Chapter 21
Andrea’s hand is slack in mine. But I won’t let go, still desperate to feel it move, tighten, or anything.
I held it the entire ambulance ride to the hospital, and they had to physically force me to let her go so they could take her to the trauma room.
But ever since they wheeled her into this room in the ICU, I haven’t let go.
I stare at her hand in mine, finding it smaller than I ever did.
So petite. So fragile. So pale. She did her nails before we left.
She even asked me to help her choose the color.
The pretty shade of blue is already chipped.
Damaged, like the rest of her. At least there’s no blood around hers, unlike mine, despite washing my hands while they were operating on her.
I should go handle that, but it would require that I let go.
They had to send a social worker to help contain me while they were saving her life.
I was too much of an agitated mess, pacing the cold, neon-lit hallways.
With the counselor’s guidance, I contacted Andrea’s family and filled out the paperwork they needed.
Then the police came, asking questions about what happened, and I disclosed as much as I could without mentioning the hit on Nammota.
They’ll need to figure that out themselves, since knowing about it would be an admission of guilt on my part.
Two and a half hours. That’s how long they kept her on the operating table. It was quick and went well, the surgeon explained, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt to me as though they worked on her for ten times that long.
But at least she’s here now. Someone came to remove her tube and replace it with an oxygen cannula. “It’s a good sign,” the nurse had explained with compassion.
I rip my eyes from our joined hands to look at her face.
It’s not relaxed like when she’s sleeping, it’s …
blank. It doesn’t feel like she’s in there, which doesn’t help my anguish.
They removed her makeup in the operating room, and only a pink stain remains on her lips.
It contrasts with how white she seems. The light blue hospital gown makes her skin look almost translucent, like a ghost.
“I’m sorry,” I say, barely recognizing my voice, so twisted by pain and sorrow.
“I should have seen him. I was so focused on getting us to safety, I didn’t—I didn’t see him.
And now … you’re paying the price for my mistake.
I’m so sorry, my love. I’d give anything to be in this bed instead of you. Everything.”
I bring her lax hand to my lips and kiss the back of it, long, hard. A tear rolls down my cheek, and I press her hand to it. “Can you forgive me, Andrea? For not protecting you the way I should have. For dragging you into the mess that is my life?”
Her expression remains the same, like cold marble. My love … What have I done to you?
“Sir?” a nurse calls from the door. When I turn to her, she says, “Her family is here. They want to come see her.”
I nod, wiping away another stranded tear. Then, I force myself to let go of her hand and lay it to her side in what seems like a natural way. I’m just standing up from my chair when Andrea’s parents appear at the doorstep.
“Ah, mi bebé,” Isabella exclaims when she sees her daughter lying there, eyes already shiny. Her father, too, is overwhelmed by emotions. And behind them, Maria Carmen is already in tears.
Both women acknowledge me with a nod. Isabella throws her bag to the floor, and they rush to Andrea to stand by her side, sharing the hand I was just holding. Her father remains further, resting his palm on her shin.
“What happened?” he asks, throat tight.
“The police believe it might have been a mugger. They often target high-end apartment buildings like mine.”
“Did they find him?”
“They’re working on it.”
“What did the doctor say?” Isabella wonders, turning away from Andrea to look at me.
“That she was very lucky. She’ll make a full recovery, but it might take her a few months to regain the full mobility and strength of her arm. She has a hairline fracture on her scapula.”
“Corazón,” Maria Carmen sobs, caressing the side of Andrea’s face.
“We brought you a change of clothes, like you asked,” Isabella explains, pointing at the bag she threw to the side when she arrived.
I walk to it, eager to change out of my blood-soaked clothes.
It’s dry now and hardly noticeable on the black fabric, but I know it’s here, and it drives me mad.
I pull out a hoodie and sweatpants, which must belong to Rafael, and head to the room’s small bathroom.
My skin below my turtleneck is stained with dry blood, and my stomach churns at the sight of it in the mirror.
This is more blood than I should ever have seen in my life.
And it’s Andrea’s. The last fucking person I’d want this to happen to.
Enraged at myself and the world, I scrub my skin with cold water until there’s no trace of it left.
Then I wash my hands, over and over, until it’s no longer on my fingernails either.
I groan as I remove my pants, reminded of my last birthday gift to Andrea.
I thought I’d surprise her by wearing no underwear—returning a favor she’s done for me multiple times.
