I wake after Luca,and I’ve curled into him, though he’s in the same position, flat on his back, and our hands are still linked. I come to consciousness abruptly, all at once. “Luca—”
I rub my eyes, the bad dreams I had flitting away too fast for me to recall them. Not that Iwantto recall them. They were full of death and darkness.
“I’m here,” he says, turning his head to look back at me, and he actually smiles. “Where else would I be?”
I don’t think I’ve seen him genuinely smile since—actually, since well before the attack on the townhouse. The business with Nick Fontana really affected him for a long time. His sense of humor, never exactly lighthearted, has been pitch-black these last few months.
I reach out gingerly to touch his face, trying not to jostle him. “Did you sleep?”
“Some.”
“Did I disturb you?”
“No,” he says, but I can see that he’s lying.
“Will you take some pain meds this morning?”
“I will not.”
And just like that, the irritation is back between us. “Luca, Darla is only coming with us on the condition that you submit to her regime of care.”
“And I will,” he says. “I will be happy to follow the instructions of a registered medical professional.”
I roll my eyes so hard I flop onto my back on the bed, glaring up at the ceiling. “If there’s one person in your care team who knows as much about drugs as Darla, it’s me.”
“Youcanhelp me go take a piss,” Luca concedes, as though I should be grateful. It says a lot about my state of mind right now that I am.
But after that, and once I’ve helped Luca have a sink-bath, during which he stared at his bandaged body in the mirror with contemptuous eyes, and once I’ve showered myself and dressed, he sends me away.
“I’ll dress myself,” he says abruptly, when I try to help.
“Luca—”
“Go downstairs and tell Hudson I want real eggs for breakfast, and some of those pancakes of his. I’m so fucking sick of hospital food; I need somethingreal. Please,” he adds after a moment, seeing my face.
“But you can’t come downstairs on your—”
“I’ll call Frank when I want to come down. I promise.”
Maybe he just wants to have some time alone. He hasn’t had a moment of it since he entered the hospital, and he won’t get much more in Boston. So instead of arguing I bite my tongue—much more biting and the damn thing will fall off—and I leave Luca there and carry his request downstairs like I’m his messenger-boy instead of his husband.
The sofa bed has already been tidied away and Gio is looking semi-alert at his position by the door. He’s guarding his own house. I feel a little guilty about that. But he just gives me a nod and a “Mr. D,” by way of greeting. “How’s the Boss?” he adds, a little uncertain.
“Well, he’s…” I spread my arms. “He’s being prettyLucaabout the whole thing, if you know what I mean.”
Gio tries not to smirk and fails. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I guess I do know what you mean.” But he’s sincere when he adds, “He’ll be okay, Mr. D. Getting out of the city for a while is a good idea.”
I snort. “The problem was convincinghimof that.”
In the kitchen, Hudson is already making up pancake batter, and there’s a bowl full of the contents of a dozen cracked eggs, too, ready to be scrambled.
“You read his mind,” I say, relieved.
“All part of the job.” That brief smile again, the sideways glance.
I sit down at the counter and watch Hudson work. When he slides across my morning coffee to me without a word, the guilt cracks me open just like the eggs. “I’m sorry if we’re making life difficult,” I blurt out. “Or, I guess, more difficult than usual.”
Hudson stares at me in genuine surprise, absentmindedly pushing back his sandy hair from his forehead, leaving a dusting of flour in his eyebrows. “It’s no bother at all,” he says. “After everything you and Don Morelli have done for me—for Connie—and for Marcy, too…I’m glad to help. Besides,” he finishes, a shy shade of awkwardness back in his voice, “you’re family, the both of you. Nothing is too much for family.”
