Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Hannah
My heart pounds the whole trip back to the apartment. Armando makes it worse by not saying a word, yet his body is a live wire, filling the van with tension that chokes me.
It’s not mine, I remind myself, remembering how the anxiety I’d felt around Josie had actually been hers. It’s not mine. It’s his.
Still, the man I care deeply about, despite my desire not to, is being hunted down like prey, so dismissing the tension is impossible.
“Who’s after you, Armando? Why?” I know I shouldn’t ask. He doesn’t talk business, but this is the second time I have felt like I could die. I have the right to know.
He rubs his face. “I killed a guy in prison. Self defense.” He shoots a dark glance at me like he’s worried about my reaction to his words.
I nod. I’m actually not shocked. I knew bad stuff had happened to him there.
”He was a member of a gang. Now they’re trying to kill me.”
No! a voice inside my head screams. Even though I knew someone was trying to kill Armando, hearing him explain it makes me want to rage for him.
He’s a good guy. He has a moral compass.
He follows a code. He’s been mixed up in dangerous business from a young age, but it isn’t his fault.
He’s doing the best he can with what life dealt him.
And I really want life to give him a break for a change.
I find a parking place when my mom calls. I’m going there tomorrow for dinner, so I ignore it. As soon as it stops ringing, she calls again.
I throw the van in park and pick up.
“Hannah, it’s your dad,” she says in a tight voice. “I had to call an ambulance for him, and I’m following now.”
“What?” A sob chokes my voice. Could this day get any worse? “What happened?”
Armando goes rigid at the terror in my voice, his eyes intent on my face.
“He had a heart attack, but I kept up chest compressions until the paramedics got there. I think he’ll be okay, but we’ll have to see.”
“What hospital?” I manage to ask.
“Cook County.”
“Okay,” I choke out. “I’m coming now, too.”
“Thanks, baby. Call me when you get here.”
“What is it?” Armando demands the moment I end the call.
“My dad.” Tears spill down my cheeks. “He had a heart attack.”
“Okay,” Armando says softly, pushing his door open. “I’ll drive, bambi .”
I have no idea why he called me Bambi, but I don’t have the presence of mind to inquire. I tumble out of the driver’s seat and let him catch me on the way down. He pulls me into a strong hug.
I soak it up—all his strength and power. His support.
We drive to the hospital in silence, me picking at a hangnail until it bleeds. Armando shooting me concerned glances. He’s got someone trying to kill him, but he’s more worried about me.
We find my mom in the waiting area, and I must introduce her to Armando, but it all blurs together. As we sit down to wait, I start to understand Armando’s hollowness.
There’s a numbness that sets in. I block out the fear, and in its place I find nothing. A total void of feeling.
I hear sounds—the television, people talking—but they mean nothing. I feel Armando’s hand clasping my own but can’t find any gratitude for it or even comfort.
I don’t know how long we wait like that, me not breathing, barely living, waiting in the purgatory of the unknown. Of emptiness.
And then a doctor comes out. “Mrs. Munn?”
My mom surges to her feet, and Armando and I follow.
“You can come back now. Your husband suffered a mild heart attack. I’d like to keep him here under observation for the night, but he’ll probably be ready to go home by tomorrow.”
“Thank God,” I breathe, falling into Armando. He holds me up with a strong arm around my back. His lips find the top of my head before we follow the doctor back.
As we walk in and I rush to give my dad a hug and kiss, I adjust to the shock of seeing my dad hooked up to monitors, so I don’t notice that Armando’s gone stiff.
“You,” my dad spits, looking past me at Armando.
My mom and I gape in surprise to find him glaring at Armando.
“Why the hell are you here?”
I peer up at Armando, misgiving twisting in my gut. “You know my dad?”
“Oh no,” my dad cuts in, decisively. “Not my daughter. You are not messing around with my daughter.”
Armando holds his palms in the air and starts backing toward the door.
“ Armando .” I try to stop him with my voice.
“I don’t want to upset anyone.” He lifts his chin toward my dad.
It’s good thinking, considering my dad just had a heart attack, but I’m too upset by the fact that I don’t understand what’s going on.
“Wait, how do you know my dad? What’s going on?”
“We work together,” Armando says, and my dad snorts. Armando’s at the door now. “I’ll wait for you in the lobby. Take your time.”
I stare at the closed door, feeling more than a little abandoned. What. The actual. Fuck? I look at my dad. “How do you know him?”
My dad frowns at me. “Tell me you are not dating that guy.”
“Not exactly.” I’m screwing him on the regular, but we’re not officially dating. Somehow I don’t think that’s going to endear my dad to Armando, so I don’t explain.
“He’s the one you told me about?” my mom asks. “With PTSD?”
I nod, still eyeing my dad. “Tell me how you know him.”
My dad tries to push himself to sit up and winces.
“Take it easy.” I lay a hand on his chest. My mom slips her hand in his and squeezes.
“Hannah, honey, I hate to tell you, but that guy is mafia.”
I almost laugh. “Oh. Yeah, I know, Dad. Remember I told you the building where I have Garden of Eden is owned by the mafia? I’ve known Armando for years.”
My dad’s brows drop low, and he glowers at the door. “I do not want you involved with guys like him.”
I bristle, but my dad’s in a hospital bed, and I probably shouldn’t upset him. “He’s a decent guy, Dad. But we’re not officially dating, so don’t worry about it.”
I look at the door again. Armando didn’t even try with my dad. He just backed out and left. I know he’s not my boyfriend, but it still hurts. Like he didn’t fight for me.
“So wait, does he work in construction ?” I ask, hardly believing it.
“He’s dead weight,” my dad says. “One of those guys the mafia forces the union to give a job to. He collects a paycheck for doing nothing. He’s a real upstanding guy, your boyfriend,” my dad sneers.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I say it firmly, like I’m willing myself to finally accept it. I mean, how much more obvious do I need him to make it? We’re not entering a relationship. He’s hiding out at my apartment, and we’re having sex.
End of story.
I’m all hot and flushed. Now that I’ve seen my dad is okay, I’m itchy to get out of there. I lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad it was just a small heart attack, Dad. You really scared us.”
“I’m okay, baby,” he tells me, catching my hand and squeezing it. “You coming over tomorrow night?”
“If you’re home, I’ll be there. If not, I’ll come see you here. Deal?”
“Deal,” he says.
“Okay, feel better, Dad.”
“Be careful with that guy, Hannah,” my dad warns as I reach the door. “I don’t want you mixed up in the kind of trouble he’ll be into.”
Armando may not have fought for me, but I don’t feel the same way. I turn back, defensiveness creeping up my neck. “He’s not into trouble. He literally just got out of prison and is trying to figure out how to live again.”
My mom’s eyes go soft, my dad’s mouth tightens. “Bring him to dinner tomorrow, so we can get to know him,” my mom suggests, and my dad shakes his head with that resigned sort of huff.
“I don’t think so,” I say, my heart sinking deeper into my belly. “But thanks. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
I leave the room and find Armando standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets looking sexy as hell. His face is that blank mask he always wears. I’m ready to be pissed, but then he opens his arms and folds me into them, and I let out an involuntary sob.
He combs his fingers through my curls and rubs the back of my head, and I melt into him, letting his strength sustain me.
He’s not my boyfriend, but in this moment, he’s enough.
He’s what I need him to be.