Chapter Text
There were a lot of arguments with the doctors and the nurses. They kept telling Nevada that if he wasn’t promptly treated for the gash on his chest, he was in danger of suffering a significant amount of blood loss, but he didn’t let them come anywhere near him until Hugo’s (very minor) injuries were treated. He stood by his son, holding a towel against his bleeding chest, until he fell asleep. Only then did he let the doctors stitch him up.
Hugo woke up on the drive home. He woke up crying and panicked. He looked around the car for a terrified moment before seeing Nevada sitting next to him in the backseat. He climbed onto his lap and leaned his head against his chest.
When they got home, Nevada gave his son a bath. He washed away the dirt and blood from him and let him splash around in the tub while Nevada washed himself up over the bathroom sink. The two of them kept checking on the other in the mirror. Nevada checked to make sure Hugo was not breaking down and Hugo checked to make sure Nevada was still there.
Hugo had nightmares that night. He didn’t know enough words to be able to describe them, but just thinking about it would make him scream. Nevada, who had been having trouble falling asleep despite his exhaustion, had rushed into his bedroom the second he heard the distress and carried Hugo, sobbing into his shoulder, back to his room. Nevada lay on his bed with Hugo’s small, thin limbs wrapped around his torso. The two of them slept soundly after that.
The morning brought more tears and a two-year-old that refused to let go of Nevada. Maria stopped by and made the two of them breakfast and played with Hugo, who was feeling slightly better. But that didn’t last very long.
She was back again the next day. She always came in the morning. Sometimes she came alone, sometimes with her boyfriend, and sometimes with her mother-in-law. She liked to make colourful breakfasts—waffles, pancakes, sunny-side-up eggs, bacon, fruits, jelly, and nuts. Nevada complained that she would give him a heart attack. Hugo liked the happy faces she made on his plate.
Every day brought a new visitor. Someone to come by and help distract Hugo and get his mind off of the trauma he had suffered. Gael brought with him new toys for Hugo to play with but Hugo didn’t like any of them. He wasn’t a fan of trucks and wrestling figures. Nevada scolded Gael for not knowing his son well enough. The next time Gael stopped by, he came bearing chocolates and candies. Nevada scolded him for trying to ruin Hugo’s teeth but Hugo loved it all.
José didn’t bring toys but rather movies. He and Nevada sat on the couch with Hugo between them as they all watched all three of The Lion King movies. Hugo cried when Mufasa died and clung quickly onto his father’s arm. They skipped to the Hakuna Matata part and Hugo started smiling again. Nevada kept picturing what it would be like if Alma was there with them. Instead of José, Alma was the third person on the couch. She’d have loved that.
Nevada and Hugo slept in the same bed for weeks, until the nightmares finally disappeared and Hugo no longer woke up crying. Even still, the two-year-old always ran into his father’s room after waking up.
It wasn’t all that unexpected, really. Of course the healing process would take a long, long time. Of course it would take ages for Hugo to come to terms with what had taken place. Nevada was just thankful that his son wasn’t scared of him. That had been his greatest fear. Walking towards that room at the back of the warehouse while being covered by blood, all he could picture was Hugo cowering when he saw him but that hadn’t happened. Hugo hadn’t seen the red covering Nevada’s skin and clothing; he had only seen his father and he clung to him desperately, running into his arms without hesitation.
“It’s okay, mi sol, it’s okay,” he had whispered as Hugo wept.
Alessandro had been buried in a graveyard somewhere in rural Italy. There was a new man in charge of his gang, but he didn’t want to touch Nevada. Likewise, neither did the leader of any other gang in the state of New York. Fuck that. They had all assumed that Nevada had gone soft. That after having had a wife and a kid, he wasn’t the hard motherfucker he used to be, but they were wrong. Now they respected him. And they respected his family.
Alma would have been proud.
Hugo was growing up. He was growing taller. His closet was full of brand new clothes. His older clothes had grown too short. Pants looked like capris and shorts looked like briefs. His hair was long and curly and was constantly in his eyes. Nevada gave him a buzz cut and got yelled at by every woman in his life (and Gael).
He shrugged it off. He knew Alma would have liked it.
Nevada commissioned an artist to paint a Sun in Hugo’s room. A big Sun, opposite the window, bright yellow against the sky blue paint of the walls. It was intricate but still targeted at children. It’d cost him thousands of dollars but Hugo loved it. When he saw it for the first time, he pointed to it and yelled, “Mi sol!” He then turned to Nevada, pointed to himself, and yelled with equal enthusiasm, “Tu sol!” It had taken everything for Nevada to keep from crying.
Hugo’s third birthday was coming up. Nevada was planning a party at the biggest children’s arcade he could find. He planned on inviting some of the friends Hugo’d made in daycare (the best daycare in Manhattan, mind you). There was going to a giant cake and a shitload of decorations. Maria was helping with the planning because she, like Alma, insisted that Nevada got too tacky when he was left to make all his own decisions.
She had given him the name and number of the best cake decorator she knew and she had made a list of things that would look good on a cake for three year olds, as well as a list of things that would not look good on a cake for three year olds. Nevada pulled out his cellphone and made the call.
It was nice to have something to look forward to between the busy life that he had. Nevada finally felt like his old self, but better. His life had a purpose other than money. The most important thing in his life was his son. Everything else took a backseat.
Suddenly, in the middle of his conversation with the cake maker, there was a chorus of crashing coming from the kitchen. He hung up the phone and ran to see what had happened, only to find Hugo standing on top of a pile of every single pot and pan Nevada owned, laughing. Laughing!!!
Nevada tried to look at his son angrily, warningly, but he couldn’t help but smile. He walked up and scooped the giggling child into his arms. “How is it that I run an entire city’s worth of drugs,” he said, “but I can’t handle my three year old son?”
Hugo nuzzled against Nevada’s chest before jumping down and running off. Nevada watched, smiling.
It was tough. It really, really was.
But he wouldn’t have had it any other way.