Dad was following through on his pledge to be a good communicator.
“Last night, after the attack, Secret Service had to kill the shooter, Alan Eastman. He was an American, a thirty-two-year-old landscaper, married with a young daughter. He had two children, but his seven-year-old son died about a year ago.” Dad’s mouth trembled, and he took a moment to collect himself. “It appears Mr. Eastman’s grief relates to his heinous crime. His son, Joseph, sustained an injury from gardening shears and bled to death waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Mexican gang activity in the area reportedly prevented help from getting there in time.”
Dad swallowed. “To our knowledge, his son’s death incited a hate for Latinos that burned inside of Mr. Eastman. His wife has cooperated with investigators. She reported that her husband stopped taking his medication for depression last month. He went to a dark place and suffered from paranoia.
“Our country struggles with race relations, like every other country on this planet. We descend into hate of the different, the unknown. But the tragedies I’ve witnessed, including the recent threat to my son’s life, have taught me one thing: we bleed the same.” He paused. “Mr. Eastman’s son. My son. The brave men and women fighting for our country. Black, white, Latino, Asian, Muslim—we all bleed the same. The color of our skin doesn’t alter the color of our blood.
“Our nation has bled with hatred and violence too many times to count. The fear of differences will likely continue, but I pray the bleeding will stop. I do not believe God put us here to tear each other down. We are here to lift each other up. We are here to pursue happiness—pursue the American dream.
“I admit I was terrified when I heard my son had been shot. How dare they hurt my boy! I had revenge fantasies—I felt hate. But when fear and hate threaten to overtake us, we need to turn to love.
“I look to the African Methodist Episcopalian Church in Charleston, South Carolina, for spiritual guidance. A white man shot and killed nine black parishioners who had welcomed him to their Bible study. At a hearing two days later, family members of the deceased addressed the shooter. Their loved ones had died, victims of a vicious hate crime, but they had the audaciousness to forgive the killer. They stunned the world by praying for the killer’s soul.
“Stirred by their love, I have a message for Mr. Eastman and his family. I want them to hear the message loud and clear. I forgive you.”
I gaped at the TV.
“God forgive you. May God have mercy on your soul. We have no room for hate, therefore we will forgive. We are the country love has built, and we will not let hate tear us down. We will get to know our neighbors—who they are beneath the skin. Go deep so you can know their hearts. They bleed the same as you. We all bleed the same. Thank you.”
I absorbed Dad’s words. Maddie patted my shoulder, and I looked up to find her smiling at me. Mateo had slept through the speech, but Lucia and I shared a knowing look—a look of pride in our father. It wasn’t long before agents ushered Dad back into the hospital room.
“Wow, Dad,” Lucia said.
I nodded. “That speech was increíble.”
“Thank you. Really, the credit should go to the Charleston church. Religion gets a bad rap sometimes—people claim it can be stifling and judgmental, and sometimes it is. But that church showed the best Christianity has to offer: a message of love.” He glanced at Maddie. “And Maddie deserves some credit, too.”
“I do?” Her eyes widened.
“I liked what you said about getting to know someone’s heart. If China was out of the woods, I might have used your ‘we all taste like chicken to the bear’ joke. But I thought it wouldn’t be appropriate at this juncture.”
Lucia rolled her eyes. “Good call, Dad.”
“Speaking of forgiveness, I’d like to speak to my son alone.”
Maddie gave my hand a squeeze before she headed to the door.
Dad frowned at everyone else. “Could I have a minute?” When they all cleared out, except for my sleeping brother, I smirked. I hoped Dad’s absolute power didn’t go to his head.
He sat in the chair next to my pillow. He rested his hand on my knee and exhaled. “I was speaking the truth down there. I was terrified when I heard you were hurt.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“First Lucy gets an eating disorder, then you get shot, all because I wanted to be president.” He shook his head. “What horrible thing will befall Mateo?”
“Dad.” I frowned at him. “Eating disorders have multiple causes. One cruel photo didn’t create Lucy’s problem. She had other risk factors.”
