Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Joaquin
Every part of me hurts.
Never have I appreciated my training more.
I’ve dedicated years to building my pain tolerance and learning to mask my reactions to everything.
I don’t want Tre to see how uncomfortable I am.
She hasn’t noticed my injuries, and I don’t intend to point them out.
Right now, we’re both more focused on the implications of the blood on her jeans.
The headache and chest pains could be from the car hitting me dead on or from the panic nipping at me. The blood I feel trailing down my back is definitely the road rash. I feel the gash on my right hip from the fender hitting me, but it grounds me. It’s something real among all my racing thoughts.
“Joaquin, I’m scared.”
“Me too, chica. But we aren’t far from the hospital. Just a couple more minutes.”
I struggle to keep my voice as soothing as I can.
I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep.
I don’t want to patronize her when we both understand the danger—both from the attack and that the baby’s in.
She never uses my full name now. I don’t remember the last time she did. It tells me she’s barely holding on.
“What if—what if we don’t get there in time?”
“No matter what, I’m staying with you, Tre.”
“That’s not what—Uhhh!”
The sheer agony in her scream pulls forth the darkest part of me. The part that wants to go on a rampage. The part that’s so singularly focused that I’d leave her behind to avenge her and our child. The part that won’t stop until there’s not a single scrap left of whoever did this.
Her nails biting into my forearm brings me back to reality. I said I’d stay with her, and I won’t make promises I can’t keep. There’ll be time to deal with who did this later. I’ll make all the fucking time in the world for it.
“Chiquita, we’re pulling up right now. Tomás will get a wheelchair and nurse.”
“He won’t pull his?—”
“You’ve seen his size. He won’t need to. He’s very convincing. He can even be charming in a pinch.”
Everything next is another blur. Tomás barely has the SUV in park before he’s scrambling out and bolting for the doors.
Hospital security tries to step in front of him, but he plows through them.
I hear him yelling for help as he grabs a wheelchair and spins it around.
I’m already out and running around the back of the vehicle.
Each step sends searing pain through my hip.
By the time our guard returns, I’m lifting Tre into my arms. Tomás holds the wheelchair steady as I lower Tre, who’s clinging to my neck and shaking her head.
“Don’t let me go.”
“I have to.”
“No! They can take me from you that way. No, Joaco. No!”
I glance at the hospital doors. Someone in scrubs and the two security officers hurry toward us.
“Okay, chica.”
I lift Tre back into my arms and run with her toward the ER entrance. While it’s usually a fireman carry, I’ve hefted all the men in my family into my arms. Tre’s a feather compared to them, but the run while holding someone has never felt longer.
I burst through the doors, and heads shoot up as people gape at me. I probably look like an enraged bull carrying a lamb as I enter the lobby.
“What happened?”
“A car hit us while we were crossing the street. She’s nine weeks pregnant and bleeding.”
I barely remember Tía Margherita’s explanation that pregnancy is counted from the first day of the last period, not the date of conception—even though we know exactly when that was.
I add two weeks on. The nurse’s eyebrows shoot up, and she calls out orders for a bed.
One appears, and I have no choice but to put Tre down despite how she fights to hold onto me.
“Sir—”
“I’m her husband. I stay with her.”
The guards hover nearby, ready to block me. But they’ll be no more successful with me than they were with Tomás. He was careful not to hurt either of them. I won’t give them such courtesy.
“We need to get her settled, and you need to complete paperwork. We’ll call you back.”
“That’s not fucking happening.”
It’s Tre who speaks up. I notice she has her purse tucked against her side.
She wears it cross-body. I know she has a gun in it since she showed me this morning.
She reaches for the bag, and I cover her hand with mine while I shake my head.
It’s bad enough we set off the metal detectors as we came inside.
I don’t need her confirming it isn’t an artificial hip or something that set it off.
“Ma’am, we?—”
“My uncle is Tommaso Vizzini.”
Not everyone in Boston knows the Vizzini family. But considering they’re major donors to many medical facilities across the city, it’s no surprise when the nurse stops arguing.
I hold Tre’s hand as we pass through another set of massive metal doors.
A doctor joins the nurse, and she repeats the reason we’re here.
The doctor glances at me before focusing on Tre.
He asks a series of questions about her pain level and location.
He asks about her pregnancy and any complications.
