Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) (5 page)

Dante nodded.

“He says you have no consent,” she said, turning to the doctor.

“No consent for what?"

“To keep him intubated. He's saying you don’t have his permission, therefore you have to remove it right away."

“Yeah, well, nowhere in Mr. Galante’s
extensive
dossier did I read that he had a degree in medicine, so I hardly see how he knows the best course of treatment. Besides, he's in no condition to be making medical decisions. He’s barely lucid."

Dante reached toward the pad with the crayon, having a hell of a lot to say to that, and scribbled jumbled words that barely resembled anything from the English language, but it didn’t matter, because the nurse chimed back in without bothering to decipher what he wrote.

“He’s lucid enough to communicate his wishes,” she said. “He seems of sound mind to me, which means he has the right to refuse care that he doesn’t consent to."

“We received consent from the next of kin when he was brought in,” the doctor said. “We didn’t need his permission."

“But you do now."

The doctor cut his eyes their way. “Pardon me, Nurse Russo, but when exactly did
you
become a doctor?"

“I don’t need a Ph.D. to spot an ethical issue,” she responded. “All that takes is a bit of common sense, sir."

The doctor glared at her.
Pissed
. Dante could tell he had something he wanted to say, something that would probably drive Dante to rip the ventilator right out and throw it at the guy, but he seemed to think better of it, shaking his head as he turned back to the chart. “I’ll contact the respiratory therapist and we’ll start the process of weaning him.” He paused before mumbling under his breath, “If the patient doesn’t give a shit about his own life, why should we care, right?"

Dante scribbled on the pad again, right on top of everything else he’d written, big, fat red letters, the lines bold: FUCK YOU.

The nurse glanced at the pad, cocking an eyebrow as she cut her eyes at Dante, before she turned back to the doctor, smiling sweetly. “He's expressed his gratitude."

The doctor had no response for that, waving them off as he walked away, the sliding glass door automatically opening so he could exit. Dante gripped hold of the crayon as he closed his eyes, his pain escalating. Just that little bit had taken it
all
out of him. He had a brief moment where he wondered if maybe he was making a mistake, if he were fucking up, but he didn’t dwell on it long. The nurse chimed in before he got lost in his head, her voice chipper as she asked, “How about a visitor, huh? You haven't really had any of them. Might do you some good to see a familiar face."

Visitor
.

Dante’s eyes again opened at the same time the glass door to his room shifted open. He glanced that way, a swell of emotion hitting him, so intense his vision blurred. His heartbeat picked up in anticipation, the beep-beep-beeping of the machine chaotic, when his eyes fell upon his father. Primo Galante stood there, all stocky six-foot-four of him, dressed in a dark suit.

It had been weeks since he’d last seen his father's face. He’d left the house with his sister in tow, never to make it back home again. Never to see his father again. Never to see his sister.

His sister.

Oh God, Genevieve. He still saw that innocent little girl every time he looked at her, the one he had done everything in his power to protect. The one who had inadvertently saved his life sixteen years earlier as she toddled through the gravel lot of the pizzeria, forcing him to linger so he couldn’t run after Joey like he so wanted to. The blast had just barely hit him that night. He’d been far enough away because of her that he'd remained somewhat intact. He owed his life to her, and it was a debt he’d never feel like he adequately paid back. He would’ve done anything for her. He
had
done everything for her. He compromised who he was, who he thought he needed to be, because she’d asked him to that night when he found out her dirty little secret, when he’d discovered the skeleton in her closet came in the form of a walking, talking Barsanti. It went against everything he believed, everything he thought… he ignored his gut and chose to give her a chance to figure it out herself.

Because at the end of the day, he believed in her a hell of a lot more than he believed in anybody else, even himself.

But it had been his job to keep her safe.

“Dante?’ Primo’s voice was hesitant as he stepped into the small room. “You don’t even know how much it means to me to see you again, to see you…
awake
."

The man looked like he hadn’t slept since the last time they saw each other. Dark bags lined his bloodshot eyes, fresh wrinkles marring his face. Primo always seemed ten-feet-tall and bulletproof to Dante. His father, made of the toughest material known to man, was untouchable, impenetrable, and infallible. Despite all he’d suffered, the man had never shown a single crack. But standing in front of Dante at that moment was somebody else.

Standing in front of Dante was a broken man.

Turning his head, Dante eyed the nurse, raising his hand and waving his red crayon. When he caught her attention, she grabbed the yellow pad and flipped the page to a fresh one, holding it up in front of Dante.

He pressed the tip of the crayon to the paper and hesitated.

He hesitated, almost like he forgot how to write.

Like he wasn’t sure how to spell.

He knew, of course. He knew exactly what he needed to write. But something stalled him, something that felt a hell of a lot like dread. The only time he ever felt fear anymore was when it came to his sister. When it came to her, he feared
a lot
, but mostly that someday, the time would come when he would let her down, when he’d fail at his most important job, when he wouldn’t be there to pay her back.

After a moment, he spelled out her name, the letters wobbly, the red crayon faintly marking the paper, leaving gaps between the lines. The nurse raised the pad up when he finished, reading what he’d written out loud. “Genna?"

The name hit Primo like a ton of bricks. Usually calm, collected Primo Galante flinched. It was a brief reaction before he pulled himself back together, a second where he’d let his guard down, not expecting to be hit with it all so quick. He cleared his throat, straightening his expression, as he stepped closer to the bed. “She’s not here."

That was all he said.

She’s not here.

No explanation.

Not that one was needed.

Because Dante knew.

He knew it as soon as the man flinched. That was confirmation. Her not being there was just a cyanide cherry on top of an already poisonous sundae. Nothing would’ve kept Genna away from there… nothing short of her being
nowhere
.

