4

It was close to four a.m. when I finally got to take a break, but I didn’t spend it in the nurses lounge. Instead, I grabbed a cup of coffee and a granola bar, and located Leon’s room.

He was sleeping peacefully when I entered. Or at least from the neck up he looked peaceful. His dark lashes rested against his cheeks, and his hair stood up in spikes. I got the feeling that it was always spiky and that it hadn’t just happened when he’d been injured.

But from the neck down, well, things didn’t look so peaceful. A blanket covered his lower half, but his chest was bare and covered in gauze and bandages. Dr. Baines had plucked seven shotgun pellets out of him and stitched him up while I cleaned and treated all the scrapes and scratches. The skin on his torso was red and raw. Even worse was the one pellet Dr. Baines hadn’t been able to get out. But that happened. Depending on the location, sometimes it was safer not to try to remove it.

Leon breathed deeply and evenly as I nibbled on the granola bar, my eyes on the rise and fall of his chest. His companions had told us he was twenty-nine, but he looked younger. He had a bit of a boyish face. It didn’t make him look less masculine, but I imagined that he’d be the type of man who’d look like he was thirty well into his forties. Somehow, I doubted the same could be said about me, but hey, I still had four years before I’d be in my thirties.

Did I stay because he reminded me of Colby? Maybe. It would’ve been good if someone had been able to comfort my brother after he’d been shot, but he hadn’t even made it to the hospital. But if he had, I would’ve wanted someone to be with him until we could. Maybe Leon’s family felt the same way, or they would when they found out he was hurt?

There was a faint knock at the door, and my head swung toward it. It would be ironic if his family showed up right after that thought from me, but when the door opened, it was a huge, dark-haired man whom I’d seen downstairs in the ER before. He’d been one of the ones who brought Leon in.

The man gave me a nod as he eased his large body into the room, keeping the door half closed so as not to disturb his friend. It wasn’t easy, though. He was a big man. A really big man—at least six foot four or five, and his body was a veritable wall of muscles. Though his skin was tan like Leonel’s, his eyes and hair were so dark they were nearly black. He didn’t look like he was Leonel’s family, or at least not a blood relation.

But I knew better than anyone that you didn’t have to share the same blood to be family. Colby would always be my brother even though we hadn’t shared any common blood, either.

For a big man, the newcomer moved quietly. I barely heard his footsteps as he walked to the other side of Leon’s bed. He gazed at his friend’s messed up chest for a long while, not even acknowledging me. When he finally lifted his gaze to me, I jolted slightly. Out of fear? Or surprise? I really couldn’t say, but there was something in the intensity of his gaze that shook me.

“How is he?” the man asked softly. He had on a black leather jacket. Under it, he was wearing a gray t-shirt with dried blood on it. The shirt was tight against the broad expanse of his chest and flat abs. I got the sense that he hadn’t gone looking for a tight shirt to show off his muscles but rather all shirts looked tight on a man his size.

“He’s stable for now,” I said in a whisper, and then bit my tongue. I hated this part of the job—I wasn’t allowed to tell him anything about his friend's health, at least not without Leon’s permission.

The man nodded, as if not expecting much of an answer. “They wouldn’t tell us anything downstairs, either.”

“Hospital rules,” I stated, but I couldn’t keep the note of sympathy out of my voice.

He nodded. “Do you have his wallet?”

That took me by surprise, but I glanced over at the white plastic bag on the nightstand next to the bed. “I’m sorry, I can’t give it to you.”

“I didn’t ask you to. But you can look at it, right?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. When the large man just continued to stare at me, I reached into the bag and fished the wallet out of the pocket of Leonel’s pants.

“Find his license.”

It felt a little surreal to be in a dark room, following low, gruff orders from a perfect stranger, but I didn’t sense any ill will from the man across from me, despite his menacing looks. So I did what he said and pulled out the license.

The man proceeded to recite Leonel's full name, date of birth, address, and practically every other detail from the license.

"I don't suppose you know when it's due for renewal?" I inquired, raising an eyebrow.

A brief smile flitted across his serious countenance, vanishing just as quickly. "Just wanted you to know that I'm Leonel's friend."

"I believe you," I replied. However, my brow furrowed as I scrutinized the license. "It says his name is Leon, not Leonel."

The man nodded. "Leonel sounds more Italian."

"Is he Italian?" I queried. It was evident that the imposing man was. Despite lacking an accent, his black hair, dark eyes, and olive skin hinted at his heritage.

"In an honorary sense," he replied.

His response elicited a smile from me. He clearly regarded his heritage as a badge of honor to be bestowed upon worthy individuals.

"I'm Asher," he introduced himself.

The name rolled off his tongue smoothly and sounded pleasant to my ears. "Nice to meet you. I'm Penelope."

"Penelope," he echoed my name slowly, as if assessing its value. "Could you please update me on my friend's condition, Penelope?"