Page 42 of Under His Sheets
Alonso was back with a paramedic, who started speaking but I just kept shaking my head.
“I can’t Spanish right now.” I patted him on the knee, and he laughed and looked up at Alonso, who was not laughing.
“No problem. What’s your name?” He was cute and probably thought he was charming, but he was distracting me from who I really wanted.
“Randall. I’m…what are you doing?”
The paramedic was right in my face and every time he touched me, I winced.
“I figure since you are bleeding a lot from your forehead, I should probably stop it, don’t you think?”
“Bleeding? But how?”
“Randall! Are you okay? Merde, you’re bleeding.” Sasha took my hand and sat beside me on the curb. “There were two explosions outside that sent glass flying into the bar. Perhaps you were hit.”
“That’s what it looks like to me,” the paramedic said. “If he was on the stage, that’s why he got cut. Higher up than everyone else and facing the glass. The bartenders were cut too.”
The fact that I heard this exchange meant my hearing was coming back. If there was an explosion, that might explain why I couldn’t hear very well.
I wanted Alonso, but in a moment of clarity, I knew I shouldn’t ask for him. Wasn’t that what spies had to do? Deal with their own boo-boos and not blow their covers?
I saw another paramedic working on Lara, and Ivan was standing with her. Josette and Sasha were holding each other…
“Where’s Camille?”
Everyone looked around but she wasn’t there.
Alonso, Josette, and Sasha set off in search of her, and I sat patiently while the paramedic finished butterflying the cuts on my forehead. He assured me I would have a badass scar or two to show for it.
“Do they know what happened?”
He looked around. “Unofficially? Some protestors set a police car on fire and the ammunition they had in the trunk of the car exploded. Thankfully la policía had everyone away from the car on the street, so no one out front got hurt with the exception of a police officer who got a piece of metal in his arm.”
“Oh no. Is he going to be okay?”
This was getting dangerous. What if this would have happened at the school? At least it wasn’t a bomb, but who knew what a mob of angry people was capable of? And which side was it? Those protestors outside were anti-independence. Who was right? Who was I to even think about making that determination?
“My head is killing me.”
“You got your bell rung by that blast, probably. Thankfully, you don’t need stitches. You sure you don’t want to go to hospital?”
“No, no. Please. One of my friends will take me home.”
“You sure? I would hate for you to be out here alone,” he said, and it finally dawned on me that he was hitting on me when his hand lingered on my thigh.
As I was about to reassure him that I would be fine, around the corner of the building came my three French pals—with Alonso. And he had his arm around Camille.
Huh. Well, he’d asked me to play along.
“Are you okay, Randall?” Camille left Alonso’s side and rushed over. “I was in the bathroom when it happened! I had no idea where you all went! I’ve been looking for you.”
She fussed over me, looking at the two bandages I had on my forehead. God, I hoped the scars weren’t too bad. They seemed huge, as it had taken him forever to patch me up.
“Alonso is going to give us a ride back,” Josette said, brushing my hair back.
“¿Puedes caminar?” Alonso held out his arm in case I needed support.
“I’m okay. Thank you.”
