I wince. “I’m not really alive, though. J.J. needs to stay dead for a while longer. My assignment isn’t over, and I only have a few hours before Booth shits himself because I’m not where I said I’d be.”
“You just offered to pay Dad a visit, so it didn’t sound like you gave a shit.”
A bitter laugh escapes my throat. “Trust me, if I get ahold of him, he won’t be in any shape to ID me to anyone. I don’t have a lot of time, either. Just today.”
Maddox sighs. “Like I said, he isn’t fucking worth it. Mom is, but she’s not exactly lucid enough to know you’re here. Hearing your voice could make a difference, even if she thinks it’s a dream. Help give her a reason to fight. Man, I just need you to try. For her.”
I clench back the anger, wishing like hell I could have been there to run interference. “Sam and Elle? Are they okay?” I can’t risk running into any of my family. Dad’s in more danger from me than anyone else, but my younger brother and sister would be safer continuing to believe I’m dead for now.
“They’re fine. Staying clear of the old man as much as possible. They aren’t staying at the house, at least. They’re at my apartment since I’m living at the Flores estate full-time.”
As dangerous a man as Arturo Flores is, I’m grateful he treats my family like his own. “I’m on my way, but if I set eyes on Dad, it won’t be pretty. So if you care about helping me finish this goddamn assignment, keep him the fuck out of my way.”
“You have my word, brother.”
4 Callie
The rhythmic beep and hum of life-monitoring electronics in the ICU is the soundtrack to most of my days. It’s become a comfort when I swipe my badge and step through the door to the unit each morning, proof that what I do makes a difference, that the patients attached to the machines made it through another night.
I know that isn’t always the case. Now in my fifth year as a neurosurgery resident, I’ve lost enough patients to have a full grasp of how precious a victory it is when they survive. Still, a surgeon never forgets her first, and mine is etched into my brain like the tattoo on that very patient’s back.
I’ve carried that memory with me, despite its shroud of mystery and inexplicable conclusion. I think it was the mystery itself that pushed me to fight for answers ever since, to seek solutions that would save other lives, even though I never found the answers I craved for that death. I wouldn’t lose another patient without knowing why.
Thankfully none of my patients are in grave danger today, though in the ICU they’re never far from the edge. I’m hoping for an uneventful day when I pick up the tablet from the charge nurse and check the schedule, then begin my rounds.
First up is a patient whose presence here breaks my heart. Just when I finally managed to put the death of J.J. Santos behind me, his mother, Mrs. Marcella Santos, appeared in the ICU after surviving a stroke. Every time I arrive in her room, I can’t help but feel that the universe is trying to give me another chance by helping her recover after being unable to help her son.
Shortly after arriving in my care and undergoing surgery, Marcella was placed in a medically induced coma to relieve intracranial pressure due to cerebral edema. She’s the one patient whose recovery is the most precarious right now. On the plus side, she has very dedicated, loving children who have been by her side almost non-stop, less one son whose absence is something I think about daily. But even without him, I’m relieved that she has such a strong support system.
I expect to see one of her four living children when I approach her room—her oldest son, Maddox, has been a regular fixture in her room since she was admitted—but through the glass I see an unfamiliar man with thick, wavy hair and a dark beard seated at her bedside.
I turn back to the nurse and ask, “Jana, who is he?”
She glances up and shakes her head. “He’s been here for the last few hours. Mrs. Santos’ son vouched for him, said he’s family. That’s all I know.” She looks at her screen and taps her keyboard, then reads a name. “Mason Black? He hasn’t visited before. Usually it’s just Maddox and his brother and sister. And the husband.”
She frowns at the last part. None of us are particularly enamored of Mr. Santos, a gruff, growly bear of a man. He’s an aging Marine whose personality veers into confrontational more often than not. They told me he was drunk when his wife was brought in, and plenty of rumors have circulated about whether he caused her stroke. Marcella’s tests didn’t exactly prove otherwise.
“Thank you,” I say and head toward Marcella’s room.
The man is holding Marcella’s hand, speaking in a subdued tone. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but when I step into the room and quietly close the door behind me, the deep timbre strikes a familiar chord.
He goes silent and his head jerks up. The first thing I notice is his one swollen, bloodshot eye beneath the shadow of a lock of hair as his gaze darts past me, then around the room in near-panic, as if I’ve just cornered a wild beast. His knuckles are a mess too. The man’s been in a serious hand-to-hand fight very recently. His eye looks swollen enough that he should probably have someone look at it.
“Hi, Mr. Black, is it? I’m Dr. Nicolo, one of the surgeons on Marcella’s team. Nurse Jana tells me you’re family?”
It’s an effort to remain calm and keep my tone even, but if Maddox trusted