Each question results in her digging her nails deeper into the back of my hand until I see them draw blood.
“Sir, you’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine.”
“You need to be looked at. Ma’am?—”
“I said I’m fine. Take care of my wife.”
Tre shifts her attention from the doctor to me and finally takes a long look.
“Oh, fuck, Joaco. You need a doctor. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It’s a couple scratches.”
“But your hip?—”
“Is still attached, chica.”
“But—”
“Chiquita.”
She snaps her mouth shut for a moment before answering. “Okay.”
People watch, and I fear I was too aggressive.
But a few smile, and I think they approve of me prioritizing her and downplaying my injuries for her sake.
We head to a bay, and other people swarm in as the nurse locks the bed into place.
I try to find a place to stand out of the way where Tre can still reach me, but I’m too large. I pry her hand off mine.
“Tre, I’m not going anywhere. I can see you and everything going on, but I can’t hold your hand. They need to help you.”
“You won’t leave? I can’t do this without you, Joaco.”
“Who here can move me?” I grin, but everyone knows it’s a warning to them as much as it’s a reassurance to Tre.
“You know what I’ll do if they try, Joaco.”
Fuck me.
“I’ll hold your coat and purse.”
I reach for them as a nurse lifts the bag’s strap over Tre’s head. I squeeze forward to grab it before she can. I help the nurse get the raincoat off before retreating to my corner. I know there are knives in each pocket since she showed me those too.
The next thirty minutes are the worst in my life.
Something has finally exceeded the horror of watching my father die in front of me when I was eleven.
Tre was in too much pain for them to pull down her jeans, so they cut them away.
There was more blood than I realized. The doctor and nurses called out orders to each other, expecting the worst. It wasn’t until one of the nurses shifted Tre’s right leg that they discovered a deep cut where her leg meets her ass.
It was only after the team assured us the baby wasn’t in imminent danger that I agreed to a doctor treating me.
They opened the curtain to the adjacent bay and pushed the beds together.
The only blessing in disguise to all of this was that to stitch us both up, we had to lie facing each other. We held hands through it all.
What syndicate man loves having his ass to the breeze in a hospital gown—especially in front of the woman he wants to believe he’s invincible for her sake?
The moment my back and hip are bandaged, and they’ve given me just enough pain meds to numb the persistent ache without knocking me out like an elephant, I insist upon a pair of scrubs.
Her family will arrive, and I’d prefer the men not see me so vulnerable.
“Ms. Vizzini, you got extraordinarily lucky. We all assumed the worst when you arrived, but the laceration caused the blood loss. The piece of asphalt embedded pretty deeply, but I’m confident we got it all out before suturing it. The ultrasound shows your baby is fine.”
“Fine? Just fine?”
I’m holding Tre’s hand again as she demands a better prognosis. Once the initial urgency calmed, just the doctor and original nurse remained. I’m sitting on a chair next to her bed, having insisted I was fine without my own bed.
“You need to remain here for at least the night while we observe you. We’ll keep you hooked up to the fetal monitor. Every indicator shows your baby is safe. Unfortunately, I can’t guarantee nothing will change.”
“Doctor—”
“Where is my daughter?!”
A booming voice with a clear New York accent interrupts Tre. My girlfriend flinches.
“My mom’s here.”
The curtain’s pulled back as a petite redhead steps forward. You’d never expect such a strident tone could come from someone who’s barely five-five.
“Trish!”
“Mom!”
Kathleen O’Rourke Vizzini glances at me as she rushes forward. “Joaquin, you look like shit. See a doctor.”
The woman practically shoves the doctor out of the way as her embrace swallows Tre.
My girlfriend bursts into tears. The ones she’d shed earlier came from the pain.
She hadn’t noticed them falling, but each one chipped away at my heart.
Her sobs shatter me. I swallow over and over and look away.
She sounds like Mamá did when my brothers and I got home from the movies without Papá.
Fear of loss can be just as consuming as the loss itself.
Everything my stalwart girlfriend held in since the accident comes flooding out.
I wish I were the one comforting her, but if she needs her mom, I’m not going to let it hurt my feelings.
I’m petty as fuck about a lot of shit, but I won’t begrudge my girlfriend whatever comfort she needs.
“Mo chuisle.”
Muh coosh-la.
I’ll have to ask Tre what that means later. Must be Irish.
“Joaco.”