Page 128 of What About Love

“That proves I had every business going in.” He closed his eyes, feeling suddenly tired. “And when we got out, what happened?”

“We arrived stateside at 2 a.m. and they took you immediately into surgery to remove the bullet. It’s almost noon now.”

“I lost a lot of time.”

“That’s from the blood loss. They’ve transfused quite a bit back. Rest,” she urged softly, taking the cup from his hand. “You’ll feel better when you wake up again.”

His eyes popped back open, meeting hers. “Will you stay with me, darlin’?”

He waited for her reply, but it didn’t come.

“Angie?” he prodded weakly, reaching for her with his uninjured arm.

He felt her hand in his and, a moment later, the coolness of her other one upon his cheek. It moved upward over his forehead, lying flat for a moment as if checking for fever, as his mother had when he was a kid. It felt nice, and he allowed himself to be drawn toward sleep.

While he was drifting on the edge of oblivion, he felt her lips brush softly against his own.

“I love you, T.”

Warmed by that reassurance, he relaxed into the drug-induced oblivion that beckoned him. His heart lurched the next moment when he thought he heard her add, “But I can’t stay, baby. It hurts too much.”

He struggled to open his eyes but was too far gone to respond as the blackness consumed him once again.

***

AS IF SWIMMING UP FROMthe murkiness of a deep-sea dive, he opened his eyes. This time, he knew where he was clearer, recognizing the hospital room. Searching for Angie in the bedside chair where he’d last seen her, he found his mother in her place.

Her face drawn with concern, she moved toward him and wrapped her fingers around his forearm. “Tonio,” she murmured. “How are you feeling,bello?”

“Where’s Angie?”

A pained look crossed her face, and her eyes darted away.

“Ma?”

“She left a while ago, after you woke the first time.”

“I remember, vaguely.”

His hand came up to rub his forehead, his good one, although with all the tubes attached to him, it wasn’t easy. A strange sense of foreboding swept through him as he tried to recall their brief interaction before he drifted off again. It came back to him as swift and painful as the bullet that had seared his shoulder. Shifting back to his mother, dread filled him as he saw tears ready to overflow.

“Where did she go?”

“She’s packing for LA, I imagine. She told me she has a flight out later today.”

“Hell,” he muttered, a stab of pain not remotely related to his shoulder, assailing his heart.

“What happened? Did you fight? You were so happy and at ease with each other last Sunday, and when we had lunch.”

“Yes, lunch. I heard all about lunch.” His eyes narrowed on her.

“I know I shouldn’t have.”

“No, Ma. That was private and not yours to tell, but I get it. She’s a skilled detective.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“She’s a trained interrogator and can be quite persuasive.”

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