9

Andy can taste a hint of champagne on Sharon's lips and that is the closest he is ever going to come to actually drinking it again. But he is fine with that. He doubts that he will live to experience a time when he no longer longs for alcohol at least every once in a while. But the longing that was once so frequent and so potent has faded considerably since this new chapter in his life has begun.

He kisses Sharon back and is not disappointed when the taste is no longer detectable, when it is just her. Because she is always enough. Her breath is hot and she chuckles into the kiss as they stumble through their hotel room door, uncoordinated steps towards the bed. Dinner was excellent as well as exquisitely funny as they both struggled through placing their order with their limited French. Since neither wanted to admit that they did not even understand half of the French menu, too mortified to ask for an English version or even an explanation, they ordered at random. Sharon initially recoiled at the snails but, to her credit, at least tried them. Thus the champagne to wash away the disgust.

Sharon doesn't often drink in his presence. She is very careful about it, but he resolves right now, in this moment, to tell her that it is fine. She can have a bottle of wine in the fridge or a glass of sparkling on the table. As long as he is with her, he doesn't mind at all and he is not tempted.

Sharon squeals a little as he nudges her further towards the bed, already half on top of her. She feels so warm and sensual under him. There is a chuckle from her as he struggles to push some of the various bags off the bed that she has acquired during the afternoon's shopping spree. He has recently discovered that he is not the only one in this relationship with an addiction. Hers, however, is mild and threatens not her health but only the balance of her bank account. She smiles up at him and he can barely make out her face in the dim illumination that the street lights provide as they filter through the curtains.

"I love you, Andy."

Andy's mouth was dry. This memory had been so vivid that he had the urge to go into the bathroom and splash cold water on his face (and possibly elsewhere).

The good news was that the doctors had attested to a clean bill of health. He was as okay as someone that had been clubbed over the head just a few days ago could ever be. The bad news was that he was absolutely not cleared for driving himself again, let alone for active or even desk duty. Despite the fact that having to bow to doctor's orders infuriated Andy to no end, he was grateful to have some time to himself that he could hopefully use to solve the mystery surrounding his injuries. Provenza had texted a short update earlier (no leads, no witnesses) which in Andy's experience meant that his case didn't hold any priority whatsoever, having to take a backseat to the high profile murder of a local politician the team had caught in the morning.

He was currently hanging out in the hospital lobby trying to figure out what to do. Sharon had texted him earlier, telling him that her meetings were running late and that she wouldn't be able to pick him up after all. He had texted back "no worries, Sweetheart" and noticed the term of endearment only after he'd hit "sent". A look at their conversation history confirmed that this was how he often addressed her. She sent back a smiley-face, so maybe she, too, thought this was progress.

He examined the memories that had returned to him. The moment in the infant's ICU had been visceral. He had been able to smell the antiseptics and hear the ambient noise, the beeping of the machines, the rushing of the vents. It had been the same with the hotel room. The smell of new carpet and of Sharon's neck, the lingering taste of champagne on her lips, the softness of her hair against his cheek. The memory in the hospital had been flat. Blurred somehow. Less vibrant. Did that mean anything? God, he hoped so. The mere idea of having turned away while his wife was asking for him inside her hospital room, frightened for their child's life and desperate for his support turned his stomach. He swallowed, the arousal he had been feeling mere moments ago draining away rapidly. He needed to figure this out.

Andy scrolled through his phone until he found Patrice's number. She picked up at the first ring.

/

Andy did not appreciate having to navigate around the city via cab, but it did beat using public transport. The headache was dulling more and more, but remained persistent in its annoyingness. Andy drummed his fingers on the table next to the cup of black coffee he had found himself ordering after almost spitting out his latte. Apparently he had acquired a taste for black coffee over the past few years. Probably a preference going along with his recent health kick.

Before he could ponder this in any more detail, Patrice walked in. She seemed as warm and effusive as ever while also obviously puzzled by his sudden request to meet up with her. As far as she was concerned, he did not remember her and was also in the habit of acting like a sullen teenager.

Andy tried a smile. "Thanks for coming, Patrice. I appreciate it."

"Of course!" Patrice assured him, a smile of her own lighting up her features. There was something so capable about her, Andy thought, not for the first time. She was someone who took charge and cared about the people around her. But could he trust her really?

"I have to admit I was a bit confused by your call. Is there anything specific you'd like to talk about or is this just a social call?" Her tone left no room for any confusion as to which one she thought it was. Straight to the point, Andy thought appreciatively. She would have made a good cop, too. He could see why Provenza felt attracted to her.

