propose. That we come back to check you out of the hospital because they’re not going to let you go without someone to take charge of you. You stick with us and we dig together. We share what we learn about you and you share what you remember when the memories come back. Deal?”

Even though I don’t know these guys, to know I have someone to keep an eye on me until I can get back on my feet is actually comforting. At least until I can figure out what the hell is going on.

And it sounds like these guys know what that is. “Deal.”

“I’m Varos,” he says, holding his hand out again. I’m still a little sore but I lean forward and take it to shake. “And that’s Sako.”

I hold my hand out for Sako, who stands there looking at it like I have a snake head attached to my knuckles or something.

Reluctantly, Sako takes my hand. The moment we have a skin connection, I feel it shoot up my arm like a thousand crawling spiders. My pulse monitor speeds up, not that I needed the beeps to notify me that something abnormal was going on. I could feel it.

It was like something had punched me in my gut and attached a hook that drew me forward. The world around me shimmered, growing muffled and dim in comparison to the air that was alive between us. His hand was warm in mine. I was struck by the feeling of comfort and safety, desire and sheer, aching need that gripped my heart.

I was afraid that the monitors hooked up to me would go haywire and the nurses would come screaming in, but in that moment I knew that I was safe.

I didn’t know this guy, had no reason to trust him. Intellectually, I even had worries that he was going to fuck me over in some way because he clearly didn’t like me.

Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything would be alright in the end. That I was where I needed to be. Where I should be.

I’ve never met my fated mate before. To my recent memory, I couldn’t even remember anyone talking about them. Hell, I’m not sure I even used to believe they existed.

My wolf instinct told me that I was looking at him now.

Judging by the look on Sako’s impossibly handsome face, I think he was feeling it, too.

When we finally break contact, my hand drops to the bed and I flop back against my pillows. Varos is laughing.

Sako shoots him a sour look and he just laughs harder. Taking pity on my confusion, he shakes his head. “There’s a lot of that going around.”

I have no idea what that means.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Sako grumps hastily.

“Look,” Varos stands and puts his phone away. “Regardless of anything else, if he can’t remember what happened, how can he be judged guilty right now? He should be punished for things he doesn’t remember doing? And I’ll remind you that we don’t have the full story.”

Sako meets my gaze. He’s trying to remain a hard ass about it but I can see how he’s thinking over what Varos is saying. I just grin. I don’t really have anything to contribute to help one way or the other.

“We’ll be back in a few days to pick you up when they release you,” Sako says, heading for the door.

“How will you know that?” I ask as Varos joins Sako.

Varos wiggles his phone. “I’ll know,” and they disappear.

That’s not very comforting but nothing about this meeting was ordinary.

There is a whole lot of something going on and I can tell that I’m smack dab in the middle of it. Apparently judging by Sako’s reaction, my involvement isn’t positive or good.

I hope that in figuring this all out, I’ll get a chance to make whatever I did wrong right again. I’d like a do over if I’m involved in some bad shit.

And I’d like to see Sako again. I need to know if what I felt was a fluke.

My wolf scoffs at the idea of it being all in my head.

My wolf usually isn’t wrong.

At least, I think it isn’t wrong.

But that’s it, isn’t it? I can’t remember.

I believe Sako holds the key.