Chapter 43
MARLENA
“The doctor is on his way,” Francisco says.
I hang my head in shame. I’m so embarrassed that I got caught up in all this and that I forced my husband to rescue me. I’m grateful for what he did, obviously, but that doesn’t stop the negative soundtrack that’s running through my head.
At least Brandon is safe. Although I have serious concerns about his health.
In the warehouse, it seemed like he was able to get up.
I try to remember, but the whole thing is shrouded in shock and fear.
Did he really get up? Or was I imagining that?
Or maybe he was trying to get up, but he was packed full of adrenaline.
Brandon slept the whole way home in the car and didn’t stir as Francisco’s men carried him inside. I tucked him in upstairs in a guest suite opposite mine. And that’s when I heard Francisco’s car pull up.
“I’m going to go and check on my brother,” I say.
“I’ll come with you,” Francisco offers.
I don’t have the strength to argue, so I let him escort me up the stairs. Glancing over at my own door, I wonder when I’m going to get the chance to move into my husband’s suite. And do I even want to?
I was trying to escape this life, not get sucked back into the thick of it. Yes, I knew Francisco was the Don, and yes, I was well aware of all that meant. But for some reason, the truth hadn’t smacked me in the face until today.
I’m chewing on my bottom lip, nervous about a lot of things.
My stomach feels raw, as if I’ve just thrown up, although that isn’t the case.
I’m glad Francisco is here with me, but at the same time, I wish he weren’t.
If I’m being honest with myself, part of me wishes we had never met.
Then Brandon wouldn’t be here, laid out in bed possibly unconscious.
But at the same time, none of this started with Francisco, so I can’t lay all the blame at his feet when my father is the real culprit.
I knock on Brandon’s door just in case he’s awake. There’s no answer, so I go inside. I left the bedside lamp on so that he wouldn’t become disoriented if he awoke with no one beside him. But he’s still sleeping.
Francisco puts his arm around me, and I let him. I want to explain why I did what I thought I had to do. I glance over at him, ready to bare my soul, but I can see that he already knows.
“Let’s let him sleep,” Francisco suggests. “The doctor will be here soon.”
I allow myself to be guided out into the hallway, but that’s as far as I’ll go.
Francisco takes pity on me, putting his back to the wall and gathering me into his arms. We stand there like two sentries outside my brother’s door.
Francisco kisses my neck. I feel myself melt against him, and I realize that I’m running on fumes.
I’ve got to keep it together long enough to listen to what the doctor has to say.
Luckily, it seems the doctor has raced over.
Francisco gets a text, and a moment later there’s a commotion at the front door.
My husband goes to retrieve the doctor, allowing a short and balding man into my brother’s room.
He’s not wearing a hospital coat or any clothing that would indicate he’s a doctor.
But he does have a bag with him, and he goes straight to my brother’s bedside without saying a word.
Francisco comes around to hug me. I’m not sure if he’s trying to protect me from what the doctor will say or trying to protect the doctor from what I’m going to say. Either way, his presence is calming.
The doctor checks for a pulse, and then peels open Brandon’s eyes and shines a light in them. He tugs the blanket off and frowns at the soiled clothing my brother still wears.
“Help me remove these,” the doctor instructs.
I move to the bedside, eager to give whatever assistance I can. The doctor removes a pair of scissors from his bag and cuts Brandon’s shirt off. He continues working, snipping through fabric until Brandon is fully naked.
“I’ll go get him some new clothes,” Francisco offers.
Now that all his clothing has been removed, the doctor is free to examine every inch of Brandon’s skin. He touches a few locations gently. I can see dozens of dark purple bruises and some more recent red welts. It breaks my heart to know that my brother’s been abused this way.
“It looks like he has a broken wrist,” the doctor says finally.
I hold my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I’d like to stabilize his torso, and I think there’s a good chance he has a concussion,” the doctor concludes.
I sniff, wanting to cry but feeling all tapped out. Francisco returns with some of his own pajamas for Brandon to wear. The doctor gets started wrapping Brandon’s wrist, and both Francisco and I are needed to help him gently bandage Brandon’s rib cage.
“I’d like to run a few more tests,” the doctor says, looking at me gravely. “But you might want to step out of the room. You look like you’re about to collapse yourself.”
“What do you mean? What kind of tests?” I demand.
“I’d like to draw some blood to check for poison,” the doctor responds.
“Oh my God,” I cry, my knees weak. “Do you think he was poisoned?”
“He’s unresponsive,” the doctor answers. “It’s not unheard of for poison to be used, but I just want to be sure it’s only a concussion.”
Francisco wraps one arm around me, leading me to the door. “We’ll be right outside,” he says.
I feel numb and allow myself to be led out into the hallway again.
Outside, I simply lean against my husband, needing his support.
He strokes my hair, making sure that I know I’m cared for.
I thought that when we found Brandon, my troubles would be over.
But now it seems like they’ve only just begun.
What if Carlo Andretti and his men did real damage to Brandon?
What if he slips into a coma and never wakes up?
I know Francisco can tell where my thoughts are headed because he tilts my chin up so that I’m looking into his eyes. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers.
“This isn’t the life I wanted,” I say, unaware of how painful my words might be. “After Dad went missing, and then turned up dead, I swore I would never get involved in anything like this ever again. And now here I am, in the thick of it.”
“Shh,” he says, putting both hands on my shoulders and smoothing his palms down my arms. “Everything is going to be okay.”
“This isn’t want I wanted for Brandon,” I moan, unable to help myself. Francisco is tough. I know he can handle it. Brandon, on the other hand, isn’t cut out for this kind of thing. “He’s innocent,” I explain. “He didn’t know anything about you or our father.”
Francisco looks at me, the concern in his eyes genuine. I can see a light switch go off deep within his gaze as he seems to come to make a decision. I’m not sure what that’s all about, but I don’t have the brain power to worry about anything else but my brother right now.
“I’ll fix it,” he says simply, and then walks away.
I come unmoored from my post for a moment, deprived of his support. But then I straighten my shoulders, determined to see this through on my own. My brother needs me, and I’m not going to rest until I know he’s well.