Devastation rocked Dante. His stomach lurched, his chest burning, as bile tried to force itself up his blocked throat. He squeezed the red crayon so hard it snapped in half. He tried to remain calm, to hold it in, as his fingertips tingled.
No. No. No
. He chanted the word in his mind, willing himself to listen, but it was pointless.

The ache was just too strong.

His father spoke again, oblivious to Dante's reaction, rambling on and on about how elated he was, but it went in one ear and out the other, lost somewhere in the haze of hurt consuming Dante.

Thirty seconds passed before the first alarm went off. The ventilator detected he was struggling and put out an alert that his breathing was wrong. Nurse Russo, halfway to the door, swung back around. Concerned eyes glossed over him as she darted for the machine. By the time she made it there, the heart rate monitor followed suit, acting erratic.

Blinking rapidly, Dante felt the building tears. He tried to suck it up. He didn't want to cry. He wouldn't let himself do it. He'd survived torture without cracking. He couldn't have this be what broke him. He was stronger than that.

Anger surged through his veins to the point that fighting was impossible. His body shook as the machines screamed, his chest on fire when he started hyperventilating.

It was like sucking through a straw with a hole in it, getting nothing.

"Dante?" Primo called out. "What's happening?"

"You need to leave, Mr. Galante!" the nurse shouted at him.

"Dante?" he said, ignoring her. "It's going to be okay, son."

"Get out!" she barked as the glass door slid open, others rushing into the room. They surrounded Dante, and he wasn't sure if his father listened to the woman's order, because all at once, the world blurred.

The haze swaddled him, numbing him, dulling the burn and sweeping him away.

"They're sedating you," Nurse Russo whispered, gazing down at him. "Just until you stop fighting the ventilator."

* * *

T
he trip went
much smoother once Matty and Genna had a car with air conditioning. Music from the radio filled the silence as Genna relaxed in the passenger seat, watching the world fly by outside the tinted window.

South Carolina

Georgia

Alabama

Mississippi

They traveled through the south, driving for hours before stopping to get a motel for the night. Bright and early the next morning, they would hit the road again, never looking back, never staying more than a few hours in one location. It was steady, even a bit tedious, the constant traveling with no destination, with nowhere to be, making the days all blur together.

"Are we heading west?" Genna asked, glancing up from the map in her lap to the road before them, spotting the sign declaring they were going west. "Never mind."

Matty chuckled, looking at her. Sunshine streamed through the car windows, making him squint. He had bought himself a pair of sunglasses back in North Carolina, but they'd disappeared somewhere between Mississippi and Louisiana, along with Genna's flip-flops and all of her hair ties.

It was hard to keep up with things when they were constantly on the move.

Genna scanned the map, locating the highway right outside of Paris, Texas. They'd been driving for about two hours, crossing over from Arkansas, but she was already growing tired of being in the car. Queasiness stirred in the pit of her stomach that she tried to ignore, but her morning sickness was starting to
really
kick in.

Just breathing nauseated her.

What she wouldn't give for a nice bubble bath and a nap long enough to put her in the
Guiness Book of World Records
. The motel they'd stayed in the night before had been a run down piece of shit, the bathroom grungy and the bed uncomfortable.

"Why?" Matty asked. "You want to go a different direction?"

"No, I was just…" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, warding off a flare of sickness. "I was just wondering."

Genna reopened her eyes, seeing the scenery fly by the side window.
Big mistake
. Dizziness blurred her vision, bile burning her throat. She barely had enough time to smack Matty's arm in warning, making the car swerve, before she reached for the door handle. "Gonna be—"

Sick
.

Matty slammed the brakes, the car screeching to a stop along the side of the highway as she flung the passenger door open and leaned out, purging everything from her stomach. He put the car in park, turning on the hazard lights, the tick-tick-ticking grating Genna's frazzled nerves.

Matty rubbed her back as he whispered, "It's going to be okay."

Laughing dryly, she relaxed back in the seat once the sickness passed. "Talk about déjà vu."

They'd done that before, her hanging out of a car and puking her guts out while he tried to pacify her. Hadn't worked before, and it wasn't working then.

Could we be more cliché?

Matty slipped his arm around her and pulled her to him, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Her eyes closed as she took a moment to savor his embrace, knowing just a moment was all they had to spare, but it was a moment interrupted way too fast when Matty tensed. "Shit."

Genna opened her eyes, catching a reflection in the side mirror, red and blue lights flashing behind them. Adrenaline spiked her system, her stomach churning again. She tried to fight it, to take deep breaths and stay calm, but it was pointless. She was leaning back out of the car, heaving, before anyone said another word.

"Oh God," she gasped as she struggled to pull herself together. "I'm Jackson now. I'm
worse
than Jackson."

Matty shot her a look of confusion. "Who?"

"My car thieving ex-boyfriend. We stole a Honda and he puked on himself." Tears stung her eyes, breaking free and running down her cheeks as her emotions went from zero to sixty. "He got away with it and I didn't, and oh God, I'm screwed! We're
screwed
! I'm going to go to prison, real prison... ass-pounding prison! I'm going to have a fucking baby in prison!"

Matty grabbed her, his hands cradling her face. His expression remained calm as he stared into her eyes.

"Pull yourself together. You Galantes are stubborn, and resilient, and unrelenting, real pains in the ass, but you're not
this
. You don't fall apart when you see the police." His eyes flickered to the rearview mirror as a cop got out of the car behind them. "Maybe you Galantes don't trust us Barsantis, but you need to trust
me,
Genna
. 
Please."