Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TEN DAYS AFTER
The next morning, I’m back in Rafael’s loft, waking up on his sofa in the same clothes, same shoes, like I’m living some demented Groundhog Day.
It doesn’t help that I barely slept, the night a battlefield of anxiety, paranoia, and the occasional movement in the bedroom beside mine: Rafael’s.
Where he was likely undressing and performing his bedtime ritual, probably involving the hair locks of his exes and cologne-scented candles.
Three hundred push-ups. A shot of tequila.
While he dozed, I spent hours alternating between obsessive overthinking and wishing away the throb inside my skull—a thump, thump, thump accompanied by a replay of the night, mainly the part with Lupe’s almost-revelation.
And now I’m back on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if I’ll find any answers to my questions.
Rafael seems to think answers often linger in the ceiling—and I have questions.
If Lupe’s almost-revelation is to be believed, it means Rafael might be hiding a secret. Something to do with me being here?
But I’d know if something serious was going on.
Rafael’s an open book. Written in large-print font.
Right?
Thump, thump, thump.
The throbbing is the only answer I get.
I breathe through a wave of frustrated alarm when I hear Rafael in the dining room, his voice low and urgent but frustratingly unintelligible.
Secrets, secrets, secrets.
I shift on the sofa and catch a glimpse of him over the armrest. Wearing nothing but sweatpants, he’s leaning against the table, talking on the phone … and possibly telling Dana all about how he’s going to run the OhLaLove account with his newly expanded team.
The Evie who has known Rafael for entirely too long separates from the one who has spent the last three days with him, and they each prop themselves on a different shoulder.
Pre-Coma Evie: He’s tricking you. Can’t you see? The smiles. The dimples. They’re all part of the distraction. He thinks he can Vela you long enough to get comfortable with his new promotion and get his choice of account managers—you included.
Coma Evie: You offered him the promotion—remember?
Also, Rafael wouldn’t be focusing on his promotion when you’re in a coma.
Sure, he swapped out your sanitizer for hand soap and made you faint that one time, but he’s not evil.
Have you seen where he comes from? No one raised in that kind of family would do something like that.
Pre-Coma Evie snorts. That was part of the trick.
The smoke and mirrors. “Look at my family—aren’t they wonderful?
Aren’t they loving? How can I be anything but totally, completely harmless?
” Don’t you dare fall for it. If he thinks you’ll just ignore the shadiness from last night, he’s got another thing coming … and she’s invisible and furious.
Coma Evie rolls her eyes. Oh, please! Rafael has a good heart. Deep, deep down, you know this. You know he wants to help you. He took you to his grandmother’s house. He dragged his cousin into this. Whatever secret you think he’s hiding, you’re wrong.
Pre-Coma Evie: Bullshit.
Coma Evie: Language.
I groan, willing the Evies to shut up.
As if he has Evie sensors, he looks directly at me. I want to duck before he can detect the suspicion on me. It’ll only make things more difficult—and we’ve only just made it to reluctant allies. As much as I don’t like it, I need his help, and I have to keep the peace. I’m cool, calm, collected.
Smoothing down the same dress I’ve worn for three days, I join him in the dining room, where he’s exchanged his phone for a mug of coffee. While his sweatpants hang low on his hips, the rest of him is bare and tanned and being used as a weapon of mass destruction in this round of Evie vs. Rafael.
I mentally kick Pre-Coma Evie and focus on his hairline when I say, “Sleep well?”
He watches me over the rim of his mug. “Fine. You?”
“Like the dead,” I offer with a shrug and an overly bright smile.
His eyes narrow. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve laced my coffee with cyanide.”
I gasp, hand over chest. “Please. While I’d love company in this liminal hellscape, I’m not that desperate. I thought we were past that.”
He glances into his mug, then brings it to his lips slowly. Cautiously.
I look at him as if to say Really?
“Are you okay?” He lowers the mug, regarding me. From head to pumps.
“Fa-boo-lous,” I say. Too sweetly, because his brows dance in surprise. He seems unsettled. And maybe this is the way to go. Make him feel a little off-balance. If he’s rattled, maybe he’ll slip, and maybe I’ll get to the bottom of whatever he might be hiding.
Pre-Coma Evie is running victory circles.
“Spit it out, E,” he says, setting his mug aside. “What’s wrong?”
“Besides the obvious?” I drag my hand along the wall—through it—for additional clarification.
“Not what I mean. What happened? You’re acting weird.” He narrows his eyes. “Was it a nightmare? Separation anxiety from your planner? What’s making you all …” He waggles his fingers in my direction.
“Hilarious,” I say, gesturing to the door. “Are we going anytime this year?”
