I’ll never find him in a moment of weakness like this again.
But can I?
I rush over, and when I kneel beside him, he looks away.
Scooting closer, I rest the back of my hand against his forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“I came from hell,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I’m always hot.”
“Ha-ha. Funny, Satan.”
He goes quiet, like his last reply took all his energy.
“Do you think you’re done getting sick?”
He tiredly nods.
I hook my arm under his and start to stand. “Let’s get you back to bed then.”
“Can’t.” He shakes his head, mumbling, “I have shit to do.”
“Emilio,” I say as gently as I can, “you’re going back to bed. End of discussion.”
I tug on his arm, but he doesn’t move.
Groaning, I use all my weight to try to drag him away from the toilet, as if playing tug-of-war. He doesn’t move an inch. After a few more failed tries, he gives me a break and slowly stands. I’m at his side as he stumbles out of the bathroom toward the bed. I pull the blankets back, and he drops onto the mattress like a dead body, not even bothering to adjust his pillow.
As he settles, his gaze drifts from me to the gun on the nightstand, then back to me. Without saying a word, he pulls himself up, grabs the gun, and tucks it into the drawer.
He doesn’t lock it.
If he falls asleep, it’s mine.
I’m sure though, even half dead, Emilio would still stop me from getting it.
I pat his head. “Stay.”My turn to boss him around.
His heavy eyes close, and he relaxes. I count to twenty, making sure he doesn’t get up, before going to the bathroom to change clothes. When I’m finished, I check on him again, then walk downstairs.
It’s already ten, and Maggie usually shows up around nine.
“Good morning,” I greet her as I step into the kitchen.
“Morning,” she sings back in her dainty voice before glancing past me to the doorway. “Is Emilio still home?”
“He left a few hours ago. One of his Mafia friends picked him up.” I grab a banana from the fruit bowl and peel it. “Said I could use the Range Rover for the day.”
“Nice try,” she says around a soft laugh. “Emilio texts me with any daily changes.”
“Like a true babysitter.” I frown, biting into the banana.
“Being called a babysitter is an upgrade from prison guard. I’ll accept that promotion.”
“He’s upstairs.” I use the banana to point at the ceiling. “He was puking his brains out. I made him get back in bed.”
Her eyes widen. “Youmadehim?”
“Yep. I wear the pants in the relationship now.” I take the final bite and toss the peel in the trash.
