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Judging by the look on his face now, I'm guessing he didn't.
I thought I'd cried myself out earlier but now all new tears spill from my eyes, dripping hot liquid down my cheeks in an uncontrollable torrent while I struggle to breathe steadily.
The bed dips beside me while I still have my face cradled in my palms, then Mesa's arm is around me, pulling me into his broad chest and holding me tightly against him.
I listen to his heart beating and the carefully controlled cadence of his breaths till the tears finally abate.
His shirt smells like him. Not like when he's freshly showered, with the spicy deodorant he wears and the herbal fragrance of the oil he sometimes runs through his beard, or the cologne he sometimes puts on that smells so good on him that it makes me weak in the knees.
The navy-blue Moonshine Ridge fire dept t-shirt stretched across his muscles now smells like Mesa. Like Mesa when he's asleep beside me, like Mesa when we're making love, like Mesa when he's been working out. It's just his natural scent, filled with those damn pheromones that make me forget that a few minutes ago I was reliving the panic I felt when he was in and out of consciousness in a hospital bed, or the ache I was feeling earlier when I was coming to terms with us breaking up.
Maybe we still are, even. I don't know. I just know that I need him right now. Whatever happens after, I need to remember he's alive and that those nightmare times are behind us both.
Mesa
Wordlessly, I hold Angel against me till she stops shaking, not knowing what to say.
I feel worse than stupid, I feel helpless. I don't know how to fix this.
When I finally got to the point where I was maintaining consciousness after the first few weeks of surgeries and pain medication that kept me knocked out most of the time and pretty out of it when I was awake, I remember the surgeon talking to me.
There was a lot of doctor talk that was over my head but all I heard was that they didn't know. It didn't sound ominous, it sounded like it was going to be work. I've never been afraid of work.
Robin's never told me the things she just said. She's never mentioned being afraid I wasn't even going to pull through that first surgery.
Suddenly, I realize that Angel's been sticking by me through more than just my pain management and temper tantrums with rehab setbacks.
"Hey, Angel, it's okay.” I stroke my fingers down her mahogany locks, rocking her gently as I hold her. "I'm okay, baby. We're okay.”
Robin sniffs against my chest and raises her head, pulling back to look at me.
"Are we?"
It's not the hopeful voice of a woman who's asking for reassurance though. It's the voice of a woman who's reminding me that I made promises and she expected me to keep them.
"I can't dance with you, Angel."
"Why do you think that matters to me, Mesa?"
"Because I don't know what else I can't do. What if I never get any better than I am right now? What then, Angel? What if you need more than I can give you?"
There's a flicker of relief in her golden eyes and the corner of her pouty lips twitches like she's about to smile.
"You've already been giving me as much I can handle."
The twitch gives way to a full, wicked grin.
"Are you being naughty right now, Angel?"
"I'm just saying, Mesa, if this is as good as it ever gets, we're doing just fine. I'll dance with your Abuelo."
"Pops would love that." I chuckle.
"So are we okay?"
Robin leans so close to me that her lips brush mine when she asks, but there's still a trace of doubt in her eyes when she looks up to mine.
"I'm okay, Angel." I press forward softly, sealing my lips to hers. When she takes my kiss and gives it back with a tender little moan, my entire body is flooded in relief.
