Every so often, a nurse crosses the far end, and my pulse jumps. Every so often, nothing happens at all, and that’s worse.
“Why don’t you go,” Luca says into the silence. “I’ll wait here.”
“You go,” I say. “You have a wife and kid at home.”
We look at each other, and exchange a small smile. We both know that neither of us is leaving.
Luca’s smile fades. He scrubs a hand over his jaw and looks at the ICU doors like he can will them to open. “He’s too damn stubborn to go out like this,” he says, his voice going quiet.
“He won’t,” I say. I sit across from Luca, hands loose between my knees.
“Then why won’t he wake the fuck up?” Luca asks.
“Like you said, he’s stubborn,” I say. “He’ll do it on his own time, but he’ll do it. And laugh at us for worrying.”
“Then I won’t feel so bad for kicking his ass,” Luca says, sitting back.
The doors whisper open, and a nurse I recognize from earlier steps out—dark curls pinned up, badge that says MARTINEZ. It’s Antonio’s night nurse.
“He’s awake,” she says.
We’re on our feet before the words finish.
“Not lucid,” she adds quickly, palms up. “He opened his eyes, tried to talk. He’s fighting the tube, so we have to sedate him again. I thought you might want a minute before we do.”
“Yes,” Luca says, already moving.
We follow her through the double doors. The ICU looks different with the lights dimmed. It’s still cold and impersonal, but there’s something spooky about it with fewer people around.
Antonio looks different, too. Still pale, but there’s a sign of life now. His eyes are open, unfocused, lids heavy. He tries to raise a hand, but it’s weak.
The breath catches in my throat. Antonio is always so full of life and laughter. To see my older brother like this, weak and struggling, is killing me.
“Hey,” Luca says, stepping to the head of the bed. “It’s me.”
Antonio’s gaze drifts and lands on Luca. He tries to speak around the tube, but Luca’s hand to his chest stops him.
“Don’t,” I say, sliding to the other side so he can see us both. “Don’t talk.”
His brow pulls together, and he tries again. I read the frustration and temper in his eyes.
I understandnow.
“Nico’s fine,” I tell him. “He got out. Everybody did. You’re the only one napping on company time.”
That settles him, and his eyes go relaxed again with a slow blink.
His mouth moves again around the tube, but sleep is pulling him back under. His fingers flex in Luca’s hand.
“Everything will be fine, Ant,” Luca says. “Your only job is to heal, got it?”
That earns another slow blink.
His gaze shifts to me. I lean in so he doesn’t have to strain.
Something eases in his eyes. He tries again to make sound, but nothing comes out.
Nurse Martinez steps closer with a syringe, checks the line. “I have to sedate him again or he might dislodge it,” she says, then turns to Antonio. “We’re going to give you a little more to keep you comfortable. You’ll sleep.”
