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“Here,” I said, offering the chair.
“She seems okay, right?” he asked, sitting down, scooting as close to his daughter as possible. He took her hand and kissed it.
“Doc says she remains in stable condition, but she's struggling.” I didn’t want to tell her father how much Marisa had been through. The evidence of torture, the hell she had been put through before I finally got to her—the amount of trauma and blood loss. I didn’t want to think about the possibility that she wouldn’t make it.
We sat in silence, both watching. Both waiting. Both hoping.
“You love her,” he said simply.
My eyes snapped to his. I noticed his words weren’t a question but a statement.
I saw a hint of a twinkle as he met my eyes and repeated himself. “You love her.”
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat and corrected myself. “Yes, sir.” I wasn’t talking to a friend. I was talking to the father of the woman who owned my heart, soul, and everything in between.
“No need forsirswith me, son. Makes me feel like I’m back at work.”
“Sorry, sir,” I said.
A light chuckle left his lips as he shook his head. “Call me, Roland.”
I nodded, not wanting to make the mistake of calling him sir again.
“She loves you.” His words were said with the utmost simplicity again.
“I don’t know that.” Self-doubt was sinking its fangs into me, baring its teeth. “Not for sure anyway,” I said with a shrug.
“Don’t you?” he asked.
“She’s never said it.”
“Love isn’t shown in words. It’s shown in actions. In emotions. In the eyes,” he said as he met mine again. “I know my daughter. More than that, I know her eyes. And what they show when she talks about you speaks volumes more than words ever could. Trust me, Tyler. My Mari, she loves you.”
My heart pumped wildly in my chest as I processed his words. Really heard them and allowed them to sink in. I felt like I should be shouting from the mountaintops. Instead, I felt like Odysseus himself, lost and fighting a raging sea filled with monsters and beasts who were waiting to take everything away from me.
When a man meets a woman’s father for the first time, it can be quite a nerve-wracking experience. Under the circumstances I was in, meeting Marisa’s father for the first time while his daughter was lying in a hospital bed after being shot should have made the situation even more uncomfortable. I couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to him. There wasn’t any awkwardness or weirdness. Instead, it was as if we’d met years ago and had already established a fondness for one another, friends who were reconnecting after a long time.
We were in the middle of his rendering of when Marisa was first learning how to drive when everyone showed up. Now it wasn’t just the guys, but Catherine, Charlie, Ashton, and Gretchen were here too. I hadn’t realizedeveryonehad come.
When Charlie explained, “If my husband is in danger, I’ll be damned if I’m not on standby to jump in and save his ass.Again.” Of course, we all got a huge laugh out of that—and at Mark’s expense.
It was apparent the nurse wanted to say something about the number of people surrounding Marisa’s bed. But one look at all of us, and she knew it would be futile. After introductions and several minutes of updates and exchanging information, we moved into the hallway.
Quinn was the first to speak up. “I know you want to be here, but, Tyler, man, come on. Go home. Get some rest. You need some sleep. How much sleep have you gotten?” An obvious concern for my well-being clouded his denim blue eyes.
I rolled my eyes and tried to reassure him with my, “I’m okay.” Truth be told, I’d probably caught maybe an hour’s worth of sleep. And not a solid hour. A couple minutes here. A couple minutes there. I was functioning off of caffeine.
“At least go take a shower,” Mark piped in. “You’ve been here over twenty-four hours.” He sniffed the air. “You smell worse than you look. And you look like shit.”
His dig made me chuckle. Even though I did need a shower, I knew he was just giving me shit. I scrubbed my face and raked my hands through my hair before leaning my head back as far as it would go, rolling it back and forth. I felt the strain and ache of every muscle in my neck.
Roland’s voice didn’t betray the torment I knew he was suffering. It was full of strength and conviction. “Tyler, listen to your friends. I’m here, and I’m not leaving. Take some time. Go home. You need a break. Even if it is just a mental one.” He patted my back the way fathers do. “I’ll be here when you come back.”
Though his eyes were glistening, they were unwavering. “No” would be an unacceptable reply. No matter how much I wanted to stay put, I couldn’t say no to Roland. It wasn’t just because I’d be a heartless prick if I did. It was because I honestly didn’t have the balls, so to speak, to tell a terrified father that he couldn’t have some time alone with his own daughter. Marisa and her father were as close as a father and daughter could be. I not only recognized this, I appreciated it. What they shared was a treasure to be cherished and protected. And I wasn’t the kind of man to get in the way of that kind of bond.
* * *
Now that the adrenaline of the night had worn off and I was back at home, my leg was throbbing. It was killing me—a sensation of fire and stabbing pain. Almost as bad as the phantom pains I used to get the first year and a half after my amputation. The pain was almost unbearable. Almost. But I would do it a thousand times over. I would walk through Hell and back to save Marisa. I had pushed myself past my limits. I knew that. But nothing was going to stop me.
My heart sank as my eyes landed on the cappuccino machine. It reminded me of Marisa and how radiant she had looked when she opened her gift for Christmas. I allowed the espresso I just made to burn my tongue, feeling it would momentarily take my mind off the pain in my leg. Even after my surgery and healing, even after all the physical therapy, the pain was somehow worse today. I massaged the muscles over the material of my pants and imagined the inflamed skin underneath a brighter shade of red than usual.
I winced as I slid off the stool. Swallowing the last of my coffee, I dropped the cup in the sink and walked away. I didn’t give a flying fuck if the stack of dishes stayed there for another three days. Mentally I berated my actions, telling myself I was not a slob. But right now, dishes were not a priority. Getting back to the hospital was.
Dragging my hands over my face, the prickly hairs rough against my palms, I decided to forgo the shaving. It would add another few minutes to my time. Time I didn’t want to take at the moment.
As I placed Bee into her dedicated spot, I sat down on the shower bench and allowed the water to burn my skin. It made me feel half-alive. I dressed in record time, checked the clock, and raced out the door. Like when I was in basic training and my life was run by the demands and orders of other men.
