I glanced over at the nurse, who was offering me a nervous smile.
But, then a small flash of memory resurfaced. Gabriel, gun in hand, shooting Jackson Randolph in the head. Had they left the body there in the alley? Did another Varasso get called to take care of it? I frowned to myself. Gabriel had certainly killed before, but he didn’t do it as often as I did.
“Mr. Varasso,” said the nurse again. “My name is Carol. I’m just here to check your vitals.”
“What happened?” I grumbled, hoping to get some clear details about the bullet wound from her, rather than having to wait for a doctor to describe the damage to me.
“You were shot in the shoulder,” replied Carol, scribbling down a few notes as she looked through the various machines I was hooked up to. “From what your brother said, it sounds like it was a drive-by situation. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Luckily, it looks like the bullet only grazed your upper bicep, and you’ll recover quickly.”
I snorted softly, wincing when the movement caused my shoulder to twinge uncomfortably. Count on Jackson to almost completely miss me in such close range. He really was a fool. A dead fool now, thankfully.
It was also clear that this nurse had never heard of the Varasso family, probably because she wasn’t from Philadelphia. If she’d known about my father, she’d know that any son of his was never simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“What time is it?” I asked. I prayed it was still Sunday evening, that Alana was somewhere in this hospital, and that I hadn’t completely missed the delivery of my child. I’d never forgive myself if I did.
“Just past two in the morning,” answered Carol. “Your brothers are with your wife in the maternity wing, which is nearby. She’s been in labor for quite a few hours now.”
I breathed an audible sigh of relief. I hadn’t been too late.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, clenching my jaw against the stabs of pain. God, getting shot really did suck.
“Now hold on a minute, Mr. Varasso,” sighed Carol, placing a firm hand on my good shoulder to still me. I scowled up at her, but she held firm. “I’m more than happy to bring you over to Ms. Rhodes, but we’re going to do it my way, okay?”
I pursed my lips. I never liked being told what to do. But, I was willing to army crawl my way all the way across the hospital’s sprawling campus if it meant I got to Alana before she had to give birth without me by her side. I figured I might as well obey this stern nurse Carol and get there faster.
Sighing quietly, I nodded and watched as Carol unfolded a wheelchair next to the bed. A wheelchair was the last thing I wanted to be in, let alone one that was being pushed by a patronizing blond lady, but I reminded myself that I had no choice. Sometimes one’s masculinity simply had to take a slight blow in order for us to accomplish what we need.
Trying to keep my groans of pain to a minimum, I let Carol help me up off the bed and into the chair. I was still in my smooth black pants from Sunday dinner, but my shirt had been discarded, I assumed, in favor of a hospital shirt that tied up in the back.
I sat in silence as Carol pushed me down the halls toward the maternity wing, avoiding the looks of other medical staff, patients, and loved ones who fixated on the mound of bandages taking over most of my left side.
“She’s about nine centimeters, last I heard,” chatted Carol along the way, her voice light and conversational. I wondered if this happened all the time; if expecting fathers showed up with bullet wounds the same night their expecting mother counterparts showed up in labor.
“Nine centimeters?” I asked, still a little dazed from whatever drug they’d given me to help with the worst of the pain.
There was a smile in Carol’s voice, though I couldn’t see her face.
“Nine centimeters dilated,” she clarified. “She should be ready to push any moment now. Good thing, too. Poor thing’s been laboring for about seven hours now.”
My heart hammered nervously. “Is that normal?”
Carol reached down to pat my uninjured shoulder gently as we rounded another corner. “It’s very common, yes. Every baby has their own special way of coming into the world. We’re almost there, by the way.”
Sure enough, after only a few minutes, we stopped at a door halfway down the next hall. A flurry of activity was audible from the other side. Carol knocked politely on the door and then opened it up, pushing me inside.
“The father has arrived!” announced Carol cheerfully.
Marco and Alessandro were in the room; I wasn’t sure where Gabriel had gone. Maybe he’d been injured somehow in the chaos on the east side, too.
Alana lay in the hospital bed, red-faced and sweating, clutching onto the handlebars with white knuckles. Her mother stood by her side, focused intently on her daughter’s face, but when Alana looked up at my entrance, her mother followed her gaze.
“Oh, Luca,” gasped Sherry, Alana’s mother. She didn’t leave her daughter’s side, but the affection in her eyes felt like a hug from across the room. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”
Marco wheeled me over to Alana’s bed and I immediately grabbed one of her damp, shaking hands. “Thanks, Sherry,” I replied. “Me, too.”
“Leave it to Luca to upstage me on the day of our child’s birth,” Alana joked, her voice weak, but not totally devoi
d of her usual spark. She coughed lightly before continuing. “...by getting shot. God, you’re an idiot.”