Chapter 22 Treading Water #2
I didn’t look away. “Because she’s been in my corner since before I knew what that meant.
Since we were kids running down the same block with nothing but time on our hands and bad ideas.
” I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees.
“Because she went to my prom when she didn’t have to, dressed up and showed out and made me feel like I belonged somewhere when I spent most of high school feeling like an outsider.
Because when my father got sick and I was still living in D.C.
trying to be a big time architect and couldn’t get back to Mobile as fast as I needed to, she checked on him.
Went by the house, sat with him, made sure he wasn’t alone while my mom worked.
Didn’t tell me about it until later because she didn’t want me to feel guilty about not being there.
” I paused, letting that land. “My father told me about it on his deathbed. Said she came by all the time. Brought him food. Watched the game with him. That’s who she is when nobody’s watching and nobody’s keeping score. ”
Amina was quiet.
“She survived being shot at eighteen years old and still found a way to encourage me to go live my dream instead of staying behind to make sure she was okay. She built a business from scratch with no blueprint and no safety net. She loves hard even when people give her every reason not to.” I sat back. “That’s why.”
The room was very still.
Amina looked down at her wrapped ankle, her jaw working slowly like she was chewing on something she didn’t want to swallow.
“She’s not perfect Amina,” I said, my voice dropping. “Neither am I. Neither are you, but she is exactly who I want imperfectly beside me for the rest of my life.”
The doctor knocked twice and came in before Amina could respond, his coat slightly wrinkled and his English surprisingly solid.
The doctor was efficient, which I appreciated after damn near two hours of waiting.
He examined the ankle, pressed around the swelling in a way that made Amina hiss through her teeth, and sent her down the hall for a quick X-ray before coming back with a verdict that matched exactly what Stella had called at the cenote.
Grade two sprain, no fracture. He wrapped it up tight, handed her a pharmacy bag with enough medication to get her comfortably through the flight home, and told her to follow up with her doctor once she was back stateside.
Ice it, elevate it, stay off it as much as possible.
Amina took her discharge papers without much of a fight, which told me the pain meds had already started to work before we even cleared the sliding doors.
The cab ride back was quiet in a way that had nothing to do with having nothing to say.
We both had a clip full of words, but neither one of us had the energy left to pull the trigger.
The driver had a norteno station humming low on the radio, the accordion music bleeding into the sound of the tires over the asphalt.
Outside, the jungle rolled past the windows thick, green around us like none of it mattered .
Amina kept her head turned toward her window, her reflection in the glass looking like a woman scorn.
I felt bad for being the cause, but also felt relieved that maybe she was finally getting the picture. My heart belonged to Nique.
I pulled out my phone and tapped out two words to her: You good?
I shoved the phone back in my pocket before I could start that toxic ritual of staring at the screen, waiting on a response that I already knew wasn't coming.
It didn’t come.
Not while we pulled through the gold-leafed resort gates.
Not while I helped Amina out of the cab and got her balanced on those awkward crutches.
Not during the slow, agonizing shuffle down the villa path in the thick afternoon heat, with the salt air sticking to our skin and both of us depleted in ways that had nothing to do with each other.
I got her settled on the bed, her ankle propped up on two pillows, the pills and a fresh bottle of water within arm’s reach. I pulled the heavy curtains, killing the glare of the Mexican sun so it wouldn't beat on her while she slept it off.
I checked my phone.
Nothing.
“You need anything else before I head out?” I asked, standing by the door.
She shook her head, smoothing the duvet over her legs. Then she looked up at me, and for once, the performance was over.
“You’re going to regret fumbling me, Dexter Nash,” she said.
I stayed in the doorway, my hand on the handle, looking at her straight.
“One day, you’re going to find the man who was actually built for you,” I said, no coldness in it, just truth.
“And when you do, you’re going to look back and understand that I was never him.
I was just comfortable and you deserve more than a man who’s just comfortable. ”
She held my gaze for a heartbeat long enough for the weight of that word to land and then she let it go. She turned her face toward the window, letting me know she was done with me.
I pulled the door shut, the click of the lock sounding like a period at the end of a very long sentence.
I stepped back outside and took a deep breath of the fresh air. The peace didn’t last long once I realized Nique still hadn’t texted me back. I checked my phone one more time as I walked the path.
Still nothing.
I shoved it deep in my pocket and picked up my pace. I was done checking for notifications. It was time to go find my woman.