Vito and I watch him go, a dead sprint down the hall toward the emergency department's thrumming heart.
Vito turns to me with a wide, unholy grin.
“I think he’s going to fix your future father-in-law,” he says.
I just watch the empty hallway, thinking about Erica. About the rage in her face. And the way she was ready to take on the world in that waiting room, all by herself.
She doesn't have to do that anymore.
Next to me, Vito punches my arm. "I haven't seen you work someone over like that in a while." He grins. "This was fun. Weshould do it more often. And, look, we got us a doctor out of the deal."
He’s still grinning as we turn to head back.
"Future wife, huh?"
"Shut up," I say and punch his arm harder. He just laughs, and the sound follows us as we walk back down the hall.
Chapter Forty Three
Erica
Hours blur together in this room in a way that should be impossible.
The ER waiting room doesn’t change. The captions keep rolling across the bottom of the TV. The vending machine keeps humming. People come and go. The receptionist keeps tapping at her computer like my whole world isn’t burning around me.
But everything in me is on fire.
I sit with my hands folded in my lap because if I let them move, I’ll start picking at my cuticles until they bleed. My knee bounces, and I keep forcing it still. My stomach is hollow and tight, refusing the idea of food, but my head hurts anyway from not eating.
Nico is beside me. Close. Solid. His arm rests along the back of the chairs, his hand on my shoulder when my breathing gets too shallow, like he can feel the moment my ribs start to lock up.
It’s the only thing keeping me from splintering.
Bianca comes in and out like a sunbeam with legs, like she’s decided that if she can’t fix this, she can at least keep me fed. She keeps showing up with little paper bags and plastic containers and bottles of water, and every time I try to tell her she doesn’t have to—
When I even suggested the idea that Nico’s family didn’t have to be there…
“No,” Nico had cut in the first time, not even letting me finish the sentence. His tone wasn’t harsh, but it was final. Like it wasn’t a discussion. Like them being there was now a fact of my life now.
So I stopped trying.
And anyway… it’s nice.
And terrifying.
I’m not used to this, and it scares me to have so many people here with me, to support me.
It just seems like more people to let down. I met most of these people last night, and now I’m being treated like part of the family. And I don’t know if I can handle it.
Vito came back at one point. Antonio too. Roberto. Giovanni. They rotate like they’re doing shifts. Sometimes they sit. Sometimes they stand in corners like they’re guarding the exits. Sometimes one of them disappears and then returns with coffee and a phone pressed to their ear, murmuring to someone I can’t hear.
Elena had been here earlier, and Luca was a frequent presence.
But Nico is the one true constant.
His knee brushes mine. His hand finds mine when my fingers start to tremble. He doesn’t ask questions or pester me into conversation. He doesn’t tell me it’ll be okay, because he knows better than to offer lies.
He just stays.
