The Man I Love (The Fish Tales, #1)(57)

He rested his head on hers and held her still.





Whisper Together


Detective Khoury emerged from Will’s room chuckling, saying Will was too zonked out on morphine for any kind of conversation. Khoury would be back in the morning. Lucky was allowed in then, and Erik could go too, if he kept it brief.

Much as Daisy had, Will turned his head and leaned into Lucky’s neck, inhaling with a palpable relief. Erik found himself smiling at the primitive impulse. As if a sedated person were robbed of all senses except smell. They hadn’t the strength to open eyes or reach out. They were merely looking for the soothing scent of a loved one.

Erik leaned and rested his face close to Will’s, letting him sense his presence. Will’s head turned. The eyes fluttered and managed to open. They rolled a little drunkenly, focused a couple seconds on Erik, then the lids dropped again.

“Whazup, *,” Will whispered thickly. His mouth curved up a little. He looked quite pleased with himself. Then his features melted into neutrality and he was asleep again.

It was eight o’clock then, and the ICU’s visiting hours ended, although family would be allowed a single hour later, from ten to eleven. Erik, Lucky and the Biancos left the hospital and went to the nearby Sheraton where David had been quite busy.

Erik never knew if David charmed someone’s pants off or if it was simply an act of benevolence on the part of the hotel. But management upgraded them to the presidential suite, with its three bedrooms and three baths and every amenity they could possibly need. David himself had driven back to Lancaster and gathered clean clothes for Erik and Lucky.

“You go digging through my underwear drawer, Alto?” Lucky asked.

“Oh, hell yeah,” he said. “I know you—you’ll be locking Will’s door before they get the IV out of him. I figured you’d want your nice panties.”

Lucky went to swat his arm, but the swat became a caress and she kissed his face tenderly. “You’re a prince, Dave.”

He was a prince. Erik barely recognized his gentle kindness. David, always so moody and difficult, was here for him, a beacon in the fog, beaming a purposeful, dependable light.

Erik got into the shower, turning it as hot as he could stand. More blood swirled in the water around his feet. He used the entire little bottle of shampoo and wore the soap down to a sliver.

A brisk knock on the door and David’s voice floated over the curtain.

“You want tea?”

“Yeah. Two b—”

“Two bags and milk. Jesus, Fish, I know how you take your f*cking tea.” The door slammed. Erik shook his head and had to smile. When he finally emerged, pink and dripping, the tea was on the vanity and the bloody clothes taken away. Erik didn’t know where—he never saw them again. He dressed in the clothes David had brought. He retrieved his wallet and keys and other effects from the side table, then he picked up the penny. Stared at it a long time.

He did not put it in his pocket. He left it.

They sat at the table in the suite’s living room and ate room service. Nobody made much conversation. Erik had reached a strange mental tipping point where he went utterly numb, nearly on the verge of indifference. He found himself thinking about basketball. Big game tonight. With Magic Johnson retired and Doc Rivers flopping, could the Lakers beat the Clippers and will themselves into the playoffs? Erik glanced over at the television. It was turned on to the news, with the sound muted. Would it be heartless of him to switch to the game? Probably.

He felt oddly and inappropriately bored.

The phone rang.

“I can’t get up,” Francine said, sighing. “I’m so tired.”

As if her words were a signal, Erik felt leaden then. Bed beckoned enticingly. His head longed for a pile of pillows with smooth, freshly-laundered cases. His mouth actually watered at the thought of lying down.

Stooped and stiff, Joe trudged to the phone and answered.

“Eat, darling,” Francine said to Lucky. “Just a little more.”

Lucky picked up her grilled cheese and took a grudging bite.

Joe turned around, speaking in French, his voice raised in alarm. The lethargy of the room split apart with a crackle. Francine stood up.

“What?” Erik said.

David had gone pale. “I think they’re taking her back into surgery.”

Erik jumped up, bumping the table with his knee, making plates rattle and glasses slosh. “Joe, what happened?”

Joe hung up the phone and looked at Lucky. “Reperfusion,” he said, as if accusing her of a crime.

Lucky shook her head, eyes wide. “I don’t know what that is,” she said wildly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

Erik ran into the bedroom to grab his sneakers and jacket. About to dash out again, he stopped and looked at the penny. It lay on the bedside table where he had left it, orange and sinister under the lamplight. It glared at him.

It didn’t like to be left.

He put it in his pocket and followed the Biancos back to the hospital. There they learned reperfusion is when blood supply returns to tissue after a period of oxygen deprivation. Instead of restoring normal function, it brings on inflammation and cell damage. Dangerous pressure begins to build up.

“Marguerite began to shows signs of distress and complain of severe pain in her lower leg,” said Dr. Jinani. “Despite the morphine drip.”