Page 73 of Under His Sheets
I ran over, ignoring the shoots of pain in my shoulder, less now but still present.
My acoustic guitar. It still had my sparkly rainbow sticker on the back and the scratches from when I’d fallen down a flight of stairs next to the stage with it after a particularly rowdy show. It had no strings on it and there was a chip in the wood, but it was mine. How did it get here?
And the other item? My original laptop.
How in the world?
When I opened the laptop, a piece of paper fluttered out. I picked it up with shaking hands.
Soon.
My heart gave another heavy thud and I looked around the room.
It was Alonso’s writing.
He’d been here.
But wait…had he done this before he’d been arrested? When had he been here?
The door opened and my first student of the day came bouncing in with her flute.
“Bon dia, senyor Sutter.”
And that was all the time I had to wonder about Alonso.
At the end of the day, I was exhausted. I’d had well-wishers come by every class period, at lunch, and several lingered after school. Parents brought me gifts, they said thank yous, they’d baked cookies and treats, more than even the whole staff could eat in a week.
Ferrer had arranged for the car to pick me up after school and take me to physical therapy, so when I finally managed to extricate myself, I trudged out to the parking lot, digging in my pocket for a pain pill and swallowing it down with my last bit of water. It was raining, so I had the hood of my raincoat pulled over my head. The driver stood next to the open door to the backseat with an umbrella, and I thanked him as I turned, lowered myself to the seat, and then pulled my legs into the car. He closed the door and got in, started the engine, and pulled out of the parking lot.
I rested my head against the seatback and closed my eyes. I inhaled a deep breath for the first time that day—and froze.
That combination of scents…
Then I noticed Jeff Buckley playing quietly through the speakers.
I looked into the driver’s mirror and spotted those deep red lips quirked into a smile.
And the chin dimple.
“Alonso,” I breathed. I leaned forward and put my hand on his shoulder, ignoring my pain. “Is it really you?”
“Sí, amor.” He made a turn, and I couldn’t stand it.
“Pull over! What? How? Why?”
“I will answer all of your whats, hows, and whys, but if we don’t hurry, you will be late to your appointment, and I won’t have you missing your treatment.”
“Screw the appointment! Alonso!”
He smiled and put a hand over mine.“I would say it is good to see you, but you look terrible.”
“Thanks, I kind of got broken.”
His smile completely fell. “It killed me to see him hurt you.”
I sat back a little. “You were trying to keep anyone from being shot. I understood. What happened?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “After I subdued the first man, I went for Vidal, but he got away from me. His man went after Pere and I couldn’t allow the boy to be hurt. Before I could get to you, la policía was there, and I was arrested.”
