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She sighs but her voice is tender when she speaks. “Reece, what’s wrong? Why would you ask a question like that?”
“I’m sorry. I’m tired. A lot has happened in the last few days. It was a stupid thing to say,” I grind out. I feel uncomfortable with the feeling of shame that’s starting to creep into my conscience. She doesn’t say anything and I can feel her watching me.
“You’ve got me wide open, Lucía. I feel . . . exposed.” I almost choke on the word. I hate feeling that way. I hate admitting it even more. “So yeah. I’m jealous of anyone who looks at you. I want to be able to tell him to fuck off because you’re my girl.” Her eyes widen at that, and I amend my last sentence. “You feel like my girl.”
Her eyes grow even wider, and just as she starts to speak, a yawn escapes her mouth and she winces slightly.
I’m such an asshole. She’s tired and in a lot of pain. Lack of sleep and stress have made me crazy.
“Shit, Luc. I’m sorry. Let’s get you home.”
She only nods, but doesn’t respond. The car is quiet except for “Hallelujah” by Pentatonix playing on the radio. She starts to sing at the lines
“Maybe there’s a God above
All I’ve ever learned from love
Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you…”
Her voice is soft and haunting. She hums the chorus and then trails off as the song ends. The next song starts and she reaches for the volume knob on the console and turns the volume down. My hand is on the gear shift and she covers it with her own.
“You shouldn’t feel jealous, Reece. I know we’ve got things to sort out, but what I feel for you isn’t something that could be threatened by a good looking ER doctor. I feel like your girl, too.”
My heart lightens at her admission. That’s a step in the right direction. It’s so tempting to keep pushing. To get her to say what I need to hear; to try to just move past this. To pick up where that kiss left off.
I know we can’t. I know we have some hurdles to surmount, but this is definitely progress.
Her rich, husky voice breaks the silence that fills the car. “You were great tonight, baby.” She’s sleepy and her words are a little slurred. She’s never called me anything but Reece before and despite what a shitty night it’s been, I smile. I join our hands, link our fingers. The thread of the pulse that beats at the base of her palm is in sync with my own. Our connection feels like a live wire; volatile, but strong.
After a few minutes, her voice cuts through the silence in the car. “Thank you for getting them to take me back so fast. I’ve never been seen to so quickly before. I’ve gone in with more severe injuries than what I had going on tonight. You know that scar on my side?”
I nod.
“It started as a small scratch from a fence I was climbing. My parents didn’t take me to the ER until it got infected. And even then they made as little fuss as possible. By that point, the infection was so bad they had to cut away pieces of skin.” She lets go of my hand and rubs the scar through her shirt.
I feel a surge of anger at this. I can’t believe anyone is treated like that.
“So, you don’t have insurance?” I ask
“Nope. Undocumented immigrants are prevented from participating in the health care exchanges. If I had an employer, I could get it through them, but I’m self-employed,” she says tiredly. “Thanks to the book and now the screenplay, I have money to pay for things like this.”
We ride in silence for about five minutes before she says, “And tomorrow, when I’m less groggy and hopefully not in so much pain, we’re going to finish talking. I want this shit out of the way so I can start kissing you whenever I want to.”
I see a smile tugging at the side of her face.
I’m not a praying man, but I say a silent “thank you” as I speed down Melrose Avenue toward Los Feliz.
23
Lucía
I feel like I’ve been hit by a golf cart repeatedly. I roll over in my bed as yesterday’s dramatic ending speeds through my mind like a movie trailer. Scene after scene—me storming over to Reece’s house; having it out with him; falling; the hospital; kissing him and coming home—replays through my awakening mind.
The sun is shining in through my window and I know I’ve overslept. I start to think about all the things I need to get done today. Jess should be gone to the shop already. I’ll be saved having to explain my bandaged arm at least until tonight.
I groan as habit has me using both hands to brace myself as I start to stand up. I can’t believe I fell. The hospital bill is going to be expensive. A year ago, that would have felt like a mountain I’d never be able to climb. Today, I know I have enough money in my checking account to pay for what happened yesterday.
It’s amazing how having that layer of stress removed makes everything feel a lot easier to handle.
