TWENTY-THREE

“I want to go home.”

Assail was sitting up in his bed with a rolling tray full of food in front of him, his eyes alert and back to normal, the whites as bright as they should be. And as Sola stood with Ehlena and Dr. Manello, she was at once excited and full of dread at his demand.

If he were terminal, he needed to be here. So that if something happened, it could be handled by people trained to, you know, handle those things.

“Hello?” he said. “Will one of the three of you respond?”

Sola looked at the other two and figured this decision was way above her pay grade. She was more support. Showering. Toothbrushing.

But it was hard not to want to get him away from this clinical environment, even if it was only for a little bit. He had been taken off all the monitors and the IV. The catheter was long gone. And other than a couple of pills, the purpose of which she didn’t know, he was mostly not being medicated. Whatever acute episode had been brought on by his cancer treatment had passed. For now.

“Well?” he insisted. “You just put me in how many machines over the last six hours, and you yourself said that my brain is functioning within normal limits. So what is the problem.”

Sola had to smile. With each passing hour, he was turning back into the man she had known and been bristled by. Assail had always had an autocratic way about him, as if he had spent his entire life giving orders and having them followed without question. It was irritating, and sexy—depending on whether she agreed with him on the issue or not.

“Have we all forgotten how to speak English?” he drawled. “Or am I having one of my phaseouts again?”

“Let’s talk about these—what do you call them?” Dr. Manello put his hands in the pockets of his white coat. “Phaseouts?”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Assail wagged his forefinger back and forth. “I’m not falling for that. You’re looking for an excuse to keep me here.”

And then they were all staring at her.

Clearing her throat, Sola said, “As long as you tell me what to watch out for and when to call, I’m happy to be there to care for him. And I always have nine-one-one—”

“Actually,” Dr. Manello cut in, “I’ll give you a number to phone. We can be to you in the blink of an eye. It’s best to keep in touch with us directly.”

“So is that a yes?” Assail’s eyes were like lasers on the doctor. “Are you letting me go?”

“I have one condition,” the other man said. “Myself or Doc Jane gets to come out and do regular visits.”

“So I’ll see you next week then.” Assail smiled. “I’ll pencil you in.”

Sola had to look away. These comments he made, like getting out of the drug business, or putting anything on a calendar, reminded her that he was not in a position to set long-term plans of any kind. She wasn’t sure whether it was delusion, denial, or part of his brain problems, but sooner or later, reality was going to be a crushing blow—and she hated that for him.

Dr. Manello made a pshaw movement with his hand. “You’re cute. Try every twelve hours—no, make that eight.”

Narrowing his eyes, Assail spoke in a Masterpiece Theatre tone. “Must you.”

“Yup, I gotta. Unless you’d prefer to continue to enjoy our luxurious five-star accommodations here?”

“Fine.” Assail crossed his arms over his chest. “I shall welcome you with bated breath.”

“That’s the spirit.”

When the medical staff stepped out to arrange for an ambulance—or whatever, maybe that Range Rover—Sola excused herself.

“I’ll be right back,” she said to Assail.

Out in the hall, she called after Dr. Manello. “I’m sorry, can I grab you for a second?”

The man turned around and smiled. “What can I do you for?”

“You’re sure this is okay?”

“Yes, I am. We can get there fast if something happens, and the brain scans are looking good. You’re going to be there with his cousins, and they can control him until we arrive.”

Ask him, she thought. Ask him for all the ugly details of the diagnosis and treatment.

And then she should raise the truly awful questions that gave her the most anxiety: How long does Assail have? Is the end going to be bad? Are you certain you’ve done everything you can?

Dr. Manello put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “It’s going to be okay. Besides, getting him out of here will do him good. Ehlena’s calling Ehric right now, and as soon as he finds an escort in, they’ll be here.”

Sola refocused, moving away from what terrified her to the things she could control. There would be time, when she was stronger, for the hard conversations. Get him home and settled, she told herself.

“You’ll give me his prescriptions?” She cleared the lump in her throat. “Or do I have to go to a CVS or something?”

“We’ll give you everything. Not to worry.”

---

The doctor was true to his word. Within half an hour, Ehric arrived in the Range Rover and Sola got a goody bag of pills with detailed instructions and all kinds of telephone numbers to call. And then Assail walked out of the facility on his own, refusing assistance from the medical staff, his cousin, even her.

It was clearly a matter of pride, and as he struggled with his head held high and his jaw tight with effort and concentration, she had to blink away tears. But he made it all the way to the parking area and into the back of the SUV without a slip, fall, or help-me.

The big blond man was once again their escort, and as Sola settled into her rear seat next to Assail, he smiled at her from the front. “Nice to see you again. Glad it’s under these circumstances.”

“Me, too.” She glanced at Assail and tried not to worry over how pale and exhausted he seemed. “It’s good to go home.”

And then they were heading out. She didn’t pay much attention to the gating systems or that strange fog this time. She was too busy watching Assail.

