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We’re led backto Sam’s private room. It’s dark. The only light is coming from the machines monitoring his heart rate and oxygen. He’s asleep, tucked into a starchy looking white blanket. His handsome face is covered in cuts and bruises. The stitches above his eye are red and angry, and white gauze peaks out from the top of his hospital gown.
Readying myself for a long night, I throw my jacket down on the couch and sit on the edge of his bed, picking up his hand in mine. Then, leaning down with my face next to his, I swallow down my fear. “You don’t get to tell me everything you told me last night and then get hurt like this, Sam.”
A throat clears behind me. “Can I ask what’s going on between you and my brother?” I completely forgot Sebastian was in the room. Shit. Way to not give him a minute with his brother, Amelia.
Trying to hide my discomfort, I move back to the couch and pull my legs up in front of me. “Nothing is going on. We’re just friends.”
“Friends?” His voice clearly indicates he doesn’t believe me, but I don’t have the energy left to care.
My eyes are drawn back to Sam. “Yes, Sebastian. Friends. Your brother has been a better friend to me than I deserve.” I wad my jacket up to use as a pillow and shove it behind my head. “It shocked the hell out of me too.”
Bash sits down in a horribly squeaky, vinyl recliner. “Guess we might as well get comfortable.”
“Why?” Sam’s raspy voice interrupts the two of us.
Bash jumps up before I can and moves next to the bed. “Hey, you’re awake.”
“Leave it to the smart ones to always state the obvious,” Sam says, barely above a whisper.
I pour him a cup of water from a nearby pitcher and add a straw before holding it up to his lips. “Don’t try to sit up yet. Just take little sips.”
The infuriating man refuses to listen to me, tries to sit up, and then winces in pain. Sebastian moves to the other side of the bed. “Wait, you stubborn ass. Let me adjust the bed. It’ll be easier for you.” He grabs the remote and pushes a button to raise the back of Sam’s bed.
“Could you two stop fussing over me? I’m okay,” Sam groans, trying to take the plastic cup from my hand but wincing at the small movement.
“Really convincing, Sam.” I pull the cup away from him and move the straw back to his lips. “Let us help.” I stop talking before the tremble I feel in my voice is audible. Then I quietly add, “We were worried about you.”
“Sam—” Bash starts but is cut off by Sam.
“Where’s Dad?”
“He’s still in surgery. We haven’t gotten any news yet. Dean and a few of the others are still in the waiting room.”
“The house. Who’s at the house with Nonna?” Sam asks.
“Uncle Nick has it under control,” Bash tells him, and I begin to feel like an outsider who shouldn’t be here.
Maybe this is a family matter.
Maybe I should have stayed in the waiting room.
A disgusted noise leaves Sam’s throat. “Nick doesn’t have shit under control. Get Dean in here. I need to talk to him.”
Just when I start to think seriously about excusing myself, Sam reaches for my hand. “I need you to go home. Don’t go to your home. I need you to go to my father’s home. It’s the safest place for you right now.”
“No.” I sit back down on the couch and cross my arms. Then, with my mind made up, I add, “I’m staying. Don’t bother arguing. You won’t win, Sam.”
“Amelia, don’t argue with me. Haven’t I kept you safe? I promised you I would, and I’ve kept my promise.” There’s an urgency in Sam’s voice. “Now, listen to me and go to the house. Go. Tell Nonna that Bash will be there soon.”
Bash turns to me, a shocked expression on his face. “You know Nonna?” His eyes bounce between Sam and me. “She knows Nonna? What the hell’s going on, Sam?”
“I don’t know, little brother. But there’s a whole lot going on that you can’t know. Now go. Get Dean—” Sam is cut off by a knock on the door.
A surgeon in navy blue scrubs comes in. “Mr. Beneventi’s family?”
“That’s us, Doc,” Sam tells him, and Bash and I move to stand on either side of the bed. Instinctively, I reach for Sam’s hand.
The surgeon pulls his surgical cap off his head, his tired eyes failing to hide his exhaustion. “Your father was unconscious when he arrived at the hospital. He’d suffered trauma to his head, chest, and abdomen from the explosion. He took shrapnel to his head and chest. We did everything we could but were unable to stop the bleeding from his liver. I’m sorry to tell you that your father didn’t make it through surgery.”
