Chapter 4 #2
“Boyfriend,” I clarified. “He’s the one who got me this reporting job. He did it so my dad would like him, and then he proceeded to cheat on me right in front of my face with several of his grad students.”
Vanya’s face went stormy. “Want me to kill him? I have free time. We getting knocked out of playoffs last night. I have anger.” Vanya smiled and looked terrifying. “I can use it. You know, for good.”
I felt a burst of affection in my chest and thought maybe it wasn’t the worst idea, becoming friends with this man. “It’s fine. Eventually, he’ll get caught and lose everything, and when he does, I’ll be far, far away.”
Vanya sucked in a breath to say something, but Tiago leaned forward over his thighs. “Vanya, can you go find me a super-cold soda from somewhere? I think the children’s ER waiting room has the vending machine where they’re almost frozen.”
Vanya looked excited to be given a task. “Yes. Okay. Anything else? Little coach, you want something?”
I sighed at his persistent use of the name. “No, but thank you.”
He eyed me. “Looking very skinny, Aravind.” He said my name right, which was…surprising. “You sure you not wanting something? I bet food court has burritos or hamburgers. Some chicken. Protein—”
“I don’t need to be fed, and I ate lunch already,” I told him softly.
I really did fucking hate that people kept trying to feed me and the way they kept commenting on my body.
I just looked like this. I knew part of it was a side effect from the raging grief, and part of it was just my body being my body.
But I was tired of feeling self-conscious about it, and I had several weeks coming up with my aunties, who were going to be relentless.
Vanya hummed like he wasn’t convinced, but eventually, he gave my shoulder an awkward pat, then turned and bounded out of the room. Closing the door behind him, I turned back to Tiago’s bed, letting the silence fall around us.
“I don’t know that my career is going to survive this injury,” Tiago said, like he was trying to rush his words out.
I fumbled for my phone, then froze. I wasn’t sure I wanted to print any of that. “Okay.”
“Off the record,” he said, and as annoying as it was, it was fair. “All this is just an exhausting reminder that everything is…fragile.”
He sounded high as a kite, which he probably was.
“I get it,” I told him.
He snorted. “Sure you do.”
“Look…” The word died on my tongue. Part of me wanted to talk to him about my mom, and about Leon, and all the ways my life had just fallen to pieces, but I wasn’t sure it was a good idea.
I didn’t need to play the comparison game with him right now.
He was in pain, and his fear of losing everything he’d worked so hard for was very real.
I didn’t need to stomp all over that.
I shifted closer, then in a moment of total madness, I took his hand in mine. His fingers were puffy from the constant saline drip, but they were warm and softer than I expected them to be.
He squeezed me back, then let his hand relax against my palm, and he didn’t pull away.
“Tiago,” I said after a moment. He turned his gaze toward me, and I fought the urge to ask how much of me he could see. “What do you want me to print?”
“Does it matter? You’re just going to sensationalize it all, aren’t you?”
“I’m going to do my best to tell the truth in an interesting way. But if I’m being honest, I don’t give a shit how punchy the article is this time.” I almost told him it was nearly my last day, but I didn’t.
He lifted his free hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I go in tomorrow for another scan to map my vision loss. I don’t know if it was a coincidence or if the injury somehow caused my RP to get worse, but my field of vision is really small now.
I have no light perception in my right eye, and my left one is really bad.
And, ah…it’s kind of terrifying. I’m not a good goalie, and I don’t trust my skills to keep me functional on the ice in a professional capacity if I lose all my sight. ”
His fingers began to tremble, and I held them tighter.
“Even if my knee heals, that doesn’t mean I’m coming back next season.”
“That’s what you want me to print?”
He dropped his hand, then burst into laughter. “Say that I’m in good spirits and that whatever happens next season, I know my team will do amazing, and I’ll be there to support them no matter what.”
“Send whoever did your PR training a big muffin basket,” I told him.
He wrinkled his nose. “I hate muffins.”
“They’re not for you,” I reminded him with a laugh. “And who hates muffins?”
“Me. They’re like big, weirdly shaped pancakes.”
“I don’t know if you’ve had terrible muffins or amazing pancakes to say that, but just so you know, everyone is allowed opinions.” I lifted his hand and pressed it to my cheek. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know why he didn’t stop me. “Even ones that are wrong.”
He stroked his fingers over my jawline, then slowly pulled back. He swallowed, his throat dry enough it clicked, and then he let out the smallest sigh.
“Do you have what you need?”
The space between us suddenly felt like a canyon, but I didn’t push into it. I took a step back. “I did. I should get going so you can enjoy your super-cold soda when Ivanov gets back.”
Tiago’s mouth settled into a smile. “There are no cold sodas. I just figured we could have one more moment alone before you had to go.”
Why did that sound like it meant something?
And fuck, why did I want it to?