When we get home, we find Lois waiting in the kitchen, and she hugs us both. It’s a little awkward for me, but Mercedes seems to give herself over to it. I realize how she has come to trust Lois. How their bond has grown.

She makes us eat a plate of food before she’ll let us go up to bed, which is probably a good thing, especially for Mercedes.

“How are you, really?” I ask Mercedes when we’re alone.

She reaches out to touch the side of my head where the hair is shaved, brushing a gentle finger across the stitches.

“I’m okay. We’re okay,” she says. She drinks the cup of orange juice, and a few moments later, she smiles a sad smile. She takes my hand and sets it on her stomach.

“Sugar rush,” I say as I feel the kicking of two sets of feet or hands. I don’t know which. “Does it hurt you?”

“No. I love it, actually.”

“It was supposed to be a beautiful night for you.”

“It’s okay, Judge. I don’t care about that.”

“I know you don’t, but for so long, you’ve had so much sadness, and I wanted it for you.”

She shrugs a shoulder. “I’ll survive.” She looks down. I know why. She’s thinking about Theron. Because he may not survive. The best doctors worked on him, but, as Santiago said, two close-range shots did a lot of damage. Too much, maybe.

“He’s strong.” I touch her cheek with one finger and lift her face up to mine. “And stubborn as hell.”

She laughs at that. “Why do you think he did it? I mean, he must have known he could get hurt… or worse.”

I consider this. I have been thinking about it for hours. Why did he do it? Sacrifice himself for a brother to whom he came asking forgiveness and received none. A brother he tried to mend his relationship with, but I wouldn’t give him the chance. A brother who did not even invite him to his wedding.

“He’s been wanting to apologize to you. He came to see me, but I wouldn’t let him go near you.”

She nods. “He’s made an impression on Solana.”

“Well, when he wakes, we’ll tell him that because, weirdly, after she stomped on his foot and probably caused some damage with that heel of hers, he hasn’t stopped asking about her.”

We both chuckle.

“Masochist,” she says.

“Let’s go up to our room.” I stand.

That makes her pause, then nod. She slips off her stool and slides her arm into mine. We walk side by side up the stairs and to my bedroom. When we turn on the lights, we are both surprised to see it’s been decorated with hundreds of roses and candles, although they’re unlit, and crimson petals on the bed.