“And you? Are you going to…” But before he could get the rest of his words out, Emilio’s eye rolled up, and he hit the ground.
The chaos of what came after made Jude feel like he was standing outside of his body, watching the events unfold.
With shaking fingers, he managed to call for emergency services, and he refused to answer the paramedic’s questions about who shot Emilio and why as they were both bustled into the back of an ambulance and carted off to the hospital. On the drive, he shot a quick text to his brother, then he sat back and waited as they whisked Emilio away, and Jude was taken into triage to have his injuries assessed.
He noticed the looks he was getting from the nursing staff, but he appreciated that they didn’t ask him anything beyond his pain level and if he’d taken anything that night. He declined an x-ray since the only thing he felt was exhausted from his adrenaline crash, and he let the nurse dress his scrapes before sending him out into the lobby.
He wasn’t about to leave without knowing what the hell was happening with Emilio, but he didn’t think he was going to get answers. Hell, he was half-expecting the police to show up at any second. But the minutes ticked into an hour, and there was nothing more than silence—including his phone. His text to Eliah had gone unread, as far as he could tell, and when he tried to call, it went straight to his voicemail.
It was damn-near two when his phone began to ring, and when he saw the unfamiliar number, he knew it was going to be one of the bikers. He wasn’t sure if it was relief or fear that coursed through his veins, but his fingers shook as he answered. “Yes?”
“My name is Forge,” the man said. “I’m on my way to the hospital right now, but I need you to tell me exactly what happened. Smokey said some shit went down.”
Jude swallowed thickly, and then he told the man everything. “Before he passed out,” Jude finished, “he said he wasn’t sure the man he shot was going to make it. I haven’t heard anyone coming in, but I’m worried about the police…”
“We have that taken care of right now,” Forge said, and Jude swore he heard a car door slam. “Getting him out of there is gonna be the biggest pain in the ass, but you shouldn’t have any visits from the cops while you wait.”
Jude squeezed his eyes shut. “Alright.”
“What about you? Are you hurt?” Forge asked, and Jude startled because he hadn’t expected any of them to actually care.
“Bruised a bit. I’ll heal.” And he’d break down later. But he could hold it together until someone came to pick them up, and he was able to see for certain that Eliah was alright, and that these men had a plan to put an end to this.
Though he wondered if there truly was an end. Emilio hadn’t been shy about how rough their life was—and as thrilling as it might have sounded then, now he was in an emergency room lobby waiting to see if the man was going to survive his gunshot wound.
“Do you want me to ring you when he’s out?” Jude asked softly.
Forge sighed. “Nah. I’ll call when I’m in the parking lot.”
The silence on the other end told Jude the man had hung up, and he appreciated there were no awkward goodbyes. He glanced up at the clock and saw he’d been there for nearly two hours, and there were still no updates. His clothes had finally started to dry, and it was only the heater in the waiting room that kept him from shivering. He was filthy, he was stained with Emilio’s blood, and he was fairly certain that by morning, he wouldn’t be able to walk properly.
But he was alive, and with any luck, Emilio would be too.
Jude nearly shot out of his skin when the doors opened with a loud click, and a nurse’s dark eyes glanced around until they fell on him. Jude was on his feet before the man was at his side, and he wrapped his arms around his middle in a vague attempt to hide how disheveled he was.
“You’re here with Mr. Vasquez?”
Jude blinked and realized he hadn’t heard Emilio’s surname before. “Ah. Yes. Yes, is he…”
“The surgery went well. It only took a couple of minutes, and he’s awake now if you’d like to come and see him.”
Jude’s eyes went wide. “I can see him?”
“He was asking for you,” the guy said, then his lip twitched. “Well, he was asking for his rabbi—but I assumed it was you.”
Jude’s cheeks went pink, and he glanced to the side. “Ah. Yes, thank you.”
The nurse led the way back through the doors, and he felt filthy and wrecked in the sea of pale, sterile walls and floors. He kept his gaze down as they went through a few twists and turns in the hallway, and then he was brought through another set of doors where several beds stretched out, most of them hidden by light blue curtains on ceiling rods.
“He’s just through there. He’s still a little out of it, but he’s going to be fine,” the nurse said, then stopped and looked Jude up and down. “Did they offer you a change of clothes when you were triaged?”
Jude shook his head. “No. Ah, it only lasted a moment anyway. I was only scraped up from the crash.” In reality, the doctor had given him a cursory glance, then checked his pupil response before declaring him fine. He hadn’t been triaged or admitted, and he’d been relegated to the waiting room right after.
“Let me at least get you a t-shirt,” the nurse said gently.
Jude nodded, then pushed past the curtain, and his gaze fell on Emilio who was partially reclined in the bed. His right eye was open, but the other was still lying closed, and it only took Jude a second to realize what that meant.
His feet were moving before he could stop himself, and his hands gripped the bed rails. “Your eye,” he breathed.
Emilio’s brows dipped in a frown, his lips curled downward in confusion. “My…oh. Jesus, no.” His hand lifted, the tubes from his IV dangling off the side, and he brushed his fingers over his closed lid. “I lost this years ago. The fucking prosthetic popped out when my face hit the ground.”
Jude’s stomach plummeted with something like relief and a little humiliation because he hadn’t noticed before. “So, just shot, then?”
Emilio snorted a laugh. “Just shot.” His words were still a little slurred, but he sounded more coherent than he had when he was lying on the side of the road. “You got my phone?”
Jude patted his pocket, then handed it over. The screen was shattered, but it still lit up, and it cast a glow over Emilio’s grimace. “Your friend Forge rang me, said he was on his way.”
Emilio’s gaze snapped up, and there was something sharp in his expression. “Did he mention the cops?”
“He said it was taken care of, and I think at this point, I don’t want to know.”
Emilio snorted again, then let his head fall back against the pillow. “Yeah, you probably don’t.” He was quiet a moment, then he turned his head toward Jude and stared at him. “They get you looked at?”
“Quick once over,” he said, and when Emilio’s mouth dropped open to argue, he lifted his hand. “I was fine other than being drenched from landing in a creek. And your very kind nurse went to find me a new t-shirt. Honestly,” he added when it looked like the man wasn’t going to drop it, “just bumps and bruises.”