"I remembered something," he blurted out. On his agonizingly slow way over through halted traffic, he had had enough time to scheme on how to go about this thing. He would not, he had decided, tell her about the blackmail. He would, however, tell her about Keisha's call, as embarrassed as it made him feel.

"You did?" Patrice smiled at him openly with no hint of any concern that the memory might prove inconvenient to her or some hidden agenda she might have. There seemed to be some trust between them, some familiarity that had not vanished along with his memories. Patrice seemed relaxed in his presence, her hands folded loosely in front of her on the table.

"I remember being in the hospital with Sharon. She was in a wheelchair and she was crying. Paddy was in an incubator."

Patrice's face contracted in a spontaneous display of pain that even the best actress would not have been able to fake.

"I am sorry that you would remember this one of all moments. It was horrible. Sharon was shattered. She wouldn't eat or sleep. And you—" Patrice trailed off, obviously afraid to say what she had initially been meaning to say.

"No, please," Andy said. "Don't hold back."

"You were feeling so guilty that you weren't there for her before. When Paddy was born, I mean. You almost fell apart as well." A small smile formed on her face with just a tiny hint of mischief. "I had to talk some sense into you or you wouldn't have been of any use to her."

"Yeah, I can imagine." Andy ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "Too bad Provenza wasn't there. He could have taken some of that off you."

Patrice's brow knitted. If only for a moment. "Oh, he was there, but he was even more useless than you. Not good with emotionally charged situations that one."

Now it was Andy's turn to be confused. Hadn't Provenza said that he had been out of town with one of his grandchildren? But before he could inquire further, Patrice said something that peaked his curiosity even more.

"I remember you showing up at the hospital when you'd finally had a chance to look at your phone. You were absolutely terrified, shouting down the corridor and waiving your badge around as if that would do any good."

"Really?" Andy asked. That didn't match his memory at all.

"Really," Patrice said, hell-bent on letting him see the lighter side of what must have been one of the worst nights of his life. "The attending nurse was a giant of a man, but he was still terrified. I had to grab you and take you right into the ICU to Sharon and Paddy."

Andy stared at her, relief rushing through him like a wave. If that had not been a memory, then he had not done what he had thought he'd done. Maybe that had not been a memory after all? A false memory maybe? Some sort of nightmare? All conjured by the guilt that lived inside him, yet inaccessible due to the loss of his memories, his identity, really?

However, he decided to file this away for later, to reexamine their conversation when he had more time. Patrice seemed genuine and his gut was telling him to trust her. But for all he knew she could be a master manipulator.

"There is something else I've been meaning to tell you about. I've had a call from Keisha."

Patrice's expression darkened with concern, as if she knew or at least suspected what was coming. He told the tale of Keisha's innuendo in the garden and the call late at night, his cheeks hot with shame. In another world he would have been sure that she was lying and that he had not been taking advantage of a young, troubled woman. In his current state, however, he could not be sure just because there was such a large chunk of his life missing.

"This has happened before," Patrice said, her voice tight with pain. "Not this exact thing, but the stories. She likes to weave tales. When confronted, she never sticks to them, but she likes to con people in a way when she can get away with it."

Andy's chest felt tight and he swallowed, then decided to not be a stuck-up idiot for a while, but to put his feelings and insecurities out there. "I don't remember anything, Patrice. I wouldn't even know if she is lying." It came out more desperate than he had intended and he felt even more ashamed at that.

Patrice leaned back in her chair and breathed deeply. "I know what you mean. Just because Keisha lies sometimes we can't just dismiss what she says. We still have to take her seriously to protect her and we do. But I know you, Andy. And as far as I know you two have never been alone together for longer than five minutes in our garden. And she's had a boyfriend for a few months. Spends all her time with him these days."

Andy took a shuddering breath. "Still, if you could check with her, please."

Patrice smiled and leaned forward to touch his hand. "I knew the Andy I know was somewhere in there still," she said. "I will talk to her."

Andy nodded, gratefully, ashamed by the fact that he did not even trust himself. Even at his worst, he could not imagine having an affair with someone like Keisha, someone so young and so vulnerable. And everything he had heard about this other him seemed better and more put together than the old him, the one he had regressed to through his amnesia. But who knew.

Suddenly, Andy felt very exhausted. The caffeine was buzzing around his brain, making him feel antsy.

"Your hands are shaking, Andy," Patrice said softly. "Let me drive you home."

/

Something heavy landed on Andy's chest and startled him out of a dream. As he opened his gritty eyes, he was looking right into Paddy's cherubic little face.

"Daddy!" The little boy beamed. "Daddy was asleep!"