“Like dating a Democrat, you mean?”
I snorted, then cringed at the pulse of pain up my arm. “Don’t make me laugh.”
His eyes creased with sadness. “Will you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” I pointed to my sling. “This will heal. America won’t. Our country won’t heal without your leadership. The economy’s already improved. Jobs are up—full-time jobs. There’s more opportunity for every American, just like you promised.”
“It’s not worth it if my children are in danger. And you’re telling only one side of the story—I’m getting hammered in the polls.”
“You’re getting hammered in the press, and your poll numbers are in line with those of any president who tries to make substantive changes. This takes time. Don’t let one crazy man deter you, Dad.”
He sat back in his chair and sighed. His fingers tapped his thigh as he stared at my sling. “This could be worse, I guess. That’s your throwing arm. The wounds would’ve ended your pitching career if you hadn’t given it up already.” He shook his head. “The surgeon could’ve been in here telling us you were done with your major league career, on top of everything else.”
I looked down and rubbed my thumb over the sheet. “Sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“Sorry I had to give up pitching. I know you wanted to see me go pro.”
“¿Estás loco?” He leaned over the railing of my bed, fury flashing in his eyes.
I heard the beeps of my heart rate monitor pick up speed.
“Don’t you know how proud you make me? You’re studying to become a physician! That’s every parent’s dream.” His eyes narrowed. “For as smart as you are, you can sure be dumb sometimes. You thought I wanted you to be on some pitcher’s mound? Entertaining fans, instead of saving people’s lives?”
“I…” I didn’t know what to say.
“Your surgeon came in here while you were still out, you know. The guy’s brilliant. Thank God he didn’t choose a career in professional sports over saving your life.”
“But I don’t know if I want to become a surgeon.”
Dad widened his eyes, gaping at me like I was a socialist. “Then don’t. Become whatever you want. You know, Alejandro, it’s flattering you look up to me. But I’m a flawed man. I make many mistakes. I sin, and I seek God’s forgiveness. Then I do it again. It’s time you stop looking to me, and start looking to yourself. You need to become your own man.”
La ceguera. I blinked at him with wide eyes. He’d just ripped me a new one, but not to punish me…to free me. And he was right. I needed to let go of trying to please him all the time. I was too old for that. “You might disagree with my choices.”
He appraised me for a moment. “Then I guess I’ll have to deal with it.”
Both of us turned when we heard a rustling outside my hospital room.
“Let me in, El Niño!”
I turned to Dad. “You had my best friend flown here?”
A sly smile was his only response.
“Come in, Jake!” I hollered.
He began talking as he entered the room. “Figures I don’t get one scratch on me in Afghanistan, and you’re the one who gets shot, fucker.” He stopped short once he saw Dad. “Holy shit, El Presidente.” In a nanosecond, his spine snapped straight, and he saluted. His desert camouflage tunic pulled tight across his chest.
Dad rose from the chair and returned the salute. “Good to see you, Second Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, sir.” Jake remained at attention.
Dad winked at me. “Should I tell your friend to stand at ease?”
“Hmm. I rather enjoy him forced to be silent like that. Silence from him is so rare.”
Dad laughed, then rounded the bed with his hand extended. “Glad you’re safe, Jake.”
Jake’s blue eyes narrowed at me before he smiled at Dad. “Thanks for helping us fight out there, sir.”
“The gratitude is all mine. Thank you for your service. I’ll let you catch up with my son.” Dad left, followed by a couple of agents, and Jake sauntered over to my bed.
“I just got to salute the commander in chief. The guys will be so jealous.” He eyed me. “You in a lot of pain?”
“Not unless I move. They’ve given me some analgesic, but I can’t read the IV bag.” My eyes strained upward. “Can you turn it so I can see it?”
Hydromorphone, I read once he flipped the IV bag.
“That’s some serious shit, bro.” Jake shook his head.
“I know that, but how do you know?”