My timing was fucking shit, though. Much like hers, any time she’s done it.
When I return to the room, Maria Carmen is in the chair, still holding her granddaughter’s hand, and Isabella is with her husband.
“Mi amor, can you let Rafa know what room we’re in?” Isabella tells him. He immediately steps out to comply.
“He came too?” I ask.
“Yes, we picked him up with Kate. They’re parking the car.”
“Good. She’ll want to see all of you when she wakes up.”
“Did the doctor say when?”
“The anesthesiologist said any time now.”
She looks at her daughter again, then back to me. “How are you doing, mijo?” she asks, resting her hands on my shoulders in a supportive way.
“I—I should have seen that man coming. I should have protected her.”
I expect her to agree with my words and acknowledge my failure. It’s what I fucking deserve for letting her daughter almost die for me. But instead, she wraps her arms around me and gives me a tight, motherly hug.
Stunned that she could be so forgiving when I’m eaten away by remorse, I don’t move. How can she forgive me so easily? I failed her daughter. I fucking failed her.
The tears I’ve been struggling to hold back all surge into my eyes at once. Along with them, a sound that doesn’t even seem human rips out of me, half sob, half whimper. She could have died because of me. She almost did. I almost killed her.
I shatter in a way I haven’t in over twenty years.
My whole body shakes uncontrollably as a mix of sorrow and guilt wrecks me.
I don’t even realize when Maria Carmen comes to add her own embrace to her daughter’s.
How can they forgive me? I don’t deserve it.
They should kick me out of the room and demand that I never see their daughter ever again.
“Wh—what’s going on?” a small, broken voice asks.
Instantly, both women let go of me and turn to Andrea, whose face is scrunched with discomfort as she tries to sit up.
“Don’t move, pollito,” Isabella rushes to say, returning to her daughter’s side. Maria Carmen is with her, and Michael returns to the room to join them.
“Where am I?” Andrea croaks, her unfocused eyes looking around the room. I take a few steps back, bringing myself to a corner, away from her.
“You’re at the hospital, my baby,” her mom explains, passing a soothing hand over her forehead. “You were shot.”
Andrea’s confusion seems to worsen as she tries to recall what went on. “Lex … Where is he?” she asks, almost a whimper.
“I’m here,” I say, unmoving.
“Someone shot you.”
“No nieta, you were the one who got shot,” Maria Carmen corrects her.
“But …” Andrea looks down at herself, at the bed, at her hospital gown. “Am I okay?”
“Yes, the doctors said you’ll be fine,” Michael answers. “I’ll go call someone. Let them know you’re awake.”
When Andrea tries to sit up again, her mother and abuela stop her. “Don’t move, corazón.”
“I’m thirsty.”
Earlier, the nurse left a cup and a straw on the table next to the bed, for when she’d wake up. Before I can point at it, Isabella grabs it and helps Andrea drink. “Slow, mi bebé. Take your time.”
She’s done drinking when Michael returns with a nurse. “Now that she’s awake, no more than two people in the room, please. She’ll exhaust herself otherwise,” the woman explains.
Michael and I nod, and I step toward the door to leave. “No,” Andrea protests. “I want Lex to stay.”
I look around at her family, feeling like shit for this. They should be with her, not me. They deserve it far more than I do.
“Mike and I will get coffees for everyone,” Maria Carmen offers, standing from the chair.
“The doctor has been warned,” the nurse explains once it’s only Isabella and me. “She’ll be here soon.”
She leaves us, and I let Isabella sit on the chair and grab her daughter’s hand again. “How are you feeling, pollito?”
“It doesn’t hurt as much anymore. What time is it?”
“A little after three in the morning.”
“You drove in the middle of the night for me?”
“Of course, mi corazón,” Isabella says, grazing her cheek with the back of her fingers.
“But Dad doesn’t see well at night, and—”
“Rafa drove.”
“Oh … where is he?”
“He and Kate will be here soon.”
Andrea winces. “Can you tell him to be nice to me? I’m in the hospital, so he’s not allowed to be mean.”
“I don’t think he will be,” Isabella counters.
“He’s a big brother. He’s always mean.”
Isabella patiently replies, “I’ll tell him to be nice, or else.”
“La chancla.”
Her mother laughs softly. “Exactly.”
Andrea closes her eyes for a moment, as if to rest, but reopens them quickly. “Baby, why are you so far?” she complains.