THE LIFE HE COULDN'T GIVE BACK

Sarah woke trying to pull a little boy underneath her.

The movement sent pain ripping from her shoulder to her side. An alarm sounded beside the bed. Someone caught her hand before she could pull at the IV.

"Leo is safe. He wasn't shot. You're in the hospital."

Lorenzo Caruso sat near the window.

Without his jacket, with dark stubble along his jaw, he looked younger than he had in the ballroom. His shirt had been changed. The watch remained on the wrist Sarah remembered gripping.

She tried to speak and found her throat painfully dry.

He called the nurse. He waited while she checked Sarah, raised the bed, and approved a few small sips of water. Only then did he bring the cup closer.

Sarah hated needing help with something so simple. She drank too quickly and coughed.

"Does my brother know where I am?"

"He went to take a shower. He's been here since last night."

"What day is it?"

"Wednesday. You came out of surgery before dawn."

The doctor explained what had happened without making Sarah feel as though her body were a diagram of disasters. Her shoulder had needed repair. The injury to her side had required surgery. Her thigh was injured, too. There would be a hospital stay, restrictions, and a recovery that would not happen in a few days.

Sarah listened for the part about returning to work.

"You won't be carrying trays for a while," the doctor said, recognizing the question before she asked it.

After the medical team left, the silence grew heavy.

"I have rent," Sarah said.

Lorenzo leaned forward.

"Your expenses are covered."

"By the hotel?"

"By me."

She looked toward the door, as though she could call the doctor back and ask for a different explanation of her life.

"I didn't save your son because I wanted a reward."

"I never thought you did."

"Then don't make it sound like you can settle this with a payment."

He lowered his gaze to his hands. A fresh cut marked the side of one finger.

"There isn't an amount that settles this. I know that."

Before she could answer, the door opened.

Toby came in with a backpack over one shoulder and a shirt different from the one she had last seen him wearing. He stopped when he realized she was awake. Anger reached his face before the tears did.

"You said you fell at work."

Sarah tried to smile.

"I did fall."

"Don't do that to me."

He crossed the room but did not seem to know where he could touch her. At seventeen, he was taller than she was. Now he looked like the little boy who had waited for her in the hospital hallway the day their mother died.

"I thought I was going to come in here and you wouldn't talk to me again."

Sarah held out her good hand.

He took it much too carefully.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"You never told me the password for the rent account. I kept thinking about that. You were going to die, and I'd have to call somebody to ask for the password."

His voice broke.

Sarah began crying before she could answer. There was nothing graceful about it. Her mouth shook. Breathing hurt. She could not even properly hug the only brother she had.

Lorenzo stood.

"I'll wait outside."

He closed the door quietly behind him.

Toby pressed his forehead to her hand until both of them could breathe normally again.

Later, he showed her the messages from the hospital, the number he was supposed to call, a picture of the dinner someone had brought him. Sarah asked about his insulin, his glucose readings, and school. He answered impatiently.

"Can you be sick for five minutes without giving me an assignment?"

She laughed, then regretted it when her side protested.

"I can try."

Late that afternoon, someone knocked twice.

Leo appeared in the doorway holding the robot. Lorenzo stood behind him, a hand hovering near the little boy's back without pushing him forward.

"He asked to see you," Lorenzo explained. "If you're tired, we can come back another day."

Leo was staring at the dressing on her shoulder.

"I washed my hands," he announced.

Sarah turned her right palm upward.

"Then come over here."

He approached slowly and studied the tubes beside her bed.

"My dad said you got hit by the bullets."

"They're taking good care of me."

"Did it hurt?"

She would not lie to him about that.

"It hurt a lot. I have medicine to help now."

He swallowed.

"I could have stayed in my chair."

Lorenzo moved, but Sarah answered first.

"You could have been sitting, running, or eating cake. None of those things gives somebody the right to hurt you."

Leo looked toward his father for confirmation.

"Sarah is right," Lorenzo said roughly. "I should have kept you safe."

The boy laid one finger against her hand.

"I wanted to hug you, but I might break the stitches."

Sarah felt her eyes burn again.

"We can start here."

He wrapped both hands around her fingers and stayed that way for several seconds. Before leaving, he put a drawing on the table: a brown-haired woman, a little boy, and a very tall man. Everyone had impossibly long legs.

"You gave me shoes," Sarah observed.

"You lost yours at the party."

After they left, Toby picked up the picture, examined the man in black, and set it down again.

"He's the Caruso from the news."

"I know."

"You don't have to pretend that isn't scary."

Sarah looked at the dressing.

"I'm trying to work out how scared I need to be."

She found out that night.

Lorenzo returned alone. He asked permission to enter but did not sit. Sarah knew immediately that the look on his face had nothing to do with her test results.

"The man who shot you escaped. The police are looking for him. My people are, too."

"You think he'll come back?"

"You saw his face. You noticed a symbol that shouldn't have been at that party. I can't treat this as though it's over."

She pulled the sheet higher over her waist.

"I said I saw a snake. I don't know anything about your family."

"I believe you. The person who sent him may not."

The fear she had felt in the ballroom returned without the noise and motion that had kept her from thinking. This time she had room to imagine every possibility.

Lorenzo noticed her shaking hand. He rested his own on the mattress near it without touching her.

"You won't face this alone."

Toby's phone vibrated on the empty chair. He had gone into the bathroom. A message from an unknown number lit the screen.

Sarah read it before she could stop herself.

Someone claiming to work at the hotel said he had found her purse. He wanted her room number and asked whether Toby could come downstairs alone to collect it.

Sarah's purse was in the cabinet. Her supervisor had delivered it that morning.

She turned the screen toward Lorenzo.

He read it, and every trace of gentleness vanished from his face.

"Don't answer," he said, already calling the guard.

Sarah gripped the sheet.

The danger had not stayed in the ballroom.

It had found her brother.