Chapter One #2
Garrido’s bushy eyebrows winged up, and he pursed his thin lips as if she’d suggested she could snap her fingers to heal ángel’s broken clavicle.
“Physical therapy is optional,” the doctor countered and tapped his pen against the clipboard.
“The bone will heal on its own if he doesn’t exacerbate the injury, though I suspect self-restraint isn’t his strong suit. ”
ángel laughed, though it was more a baring of teeth than amusement. “I’ll manage without therapy.” He flexed his good arm, ignoring the catheter in the crook and the twinge in his shoulder.
Marisol shot out her hand faster than lightning and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. Gently, she lowered his arm back to the mattress.
“You’ll manage a setback,” she corrected and pressed her thumb into his pulse point.
Her lips moved as she counted, then she nodded and released his wrist. “The sling is non-negotiable. Same with the rest.”
He stared deep into her eyes, fascinated by the swirl of gold in the chocolate-brown depths of her irises. Tempted to yield to her decree, he instead sealed his lips.
“Miss Cruz has been vigilant in your care,” Garrido admitted and examined the chart on the clipboard again. “She applied pressure to your wounds before the paramedics arrived. Without her intervention, you likely would’ve bled out on the sidewalk.”
The words landed like a punch to his gut. Marisol ducked her head, but not before he caught the flush in her cheeks. Her humility humbled him—a foreign thing indeed.
“Why?” The word slipped free before ángel could stop it. He fisted his hands and chose his words carefully, not wanting to startle or upset her. “You could’ve walked away. Should’ve. I’m sure there were more people in need of help on that sidewalk.”
Marisol met his gaze head-on. “Everyone else had someone with them. You didn’t.”
The simplicity of her answer lodged itself in his ribs, sharper than any bullet.
With a final, dismissive nod, Garrido dropped the clipboard back in its holder with a clatter and strode out.
Marisol exhaled and slumped back in her chair. The lines around her mouth softened into weariness. Exhaustion. “That man is a dick,” she muttered, massaging her temples.
ángel chuckled, then winced as the pain in his chest sharpened. He rubbed the bandage past the thin material of his hospital gown and reclined against the pillows. A relieved moan split his lips.
“Life is funny, isn’t it?” A wistful note softened her voice. “Sometimes, I don’t know whether I should laugh, cry, or shout at the top of my lungs.”
“In my experience, it’s best to do all three.
” Though he could count on one hand all the times he’d cried in the past few years.
He grimaced as she plucked at the stiff, blood-encrusted fabric of her shirt.
Guilt skewered him. “Let me replace it. Your clothes,” he clarified as she arched her eyebrow. “Or at least pay to have it cleaned.”
“Dry cleaning won’t fix this. After blood sets, it’s impossible to get out.”
True, but they had probably learned that in different ways.
She rubbed at one of the stains and shrugged. “Besides, your friend already shoved an envelope of cash in my hand. I tried to refuse—I didn’t stay with you all night for the hope of getting something out of you, or him—but he wouldn’t accept no for an answer.”
ángel gnashed his teeth. Of course, Enrique would swoop in with his wallet, playing the grateful patron.
The thought of Marisol spending his boss’s money and not his lit a low, irrational fire in his gut.
And Enrique was not his friend. The man was his boss and would probably rip ángel a new asshole for failing to protect Lourdes.
“I need my phone.” Somehow, he had to explain and beg Enrique’s forgiveness. Lourdes’s, too.
Marisol nodded toward the bedside table.
ángel spotted the cell and sighed in relief. Instead of grabbing it, he focused on Marisol. “You saved my life. Fine. Why did you stick around, especially after Enrique sent someone?”
“I needed to hear your voice. It sounds silly, I know. We’re strangers, but on that sidewalk, you were my whole world. I existed to save you. Simple as that.”
Fucking hell. That wasn’t simple at all. Every word she said, every smile or laugh she gave him—it made everything that much more complicated.
“Couldn’t a friend or family member bring you fresh clothes?” The idea that she wore clothes stained with his blood all night sickened him.
Again, she shrugged and glanced away. “I called my brother, but he never got back to me. Besides him, I don’t have anyone else.”
The melancholy in her tone quickened his pulse.
“Well, I should get going. I’m long overdue for a shower.”
“Stay,” he said abruptly. “I mean, you seem to know a lot about physical therapy. Maybe you could give me tips.”
“I should say I do. I’m a physical therapist at Fisioterapia de Confianza.
It’s a little family clinic in Bugambilias.
” She grabbed her colorful, woven purse off the floor.
“While at-home exercises can be beneficial, I recommend you seek a professional. It’s so easy to overdo it and cause yourself more harm than good, but if you want to go that route, there are lots of websites and video tutorials you could follow.
” She grimaced and stared at his sling. “I’m used to seeing injuries after the fact.
Never while they were in the making. When I first tried to help you, I was panicking.
Couldn’t think. Then the training took over. Anyway, I’m just glad I could help.”
An image of her kneeling in his blood flashed through his mind. Was that a memory, or just his imagination? “Right. Um—” he hesitated as she neared the door, about to walk out of his life forever. “Are you taking any new patients?”
She grinned as if she could see right through his flimsy excuse to see her again. But she reached into her purse and pulled out a slightly bent business card before she returned to his side and handed it over. “I’ll make room if you call.” A challenge lit her eyes. “See you soon, ángel.”
Once she left, he traced his thumb over the embossed words on her card, already imagining the way her hands would feel on his skin—not as a caregiver, not as a stranger, but as a woman in need.
A shudder rolled through him. She hadn’t owed him a damn thing.
Yet she had given him everything. His life.
Hope. Something to look forward to. Frustration knotted his chest and shot fresh pain through his already sore muscles.
He wanted her, but he wouldn’t pursue her as an injured man.
Soon enough, he would taste her.
She would be his.
****
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