Chapter 47
I’m staring at the TV on the wall, watching the images without paying attention to what’s happening. I’ve been in this zombified state for at least two weeks now, and I’m about ready to rip everything out of my arms and escape this torture chamber.
I'm aware of—and thankful for— their lifesaving measures, but at this point, I’m going crazy. I haven’t seen almost anybody except doctors and nurses, barring a single visit from my attorney a few days ago.
“Good morning, Javier,” Nurse Lisa says as she enters my room. “How you feelin’ today?”
“Like I’m ready to leave.”
She sends me a look. “Well, we’re not ready to let you go just yet.”
I sigh. “I didn’t know you were in the kidnapping game.”
“You’re no kid,” she teases. “And you just had a bullet removed from your chest after experiencing major blood loss. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Lucky. Yes,” I deadpan.
She doesn’t say anything while she checks my vitals and updates my chart. Once she’s done, she puts her hands in the pockets of her scrubs and looks at me. Her strawberry blonde hair is up in a ponytail, and her green eyes bore into me.
“Cops are gone.”
“They finally realized I was only a victim,” I say.
“That lawyer of yours is kinda scary.”
I snort. “That’s when you know you got a good one.”
“The doctor will be in to check on you later today. Maybe you’ll get the green light to be discharged.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
A light knock on the door gets our attention. Lisa turns around, and just past her arm, I spot a man in the doorway.
“Am I interrupting?”
It’s Carlo.
I immediately try to sit up a little straighter, peeking around Lisa’s body.
“I was just leaving,” she says, glancing back at me before walking out of the room.
Carlo stands there in a black, V-neck lightweight sweater. The sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, and his gray slacks look freshly pressed. He’s wearing his glasses, but they don’t hide the sadness in his eyes as he looks at me.
Suddenly, I’m aware of how awful I probably look. I’ve been rotting in bed for way too long, unshaven, and only washed via spongebath.
He strolls closer, taking my left hand since it’s the arm free of IVs.
“You’re alive.”
I stare at him, studying every inch of his face, trying to read each twitch of his brow or twist of his lips.
“I am.”
“I knew that,” he says, looking down at my hand as he runs his thumb over my fingers. “I was checking in, and getting information from anyone I could, but I wanted to see you for myself.”
“Took you long enough.”
He meets my gaze and I give him a small smile.
“They weren’t letting anyone in for a while.”
“I know. Something about me being unconscious.”
“And something about the cops not wanting you to talk to anyone.”
“Right. That too.”
He smiles, but it’s small and doesn’t reach his eyes. His despair is evident.
“Javier—”
I cut him off, afraid of what he’s going to say. “Wait. Let me…can I tell you something?”
He nods, and I cycle through everything I’ve thought about since I’ve been clear-headed enough to think.
“I don’t know which to say first, because both seem to be of high priority, so don’t think one means more than the other.
” I swallow. “I want to say I’m sorry, and also thank you.
” He continues to stare down at me, his eyes empty of their usual life.
“Cortez was—” Carlo shifts, and pulls his hand away from mine as he nervously scratches at his face.
“He was like family to me,” I finish. “Watching him…seeing that…” I trail off, feeling my own discomfort while watching Carlo’s appear on his face.
“I’ll never forgive myself for not doing more.
For not stopping it from happening. I’m sorry I didn’t do my job. ”
Carlo shifts his feet, rubbing at the corner of his eye while avoiding my gaze.
“But I also want to thank you, because I know you saved my life.”
He scoffs, looking up at the ceiling. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t help anyone.”
I reach for his hands and grab two of his fingers. “Hey. That’s bullshit. You saved me.”
“You saved me,” he says, emotion altering his voice. “You took a bullet meant to kill me.”
“Listen,” I say quietly. “You kept me from going to jail. I know what you said. Your attorney is my attorney. Every death was blamed on your father as well as Sammy and his people. You painted me as a hero. You saved me, Carlo, even after I didn’t do what I—”
He shakes his head. “You couldn't have prevented that from happening,” he says. “You tried, and you got shot for it.”
I go quiet for a minute, closing my eyes as I see the image of Cortez slumped against the wall. “I’m so fucking mad, Carlo. So fucking mad at the whole situation.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “Me too.”
“What happened with your case?” I ask, looking up at him. “Hugo didn’t mention much. For a mob attorney, he’s a stickler for rules.”
“He told me about your case,” he says, a pinprick of humor in his tone.
“Yeah, well, you probably used your choir boy charm on him.”
He chuckles. “Maybe I’m just more likable.”
“I don’t doubt that,” I say. “He says I’m too pushy and—”
“Abrasive?” he finishes for me.
“Hey.”
Carlo shrugs. “I might’ve thought the same thing before.”
“Yeah, well.”
“My case was dismissed. There was reasonable belief that I was in imminent danger and had no choice but to shoot.”
I nod. “Good, good. It’s true. He was going to kill you.”
Carlo doesn’t respond immediately. In fact, he looks away, his thoughts taking him somewhere else. When he speaks again, I’m not sure I expect what he says.
“It wasn’t self defense. He was going to shoot you.”
I swallow, trying to remember that night. A lot of moments are blurred together, overpowered by the image of Cortez being killed. I don’t remember Sammy aiming for me.
“He would’ve shot you after,” I say. “You had no choice.”
“I could’ve run down the hall behind me. Went out the back door.” He looks at me. “And even if I had a choice, I’d do it again for what he did.”
I nod, understanding.
“How was the funeral?” I ask, not necessarily wanting to talk about it, but needing to know.
Carlo cocks his head slightly. “We haven’t had one yet.”
“What? Why?”
“I told them to wait. I knew you’d want to be there.”
My facial expressions freeze. “What?”
“I know how much he meant to you. You deserve to say goodbye, too.”
“Carlo,” I say, my voice breaking.
He bends down and puts his hand on my head, kissing me on the forehead. “He loved you.”
I break down, and as Carlo comforts me, I feel his own tears falling onto my skin as he, too, begins to weep.
Together, we grieve a man who meant a lot to both of us, regardless of the differences in our relationships with him. We mourn his loss while finding comfort in each other, and I can finally breathe a little easier knowing Carlo doesn’t blame or hate me for what happened.