Page 70 of Cartel Devil

“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.”