Page 47 of Alfie: Part Two

He sniffled, and I caught a tear rolling down his cheek right before he turned toward the window and scrubbed a hand over his face.

Right around the time I parked in a spot I’d definitely get a ticket for, Alfie’s dad let us know Giulia was being moved soon for surgery, and it sent my pulse through the roof. Because I’d stopped myself from guessing how hurt she was.

Alfie needed me to stay level.

“Is there time for me to see her first?” Alfie asked, hurrying toward the entrance. “But—” He blew out a breath and slowed down, only to curse and kick at a fire hydrant. “Aight. Yeah, okay.” He gritted his teeth and ended the call. “Fuck. They’re wheeling her off now. Dad’s gonna come out.”

“Okay. So we’ll wait here.” I ushered him closer to the entrance and away from the center of the sidewalk. It was late enough that some of the people coming in from the street were addicts wanting to sleep in the waiting room until they needed their next fix.

I rubbed his arm and dug out my pack of smokes.

“Thank fuck,” he exhaled. “In these moments, you never tell me to calm down.”

“I know you better than that.” I held out a lighter and lit it.

He leaned in and took a drag from the cigarette.

I was holding off a while longer?—

“Oof.” I put a hand on my stomach as it gurgled.

Fuck my life.

“Wh—oh. The food? But you didn’t eat that much of it.”

I’d eaten enough, evidently. Damn that food for being so goddamn delicious. I winced.

Alfie checked his watch. “All right, we’ll start a timer. Thirty minutes from the first rumble, right?”

I would’ve laughed if I weren’t so worried about Giulia. Which, in turn, didn’t help with my digestive problems. Discomfort and unease might force me to require a bathroom break sooner than the usual thirty minutes.

“There are some things I wish you didn’t know about me,” I admitted.

“Please. We all have something. You dive for lactose when it’s possible you shouldn’t, and I’m about to murder someone.”

I gave him a sharp look.

“I’m kidding,” he grated out. “I’ll cry in my ice cream. Someone else will pull the trigger.”

Christ. We could both turn to inappropriate humor in a bad time, but this was hitting too close to home and I wasn’t in the right state of mind to determine the fair punishment for whoever had done this. Did I wantanyoneto pull an actual trigger? Was that going to happen? Was murder the only outcome?

I suddenly realized that my words carried power, and I had to be mindful of what I said to Alfie. This was one of those situations where I probably couldn’t talk him off a ledge, but I could certainly escalate things for the worse.

If I spoke from my fears, I’d saykill that son of a bitch.

And Alfie might take that literally.

Phil saved me from having to think about that further—for the moment—when he stepped out of the ER and spotted us.

He looked tired and angry—and like his son, he was in desperate need of a cigarette. He brought out his pack, and we met halfway.

“How’s she doing? Can you tell me exactly what happened? She’ll recover, right?” Alfie walked up and hugged him.

“She’ll recover,” Phil replied gruffly. He patted Alfie on the back and inched away to light his smoke. His open flannel shirt covered in dust told me he might’ve come here straight from the garage he shared with his brother. They worked extra there, building furniture and making minor repairs. Once he’d taken a drag, he nodded at me and gave my arm a brief squeeze. “Good to see you, West.”

“You too, Phil. Is there anything we can do?”

A breath gusted out of him, and he eyed his son. “Do you remember I called you a couple weeks ago but changed my mind?”

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