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“Did you know that Kobe never cusses in front of y’all?” Matilda piped in from across the waiting room. “Y’all are going to have to learn to clean up your acts when he gets back from surgery. Studies show that patients that have undergone brain surgery are very impressionable as they make their way through the several months it’ll take to heal. We don’t want him getting y’all’s potty mouths.”
I felt a burst of happiness roll through me.
It made me happy that Matilda was already thinking about the future and not what would happen, or wouldn’t happen, to him. If he’d even make it at all.
“Show me what you got,” Hunt urged. “We’re gonna go track ’em down.”
I gave him everything. Every single tidbit of information that I’d been able to gather in the last seven hours of searching for her or them.
“I still don’t know who was the one to pull the trigger,” I said quietly, my stomach practically heaving at the mention of “trigger.” “They were both there. I don’t have any camera footage of the area of the alley that he was in, and I think that was by design on her part. She noted the cameras and likely had this planned. Why else would she be able to find the one area of that back alley that wasn’t covered by some sort of camera feed?”
“Agreed,” Hunt had his own computer now. “You have my information, right?”
I was just nodding when I saw him.
Not my brothers, who held up the wall on either side of the door that the doctor came out of, but the doctor himself.
He was wearing all-black scrubs. He had on a sparkly purple hat, and his eyes were an intense shade of brown. Almost as if they glowed from the inside.
I was walking toward him, leaving them all behind, the moment that I saw him walk through the doors.
I didn’t know that this was Kobe’s doctor, but I felt it in my gut that it was.
“You’re Folsom?”
I swallowed hard. “Yes.”
He nodded. “Kobe Sano gave me approval to talk to you before we put him out for the rest of surgery.”
I felt my stomach pitch.
“He was awake?” I asked, voice breathy.
“We performed half the surgery with him paralyzed but fully aware of what was going on,” the doctor explained. “He told me about his life and a lot about you. How he plans to…” he hesitated. “Anyway, we were able to get you medical power of attorney on him and any decisions made via a verbal signature. You are fully able to make any and all decisions for him.” He paused. “Though he says you’ve been doing that for years, so he said that shouldn’t be anything new for you.”
I slapped my hands over my face and started to cry and laugh.
I knew that he’d made it through surgery at this point.
The doctor wouldn’t be talking to me about this stuff if he hadn’t.
“Tell me everything,” I ordered then, sobering quickly.
“As you know, when he came in, he had a gunshot wound to his left eye,” he said.
I nodded, feeling that same sickness start to seep back into my soul.
“The good news is, the caliber that was used was a twenty-two.”
I heard the relieved breaths behind me, but that meant nothing to me since I knew nothing about guns.
“Is that good?” I asked, feeling ignorant, which was a new experience for me.
“Yes and no,” he answered. “The twenty-two round is the smallest caliber that is generally used. The bad thing is, once the round went into his eye, it was too small to exit his head, which means that when it entered, it had nowhere to go but sort of bounce around in his brain.”
I felt my stomach start to roll.
His poor brain.