“They gave that to my buddy when his foot was blown off.”
He spoke so casually, but nausea stirred in my belly. “How do you do it, Jake?”
“It’s my job. It’s not so bad. We’re finally making progress. No more of this limited-engagement bullshit. I’m thinking of staying after my commitment’s up.”
“You sure?”
“Fuck, yeah. They say leaving your unit’s the toughest thing.”
I nodded, thinking about my retirement from baseball. “It was tough for me to leave my team, my unit.” Then I thought about Maddie. “But you’ll find a new unit. A new home.”
He aimed his salacious grin at my crotch. “I met Maddie in the hallway. Your unit’s sure found a new home.”
“You’re disgusting.”
He thumped my shoulder, and I hissed in pain.
He jumped back. “Sorry, niño!”
“You better be.” A thought entered my mind. “But you can make it up to me.”
“Yeah?”
I beckoned him closer and whispered a question that made his eyes light up. After he answered, he lifted his big hand to thump my shoulder again, but stopped himself this time.
He pretended to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. “So proud of you, El Niño.”
“You can leave now. But tell Maddie to come back in.”
His waggled his eyebrows. “I sure will, buddy.”
I shook my head.
She came in, holding her cell phone.
“Dr. Valentine just called to check up on us.” Maddie inhaled a deep breath. “She said we might experience post-traumatic stress.”
I nodded. “Flashbacks. Hypervigilance.”
“So you’ve already covered that in psychiatry. I thought for once I knew something you didn’t.” Her pout made me reach for her—pain be damned—and draw her toward me for a kiss.
She pulled back before her lips touched mine. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then kiss me.”
She grinned. Her hand skimmed through my hair as she gently kissed my mouth. I lifted my head to deepen the kiss, and a shot of pain bolted through my right arm.
Apparently she heard my gasp because she let me go. As she blinked down at me, her eyes filled with tears. “I thought I lost you.” Her voice trembled. “I thought you left me.”
“I’m sorry I scared you like that.”
“You were lying there, unconscious…” A tear slid down her cheek. “China wasn’t moving, and I was all alone.”
A popping noise exploded in my brain, and I felt my body jerk. The room darkened as my heart thundered.
Maddie grabbed my hand. “Hey.”
I squinted up at her, confused. Where are we?
“Breathe,” she commanded, and I realized how tight my chest felt. I exhaled, then forced in a gulp of air.
“It’s March eighteenth, and we’re in a hospital room.” Her voice soothed me. “What do you hear right now?”
I stilled. “Your voice. My heart rate monitor.” The beeps gradually slowed.
“What do you see?”
“Your beautiful brown eyes.” She smiled. “Why are you asking me these questions?”
“Grounding—you know, to bring your mind to the present when it’s flashing back to the past.”
“Oh.” I nodded. “We haven’t gotten to interventions for PTSD yet.”
Her grin widened. “So I do know something you don’t.”
When I smiled, I noticed how much calmer I’d become. I felt anchored in the present, focused on Maddie’s shining eyes. Maybe there was something to this therapy thing. I brushed away her tears, and she tilted her cheek toward my palm. Her eyes fluttered shut.
“But I also know something you don’t,” I teased.
Her eyes opened. “What’s that?”
“When I was lying there on the ground, feeling you beneath me…” I took a moment to make sure I was breathing. “I thought I was dying. I thought I’d never see you again.”
I watched her chin quiver.
“And I had this huge feeling of regret.” I looked at my lap, then back into her eyes. “What if I died without ever having sex?”
Her mouth dropped open, then split into a huge grin that mirrored my own. “That would be quite the tragedy.”
“Agreed.” I nodded. “We need to act right away to rectify that situation.”
Her giggles filled me with warmth. I didn’t even mind the zap of pain in my arm when I laughed, too.
Brad poked his head into the room. “Hey, uh, Maddie?”
She looked over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Someone’s here to see you.”
