37. Anders
Anders
“ I despise that man, Geo.”
“I know you do, Lettie.”
“I don’t like him either if it makes you feel better,” Maya’s voice is tired as she responds to her grandmother. “He treats Mom like she’s a possession, not a person.”
Letitia looks at her granddaughter, her regard distracted. She opens her mouth to say something, but the words die in her throat as the door to Carmela’s hospital room opens, and Mick emerges, looking worse than when he went in. His eyes sweep the waiting area, roaming over the Cabreras and pausing on Maya, who glares at him, before finally settling on me. His jaw is set in a hard line, and his eyes are bright with anger.
I stand to confront him about not letting Carmela’s family in to see her first, but as I step toward him, he turns and walks down the hall, heading for the exit without a word.
I watch him go as the nurse appears in the doorway. “She needs to rest. I’ll allow one more visitor.”
Letitia and Maya both make sounds of discontent as they rise to their feet. How are they supposed to figure out who gets to see her? It seems like an impossible decision for a mother who just reconnected with her daughter after a decade and a half of silence—and a daughter who almost lost her mother last night.
“Will you let her family go together, please?” I ask, disregarding my eagerness to see the woman I love. Family is important. It’s a principle Carmela and I both have in common. I’ve waited this long to tell her. I can wait a little longer if it means her daughter gets to see that she’s okay.
“Fine. But it will have to be quick. And then she needs to rest. You can come back later tonight.”
Letitia thanks me, and she and Geo head to the room. Maya hangs back, watching me with her sad, jewel-toned eyes that look exactly like her father's. “Thank you, Anders.”
A sense of sadness washes over me, but I’m content with my decision as she hugs me quickly before rushing to her mom’s room.
Knowing I won’t be able to see her anytime soon, I head for the exit—in desperate need of some fresh air. As I pass the nurse’s station, I ask, “Is there any way to leave my number so you can call me if anything changes?”
I fish my wallet out, prepared to flash my badge to get what I want, when the nurse replies, “Sure thing. She’s already requested the other gentleman not be allowed back in.”
I can’t help the smug smirk of satisfaction that pulls at my lips.
That’s my girl.
After spending the afternoon at Désirer combing through hours of security footage, I came up empty. There is no footage of anyone coming into the club besides Mick, Carmela, and me. All the cameras have been wiped clean of evidence, furthering my suspicion that Luca has something to do with all of this.
Who else would have that sway over the man running the surveillance? The only other people authorized to give orders like that are Mick, Jackson, Lenni, and Carmela. And all four would want the murderer brought to justice.
The hospital seems more active in the early evening. The waiting rooms are packed with patients waiting to be seen and family members waiting to hear news of their loved ones. I make my way to the private sector of the ICU, clutching brown bags containing sandwiches from Carmela’s favorite bagel shop.
Since I haven’t heard from anyone—besides Maya texting to tell me they are going home to get some rest before returning later—I assume everything is going well. And I hope Carmela is up for another visitor.
If she’s still too tired, I’ll wait.
I’ll wait as long as it takes.
The same nurse greets me as I pass her station, plopping one of the bags on the top of the desk. “Much better than hospital food.”
Her eyes light up as she peeks inside the bag. “Thank you,” she says earnestly. “I hate to say this, though. She can’t have that.” She points to the other bag in my hand.
“What, this?” I joke, holding it up. “This is for me. I swear.”
Giving me a stern look, she nods to Carmela’s room. “Go on then. She’s been asking for you all day.” At my confused look, she continues, “She needed rest. That’s why I didn’t call.”
“Fair. Fair. You enjoy that sandwich now.” I flash her a charming smile and walk away, preparing myself to tell Carmela how I feel finally.
It’s dark when I enter, the only lights coming from the machines she’s still hooked up to. The fact that she’s already breathing on her own is a miracle. The doctors have all mentioned what a fighter she is, but no one has to tell me that.
It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but as they do, I realize her head is turned sideways on her pillow, and her eyes are closed. Her chest rises and falls with each shuddered breath as she sleeps.
Trying to keep the bag from crinkling loudly, I place it on the rolling table beside her bed. I want so badly to touch her—pull her hair off her face, kiss her forehead, run my thumb along the soft skin of her hand. But I don’t want to disturb her.
I count the beeps of her heart monitor, waiting at least thirty until I turn to leave.
As soon as my hand touches the door handle, she speaks suddenly, causing me to jolt in surprise as I turn to look at her.
“Stop,” she commands softly. She turns her head stiffly to the other side of the pillow. “Sit. Stay.”
Relief floods my veins. “You must feel okay if you’re already back to barking orders, baby girl.”
Cara attempts a weak smile, pointing to a watered-down pitcher of ice chips. “Be a good doggy and fetch me some water, please?” she says so sweetly that I can’t deny her request. Her voice is scratchy, and she winces when she talks, but she’s doing a good job of pretending to be okay for me.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, pouring her a glass of water .
“Eh, I’ve endured worse. I birthed Maya naturally, with no epidural. This is nothing,” she jokes as she adjusts her bed to be in more of a sitting position.
“That’s my girl,” I praise, handing her the water and kissing her forehead.
She sips the cold liquid, and a slight cough erupts from her throat. I take the cup back, setting it on the table before rolling it closer so she can grab it when she wants it. “I spent the day at the club trying to find anything I could?—”
“Can we not talk about that?” she interrupts with a wheeze.
Guilt courses through my chest as I sit in the chair beside the bed and grab her hand. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.”
“Anders?” She squeezes my hand.
My heart jumps into my throat at her vulnerable tone. “What is it, baby girl?”
“I love you,” she says. Her words are simple and to the point—no flowery prose declaring her unyielding affection.
It’s the most perfect confession I’ve ever heard.
Tears prick my eyes as the heavy weight of the actuality that I could have lost her pops like a balloon. “I love you, too, Carmela. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner. I should have told you the moment I realized it.”
“Come here.” She scoots over, wincing as she leaves just enough room on the bed for me to crawl on and lie on my side.
I kick off my shoes and shrug out of my sports jacket before settling in next to her, lacing my fingers through hers as I drape my other arm above her head. “It’s only four years until Maya graduates. Four years is nothing compared to the rest of our lives,” I tell her quietly. “We’ll figure it out as we go.”
She doesn’t reply, her breathing evening out as she drifts off to sleep. Every part of me relaxes against her, knowing she’s safe in my arms.
We can talk about everything else when she’s feeling better.
For now, I just want to hold her and watch her sleep—her rhythmic breathing a constant reminder that she’s here, and she’s alive, and I didn’t lose her.