After a short recovery time from his exertion, he began to glow with happiness as he looked out the window—and she tried to get in touch with that emotion. The sad truth that they were bringing him home to die, however, was too overwhelming for her—to the point where she almost wished they could turn around and go back to the clinic.

This resurrection of his was but a flare, not a true fire source.

God, the seesawing was exhausting, she thought. One minute she couldn’t wait to get him home; now she wanted to return to the hospital…heaven knew what she would be feeling or thinking next.

“Look at the snow,” Assail said as they emerged onto the country road. “So much of it has fallen.”

His face was full of wonder, as if he were a child, and he sat forward in his seat, focusing on the headlights and the road. When he reached behind himself and started patting around, she wasn’t sure what he was doing—until their hands brushed and he held on to hers.

Closing her eyes, she rested her head back and felt the subtle bumps of the ride, the heater blowing on her ankles, the warmth of his palm against hers.

I don’t know how to do this, she thought. I don’t know how to…

“We’re here!”

Sola jerked herself awake and looked around. They were on Assail’s long driveway, his glass house glowing with light up ahead—like it recognized its owner was finally back home.

As they came around to the garages, the door in the middle trundled up, and Ehric pulled them inside. No one moved until the panels were lowered back into place—and the instant those heavy sections landed, everybody got out at once.

Evale threw open the way into the mansion, the man’s face both tense and hopeful.

Assail refused help and did not stop smiling as he shuffled over to his cousin. “Miss me?”

Evale went down the shallow steps and closed in, his arms stretching out and embracing his family. Quiet words were spoken and Sola looked away to give them privacy.

“Oh, man, who is cooking in there?” Rhage said.

Sola took a deep inhale and, sure enough, caught all kinds of her grandmother’s magic. “My vovó,” she replied. “That’s who’s at the stove.”

“She’s obviously a genius.”

“I would agree,” Sola said as Assail motioned for her to come in with him.

Hand in hand, they walked through the mudroom and then they were in the kitchen. Her grandmother didn’t look up from the skillet she was using.

“Wash hands,” she commanded gruffly. “Time to eat.”

It was her vovó’s way, of course—love shown through effort, rather than words. And Sola had to smile a little—especially as she saw the table set for five, and the thin guy she had threatened with her gun pouring water into glasses. He straightened as he looked at Assail, and then paled as if he were going to pass out.

“Markcus,” Assail chided, “let’s not become emotional. I’m home and going to be fine.”

Sola closed her eyes and had to remind herself that that was probably the best attitude for him to take. Positivity was a good thing.

Assail went over and gave the young man a hug, and then Rhage was over by the back door. “As much as I want to stay, I’ve got to catch you all later. But you take care, and call us if you need us.”

“We shall,” Assail promised as he went to the sink and began to wash his hands. “Thank you as always for your service.”

“Good deal.”

The man gave them a wave and walked out into the night. Guess he was being picked up by someone, Sola thought.

“Are you sure he shouldn’t wait in here?” she said. “It’s really cold.”

Assail shook his head. “He will be fine.”

Platters of food came out of the oven where they had been warming and were carried by her vovó’s strong hands to the table. And Ehric and Evale washed up at the bar sink across the way and then got into their seats as if they were good little children ready for lunch at school. Markcus joined them, and Assail led Sola over to a vacant seat, which he pulled out for her.

It was sometime around then that her grandmother stopped moving and just stared at Assail. Her expression was frozen, but her eyes were not. They traveled around him, noting…everything.

He hesitated after he scooted the chair in under Sola’s butt.

“Sit,” her vovó said as she pointed to the head of the table. “You will eat much now.”

Assail flushed, but followed orders, planting himself in the chair. And then Sola’s grandmother approached him with a grave expression. Putting her hands around to the back of her own neck, she removed a slim gold chain that had a small medal hanging off of it.

“This is St. Raphael. He will protect you and heal you. You will wear this and no take it off.”

She transferred the necklace to Assail’s throat and switched to Spanish, offering a prayer for Assail’s health as she took his face in her old, beautiful hands.

Sola rubbed her eyes as they teared up.

“Now, you eat,” her vovó snapped. “All of you. Too thin!”

As her grandmother headed back for the stove, she gave Sola a quick, hard hug. And then Assail’s cousins began passing the food around. The man himself simply looked down at the medal, however.

Sola cleared her throat. “Don’t worry, I won’t let her make you convert.”

“This is very kind of her.” Assail glanced up. “Very kind indeed.”

“There’s more where that came from.” Sola accepted a platter of enchiladas—and realized she was starved. “We have a saint for everything.”

He turned toward the stove. “Mrs. Carvalho?” When the woman looked over, he lifted the medal. “Thank you. I am honored.”

“Eat. We go to mass at midnight—”

“Vovó, I don’t think that is a good idea—”

“Yes,” Assail said. “That is perfect. We shall go, indeed.”

And with that decided, he began to pile his plate high, that special smile on his face making him seem renewed from the inside out.

After a moment, Sola resolved to just go with it. She had no idea how much time they had together, so she was going to damn well enjoy every second she had.

To do anything else was a foolish waste of a gift she had never expected to receive.