Indeed, Andy thought. After his conversation with Patrice, he had crashed on the couch and passed out almost immediately. His mouth felt dry and his head was aching from the unnatural angle it had been resting on the tasteful but unyielding throw pillow. It sure did look like something Sharon would pick out.

"Paddy, honey, remember that Daddy hurt himself? You're certainly not supposed to jump on top of him! Sorry, Andy." That was Sharon who then unceremoniously picked Paddy off Andy's chest and set the squirming toddler down on the floor.

Andy finally managed to struggle into a sitting position.

"Hey," Sharon was smiling at him apologetically. "Sorry, he is just too fast for me sometimes."

She was wearing her work clothes, but her hair was a little tousled and there was a tiny smudge of ice-cream near her mouth. Without thinking, Andy reached out and wiped it away.

For a moment, they both froze in the moment, his thumb paused over her cheek. Her skin was so soft, it occurred to Andy. He blamed his still sleep-riddled brain for what he did next.

He could feel Sharon shudder with surprise when he softly pressed his lips to hers. Hers parted slightly and they remained like that for a split second, neither daring to deepen the kiss. When they pulled apart, they both found themselves out of breath.

"Daddy, read me a story," came the chirping little voice of Paddy who, completely oblivious to his parents' predicament, had retrieved a story book from the cheerfully painted wooden crate by the door that held a variety of children's books.

With that, Paddy climbed onto the couch next to Andy and plopped the book down in Andy's lap. Helpless, Andy looked up at Sharon who gave him a smile that was so genuine and besotted of them both that it melted his heart. So did the way Paddy climbed in his lap and situated himself there.

"I'm going to get changed," Sharon said softly, her eyes never leaving them as she carefully retreated towards the door, then vanished in the hallway.

As Andy read the story, his mind was not on the words that easily flowed from his lips. Something like muscle memory, maybe. At least he distinctly felt as if he had read this book to his son more than once before. He had never been an involved dad with his other two. A point of much contention between him and his ex-wife. Back in the day he had thought she was just a nagging wife. Then he had learned to know better. Apparently he had taken this realization to heart this time around, because he ended up a few more books to Paddy before Sharon came back downstairs and retrieved him for bath time.

His mind was on his conversation with Patrice. Maybe the whole Keisha thing had really been just what everyone suspected it to be. A little lie, some sort of practical joke played on him by Keisha, in a way. But why had he received such threatening messages from her as well? Had that been Keisha at all? Or was there something more sinister at play?

Acting on a hunch, Andy picked up his own phone from the table and scrolled through the contacts. There was no number saved for Keisha. Maybe Sharon would have one? He reached for the phone she had left on the table and stared at the screen for a moment. He didn't feel comfortable breaking into his wife's phone, but then he didn't really want to tell her why he wanted Keisha's number either, so he swiftly entered her birth date as the pin code, hoping that everyone used theirs.

Only as the screen unlocked, he realized that he had never been told what her birthday was and he certainly hadn't known before he had somehow gotten involved with her. Another fragment of his memory returning, he registered with some relief.

He scrolled through Sharon's contacts and found a number for Keisha. When he compared it to the unknown number on his phone, however, it did not match.

Either Keisha had a burner phone, or it was not her phone at all.

Andy returned Sharon's phone to the coffee table and sat back on the couch, exasperated. This was a mystery he did not feel confident he could solve on his own.

As a last ditch effort, he texted the unknown number to Patrice, asking if this was a number she knew Keisha to use.

"Not Keisha," came the reply just minutes later. "That's her boyfriend Mike's number."

With that came a sudden rushing in his hears, the smell of wet leaves in his nostrils, the feeling of a seatbelt slicing sharply across his chest. There was an arm around his neck from behind, digging painfully into his throat. And there was a male voice, tight with anger.

"We both know what you did. And you will continue paying for it. Or I'll do to your family what you've done to mine."

The pressure lessened for a moment, then there was a crash and a dull pain. Then darkness.

Andy gasped when the brief memory lifted as quickly as it had descended on him.

He was being blackmailed alright. Yet not by Keisha, but by a man. A man that he was pretty sure was going by the name of Mike and who was convinced that Andy had done something that had nothing to do with Keisha and everything to do with Mike. The relief he felt was brief, however, as the dread came. Dread, that felt deeper than what he had been feeling before. Dread that seemed to originate not from the discovery he had just made, but from the realm of before.

He needed to protect his family from the fallout of what he had done.

But what on earth had he done?

A/N: I appear to be the absolute worst at updates of any of my stories. Thank you so much to everyone who has been sticking with me on this one for all those years. Especially to those, who have continued to encourage me to finish it. Today my muse returned to me completely unexpectedly and I sure hope she stays for a bit. I'd love to read what you think.