She exhaled a long breath.
“Take me to him?”
Demo ran a hand down his face.
“I will, but you have to understand that he’s heavily medicated and in a lot of pain. He’s bandaged up and a little out of it from the medication. He got out of surgery not too long ago. I waited to call you until I knew what was going on. We’ve been here for a few hours.”
Tuesday wanted to cuss him out for that, but instead she said, “thank you.”
Making a move to walk past him, Demo grabbed her arm to stop her. She turned to look at him.
“I just want you to know the threat is eliminated. It was a shootout while we were driving, and the other car crashed and burned, allowing us to get away. I just needed you to know you’re safe, and so is your son and Biggie.”
While relieved to hear that, Tuesday couldn’t help but shake her head.
“I don’t think any of us are really safe until you guys stop playing little boy games and get out of the streets. Which room is he in? You should go home and get cleaned up.”
Demo stared at her, blinking slowly, allowing her words to sink in. Finally, he nodded and cleared his throat.
“Room 307.”
Tuesday nodded and opened the sliding door, looking down the hall and following the room numbers, slowly making her waytoward Biggie’s room. She tried to mentally prepare herself for what she was going to walk into. Her feelings were all over the place. She had no idea what this thing between her and Biggie was, but she realized she wanted time to see it unfold. Today reminded her just how precious time really was.
Willing her heartbeat to slow some, she walked into Biggie’s room, peeking behind the thick curtain. A nurse stood inside checking Biggie, and Tuesday paused, watching closely.
When the nurse turned, she startled a bit and then offered a reassuring smile.
“Hello? You here for Mr. Harper?”
Tuesday’s eyes traveled from the nurse to Biggie, who looked worse than she thought. He had a bandage over his ear, one on his shoulder, and one on his chest. An I.V. ran through his hand and his eyes were closed. The only thing that calmed her was the slow rise and fall of his chest.
“How is he?” Tuesday ignored the nurse’s question.
She smiled again before walking over to the computer and tapping away on it.
“He’s stable. The surgery went well. He’s a fighter. If the bullet in his chest had been even a centimeter over…Well, he got lucky.”
Fresh tears brimmed Tuesday’s eyes.
“Are you sure he’s stable? Is he gonna be okay? Our son…”
She let her words trail off as she got choked up. The nurse’s eyes were kind, but before she could reply, a gruff voice said, “Our son is going to have a long time to get to know his daddy.”
Tuesday’s eyes bounced over to Biggie, and her feet moved on their own accord. She quickly grabbed his I.V. free hand and grasped it, relishing in the warmth coming from it.
“Biggie?”
“Why you up in here fussing over me?” Biggie tiredly teased.
She let out a giggle through her tears.
“Why are you up in here in the first place?”
The nurse cleared her throat.
“I’ll give you two a moment, but visiting hours are almost over. I promise to take care of him overnight.”
With that subtle warning, that they didn’t have long to talk, the nurse exited the room, leaving Biggie and Tuesday alone. Her eyes found his again, and she squeezed his hand.
