My throat tightened, and I whispered anxiously, “What if he doesn’t fly? What if he hits the ground?”
Twitch looked down at the ground, and as he did, he bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t respond a long moment, but when he lifted his head, he shrugged. “No better place to fall than right here, angel.”
“The longer he’s on the machine, the more of a chance he has of developing pneumonia,” Doctor Prahesh said. “It’s been thirty-six hours. With your permission, I’d really like to try to wean sooner rather than later.”
My heart was at war with my head.
My body cold, my eyes bleak, I paced the length of the room, placing my fingertips over my mouth and weighing up the possible outcomes. Out of the twelve possible outcomes my mind conjured, only one of them turned out happily.
I didn’t like those odds.
I hated those odds.
Running a hand through my hair, I paced some more until I stood right in front of Tony. My voice quivered as I blinked away tears, and rambled, “I usually know what to do in hard situations, and I don’t know what to do here, Twitch. What if he doesn’t want to breathe on his own? What if he was hurt worse than we thought? I can’t lose him, and right now—” My voice was little over a hush. “—we could lose him.”
Twitch reached out and took my fingers between his. He caressed them a second before I spotted the way his cheek ticked. “Don’t say that,” he spoke quietly but firmly. “He’s strong, raised by a solid mother with the genes of his stubborn-ass father.” He didn’t look at me, and I wondered if it was because he was worried I’d see his own fear splashed across those beautiful eyes. “He’s not going anywhere. He’s coming out of this, baby.”
My eyes swept over to the little boy who looked even smaller in the bright white sheets of his hospital bed. So many tubes coming out of him. I wasn’t ready to let go. And as Twitch squeezed my fingers between his, I realized that maybe I didn’t have to.
He was right.
I would have to let my baby bird fall if I wanted him to fly.
“Okay.” Swallowing past the knot in my throat, I said the words calmly, even though every part of my soul ached. “Do it.”
With a short nod, Doctor Prahesh left the room and returned with a nurse. They worked in tandem with the nurse at the machine as the Doc gently worked on detaching the tube from the breathing tube. “And,” he uttered as my heart stopped, “now we see what our little Antonio is capable of.”
He removed the tube and watched carefully as he put a stethoscope to my son’s chest. And his chest was the only thing I could focus on.
It wasn’t moving.
My voice shook. “He’s not breathing.”
Doctor Prahesh listened closely. “Give him a second.”
Completely terrified, my body went rigid, as I panted out, “He’s not breathing, Twitch.”
We watched closely in complete shock and horror as our son lay lifeless on the bed.
Doctor Prahesh frowned. Seconds passed by and he looked at the nurse. I didn’t like the look that was exchanged.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
Neither of them spoke.
“What’s happening?” I croaked out in panic.
Doctor Prahesh removed the stethoscope from my son’s chest and opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted when Twitch shot up out of his chair. “There.”
I looked to where he was pointing.
He was pointing at A.J.
More specifically, at his chest.
“There,” he said, moving forward toward the narrow bed.
Doctor Prahesh placed the stethoscope back on A.J., but it didn’t matter.
I could see.
Oh my God.
I could see it moving.
Thank you, God.
He was breathing.
Doctor Prahesh smiled as he listened through the instrument. “That’s the way,” he spoke low, to himself, and his smile widened. “Nice and deep.”
A shocked laugh shot up out of my throat, and I fought to breathe through it. Twitch turned to face me, but he wasn’t smiling. He was still, an unbreakable tree lost in a fight against a fierce hurricane.
I needed him to bend.
I needed him to bend before he broke.
“Honey.” I took a step forward.
He didn’t respond.
“Honey.” I touched his arm, and he looked down at the spot I’d touched before resting his turbulent gaze on mine. I smiled and softened my voice. “He’s breathing.” I sniffled. My eyes blurred with unshed tears before I laughed out, “He’s breathing.”
“He’s breathing,” confirmed an ecstatic-looking Doctor Prahesh. “He’s off the ventilator and breathing on his own.” He twisted back to look at us. “That’s the best we could ask for.”
“Why—?” Twitch tried to speak but cut himself off. He tried again, slower this time, and the thick emotion I heard in his voice had me moving toward him, pressing myself into his side. “Why isn’t he awake?”
It was something I wanted to ask but had been too frightened to.
I listened intently at the response Doctor Prahesh gave. “Well, sometimes, when people have experienced a trauma as Antonio has, the body isn’t the only thing that needs to take time to heal. The mind is delicate. A child’s mind, even more so.” He looked back at our son. “He’s healing. I think your son will wake when he’s good and ready.”
“I think” wasn’t something I wanted to hear, but I’d take it.
Doctor Prahesh was a smart man.
And nine hours later, the little monster opened his eyes and woke from his prolonged slumber like the sleeping beauty he was.
Chapter
FortyFive
Twitch In the days after we got A.J. home, our house was full, for days, for hours on end, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t mind the company. It kept me thinking about the could-haves, the would-haves, the should-haves. It kept me from thinking about the things that might have been, and I was grateful for the reprieve from my thoughts.
Gifts came by the carload, and although A.J. was having a hard time speaking after the removal of his breathing tube, he was getting better by the minute and damned if he didn’t love being spoiled.
I couldn’t believe how resilient this child of mine was.
There he was, smiling and laughing, playing on the floor with Happy and Ana while I fought the urge to cry. I fought that urge so hard, but it hadn’t left me for days.
Every smile he threw my way shot me in the heart. Every excited look, every happy gasp, every hug he gave as he passed me wrecked me. Wrecked my soul in a way I couldn’t comprehend. Breathing in a full breath hadn’t happened since he was taken from us, and I still couldn’t manage one. Because we might not have been so lucky, and I silently vowed that I would spend the rest of my life being the father he deserved. I would be the kind of father I wished for as a child, the involved, loving kind. The kind of dad who instinctively knew something was wrong with his kid. The kind of father who knew his child that well.
Something had happened to me over the past week. Something had changed. I felt myself softening in a way that felt unnatural, in a way I wanted to fight it, but I was tired of fighting. Maybe it was time for a change. And as I sat down next to my ailing father, I spoke without a trace of malice. “You’re coming back to visit, right, Pops?”
Antonio Falco Senior didn’t have a lot of life left in him, but he wanted to spend what little time he had left making up for the mistake he’d made a lifetime ago. And, right now, as I looked over at my recovering son, I could appreciate that. I could respect that.
His voice was rough. “You want that?”
I shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
He blinked at me in stunned disbelief. He was waiting for the shoe to drop. But there was no shoe to drop. I said what I said.
When enough time had passed, I uttered, “So, is that a yes?”
He spoke cautiously. “Maybe you could bring my grandson to visit me in Vegas?”