Eddie wasn’t listening to me. Eddie was focused.
“Move your leg,” he repeated.
Then I thought about what I said.
“Actual y, if there’s anyone to blame, it’s my Dad,” I amended.
Eddie’s eyes cut to me.
“Mi amor, I’m askin’ you, move your leg.” I scanned the crowd and saw Lottie was standing behind Lee, next to Indy.
“Our Dad is a f**king shithead,” I told her.
Seriously, if there was an f-word moment in my life, this was it.
“Jet, let Eddie take you to the hospital,” Lottie said.
It was al hitting me, delayed reaction.
“He thought he could gamble himself into the big time and we’d al ‘live large’. What kind of stupid, f**king moron is he?” I asked her.
“Jet, get to the hospital,” Lottie repeated.
“I’ve been working since I was fourteen f**king years old and he gambled away every f**king dol ar I ever gave him.
What a f**king dick!”
To punctuate my point, I brought my hand down on the window ledge and then shouted, “Ow!” mainly because it hurt.
I looked at Eddie. “I hurt my hand,” I informed him unnecessarily.
His dimple appeared first, then his lips formed a grin.
“Maybe we’l get the doctors to look at it after they check the bul et wound to your head.”
I blinked at him, then nodded, “That’s a good idea.”
“You gonna move your leg now?” he asked.
“Sure,” I answered, the soul of amenity and then I moved my leg.
He slammed the door and walked around the front of the truck.
Everyone was gathered at the side. Mostly they looked shel -shocked. Except Daisy, she looked pissed, right the hel , off. And not Lee and his boys, I noticed they were al trying to hide grins.
Eddie got in and started the truck.
To let them know everything was al right, I flashed a To let them know everything was al right, I flashed a smile and gave a jaunty wave as Eddie pul ed away.
* * * * *
It wasn’t until a lot later that I saw (regardless of the fact that it was just a graze) the amount of blood that had leaked down my face. I was sitting on the end of a bed in the emergency room at Denver Health and the nurse was cleaning me up. “That’s a lot of blood,” I remarked, staring clinical y at the towel she was using as if it was someone else’s blood.
“Head wounds bleed,” she said in battle weary tones; the voice of experience.
That’s al I heard because it was then that I fainted.
Eddie was sitting by the bed when I woke up.
“Hey there, Cariña,” he whispered.
“Don’t tel anyone I fainted,” I whispered back.
His eyes smiled even though his lips didn’t.
“They must have thought I was a lunatic, ranting about Dad with blood running down my face.”
“I don’t expect they thought much of anything except bein’
glad you were alive to rant.”
I figured he was right.
He helped me sit up and then took off to go to the waiting room to tel everyone I was okay while I fil ed out forms (I was praying, since I was on an unplanned, unscheduled vacation, that Smithie stil had me insured…
told you he took care of his girls, probably no other strip joint had good insurance).
Then Eddie came back.
“You should know, someone told Duke and Tex and they were both out there. Your Mom too. I told ‘em you were fine, I’d take care of you and sent them home. You can talk to them tomorrow.”
I pushed back the alarm of Mom knowing I’d been grazed by a bul et and focused on feeling grateful. Grateful I had friends who would sit around in the waiting room of a hospital to hear news of a graze and grateful that Eddie took care of them so I didn’t have to. Because I was grateful, I found his hand and I gave it a squeeze. He one-upped my squeeze by bringing my fingers up and brushing his lips against my knuckles.
The gesture was so intimate, my bel y curled and the oxygen burned in my lungs.
It was then, Detective Marker arrived.
Eddie stood with me while Detective Marker talked to me, again.
The only good news Jimmy Marker gave me was that Shirleen was okay. She sustained a blow to the head. She was taken to Presbyterian/St. Luke’s Hospital and admitted for observation only, a minor concussion.
“Do you know where Dad is?” I asked Detective Marker.
He looked at me.
“Usual y that’s my line,” he returned, trying to joke.
I stared at him.
He sighed, looked at Eddie, then back at me.
“We got witnesses who say he was taken by Slick, he was alive but looked injured. No word, no sign. We’re lookin’ and we’l keep lookin’,” he promised me.
I felt his words slice through me like a knife.
Eddie’s hand went into my hair and, very gently, he pressed the uninjured side of my head against him.
“I’m okay,” I lied, looking up at him.
He looked down.
“You’re so ful of shit.”
That got him a grin.
* * * * *
He took me to his place, helped me undress and stepped into the shower with me. He turned me away from the spray and used the showerhead on me, and, careful to avoid the dressing at my temple, he shampooed the blood out of my hair. We patted ourselves dry, I combed out my hair and Eddie put me to bed na**d and held me tight. After awhile, his warmth seeped into me and I started to feel safe again.
“I’m worried about Dad,” I whispered as if I was admitting to a grave sin. “I know I shouldn’t be but I am.”
“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” he replied, his voice gentle and, I swear, maybe even a little bit affectionate (or maybe even a lot).
I lay there awhile, suddenly feeling even warmer.
“Eddie?”
“Sí, mi amor?”
“I’ve got to tel you something and you have to promise me you won’t get mad.”
He was silent.
“Promise?”
He sighed. “You’re kil in’ me,” he muttered.
I pressed into him. “You have to promise.”
“I promise.”
He may have promised but he clearly wasn’t happy about it.
I told him what happened, in detail, with Vince and Mace.
He listened without making a single noise but his body got more and more tense.
Then I told him about the kiss and he went total y stil .
“It was just… not what you think… it was, I don’t even know what it was. Mace told me not to say anything but—” Eddie interrupted me.