Maddie looked back at me. “My dad must’ve made good time from Cleveland.” She leaned in for a soft kiss. “Be right back, Hotajandro. I’m going to hold you to your word.”
Chapter Twenty-One
WE’RE GONNA DO IT! I bounced out of Alejandro’s room and into a hospital hallway filled with agents and police officers.
As I followed Brad, another thought slowed my step. He has to almost die to want sex with me?
I shook my head and quickened my pace. There was my old negative thinking rearing its ugly meanness again. He’s shown his love for you in so many ways, Dr. Valentine had said. Helping you study. Buying you dinner and flowers. Kissing you. My heart skipped remembering his kisses, how his touch sparked ribbons of fire through my hair. When his arm healed, I needed more of those. Don’t doubt yourself. You are enough.
Brad pointed to a hospital room, and I entered. I am enough. Mrs. Ramirez stood inside the door, next to the bathroom, her forehead creased with apparent worry. I stopped short. “You met my dad?”
She glanced into the room, and when I saw who waited for me, my breath caught. There, in the flesh, sat the source of my negative thinking.
“Your mother came to see you.” Mrs. Ramirez patted my back, though I was barely aware of her touch. I couldn’t look away from the woman who rose from the lounge chair with a regal air. She’d filled out a little from her wedding photo, but she was still long and slim. Her skin and eyes were slightly darker than mine, and Braxton was right—she did have the same mouth as me.
“Madison.” Her low, resonant voice made my nose burn, a sign of imminent tears.
I looked behind me, seeking escape, but Brad had closed the door.
“It’s okay, niña,” Mrs. Ramirez said. As she clasped my elbow, I realized I was trembling. “Talk to her. Find out why she’s here.”
But I couldn’t move. Don’t cry. Why had my mother shown up after twenty years? How could she think she even had to right to speak to me?
“You can do it.” Mrs. Ramirez pressed my elbow with a gentle nudge. “Your mother loves you.”
I shrugged out of her hold and spun to glare at her. “She loves me? Is th
at what you call leaving your two year old? Love?” I swiped at my cheek. Goddamn it. I was crying again. I didn’t want to cry in front of my mother. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.
My tirade pushed Mrs. Ramirez back. “I’m sorry. You’re right—I’m interfering.” She reached into her massive handbag and handed me a packet of tissues. “You’ve been up all night. You must be exhausted.”
The fight inside of me disappeared, and I nodded. I wished I could curl up somewhere with headphones and a blanket like Mateo—just block everything out. I pressed a tissue under my nose as I turned back to my mother. She watched us but didn’t approach. Good. I couldn’t handle her right now.
I felt Mrs. Ramirez’s hand on my shoulder and lowered the tissue. “I’ve been talking to your mother,” she said. She tilted her head toward the seating area in the room. “She was so scared to come here. She knew you’d be angry. She knew you’d likely reject her.”
What about how she’d rejected me?
“But she had to see you. She heard about the shooting, and she rushed here to make sure you were okay.” Mrs. Ramirez blinked. “As a mother, I know how she feels. I was an absolute wreck when we flew from DC. I had to see Alejandro, hold him, feel him in my arms. And thank Dios you weren’t hurt.” When she looked up to me and stroked my hair, tears streamed down my cheeks.
“I hope you’ll listen to your mother. Give her a chance, Maddie.” She smiled at me. “I’ll leave you two now.”
Don’t leave! I wanted to shout. But she was out the door before I could speak. I turned back to face my mother and saw she was crying, too.
“I’m so sorry,” she choked out before crumbling back into the chair. She sniffed. “I knew this would be hard…”
I looked at her for a moment, trying to really see her for the first time. An intricate turquoise and red beaded necklace rested on her collarbone, paired with a silky black shirt and a turquoise scarf hanging artfully off her shoulder. I had to admit I liked the ensemble.
“But I deluded myself as to just how hard it would be,” she continued. “How awful it’d be to see the pain I’ve caused to the ones I love.” Silent sobs racked her body.
Aced (Blocked #2) Page 24