Rafael’s mouth opens—then shuts. Whatever he was about to say gets swallowed (along with other maybe-secrets).
He swipes a black tee from the back of a chair—because he is that organized—and wiggles into it, his toned back stretching with the effort.
The cotton clings to him like it missed him. I hate that I notice.
Still turned away, he pats down his pants, then sifts through the chaos on his dining room table.
“Take all the time you need.” I stretch, feigning relaxation. “No rush whatsoever.”
He throws a scowl over his shoulder. “We need keys.”
“You left them by your meal for five.” I offer, gesturing to the kitchen, where abandoned Indian takeout boxes have staged a coup on his countertop. Most are empty.
He smirks. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were body shaming.”
I’m ashamed of my thoughts as they relate to his body. “I wouldn’t be so subtle.”
He laughs—a low rumble—and grabs his keys.
I trail after him to the door, needing him to open it and lead the way. He slows, hand on the door handle. “Ready?”
“I’m absolutely dying to get this over with,” I say. My smile returns. Suspicion enters his eyes.
He says nothing as we walk to the elevator, but I can feel him watching me. Waiting.
I turn to him abruptly. “You wouldn’t be keeping anything from me, would you?”
His face crinkles in confusion. “There’s plenty I’m keeping from you.”
I roll my eyes. “Not what I meant.”
“Then what do you mean?”
I debate whether to ask. About Lupe’s something. About his call. About the promotion. About why he might be helping me if he’s already gotten it.
The elevator dings, then opens.
I swallow my questions.
An older man, tortoiseshell glasses perched on his nose and newspaper under his arm, perks at the sight of Rafael. “Good morning, Raf!”
“Morning, Frankie.” Rafael shakes Frankie’s hand.
The elevator doors close, and I’m shoved between the wall and Rafael.
He’s distracted by his neighbor’s thoughts on the Bears’ next season, which gives me time to assess.
My gaze inches up the length of Rafael’s neck, his jaw, his lips, and linger on his eyes, seeking any evidence of a secret.
See? Nothing suspicious there, Coma Evie says, triumphant. But maybe don’t stare like you’re contemplating having him for dinner.
Mortified, I drop my gaze to my knotted hands.
The elevator takes too long to stop.
When it does, I’m the first one out.
“Have a good day, Raf. It’s nice to see you out and about again.” Frankie waves with his newspaper.
“See you around!” Rafael says, following on my heels. I scramble into the truck, shivering as I pass through the metal. He joins me, watching me as he starts the engine.
“I promised I would help you, and that’s what I’m doing,” Rafael says, shifting in reverse. “Whatever alternate reality you’ve created where I’m the devil? It couldn’t be farther from the truth.”
The truck rolls backward, and panic rolls in my belly. I clamp my hands together. “I don’t think you’re the devil,” I say, to distract myself.
He shoots me a look as we pull out of the parking garage. “Devil’s son, then?”
I shrug, biting down against a grin. “A distant cousin.”
Rafael chuckles, maybe calls me a smartass.
I’m focused on keeping calm. On distractions.
Like the clogged street. People and cars.
It’s all familiar. Two turns and we’re driving past a high-rise.
I crane my neck, trying to see up to floor thirty-eight.
Media Lab. I wonder if my things are still at my desk—or if Rafael has pushed his chaos across the threshold of the two.
Or maybe he’s already moved into the office reserved for the next marketing director.
Pre-Coma Evie tackles Coma Evie. Of course he’s already moved into the office. He’s Rafael!
Does he already have the promotion? Would Dana have given it to him without waiting to see what will happen with me?
My stomach churns in response. I can’t fathom it.
My life was Media Lab. My distraction and refuge.
A way out of being Stevie Popovici. The place where I reinvented myself after I left Michigan and never looked back. Except for that one night.
Before I started courses at Northeastern Illinois University, I drove to one of my favorite spots overlooking Lake Michigan.
I took out an old phone and turned it on.
It was the one thing I had from my old life, and not that I’d ever admit it, but each night before bed, I turned it on, held my breath, and waited.
Not once was there a missed text or voicemail from my mother, Margot.
I’d waited for years for her to call—to care—but getting love from Margot was like trying to squeeze blood from a rock.
As much as it hurt, I hurled the phone into the lake with a “Screw you, Mom!” and I moved on.
The next day, I started investing my focus and energy into my future because I’d already given my past so much.
The only thing—person—I took with me was Annie.
I became Evie Pope at Media Lab. Someone with a career and the means to provide for herself without relying on anyone else. It started with my one-year plans, which changed to five- and ten-year plans because there were always bigger and better opportunities ahead. Even more stability.
And then there was Rafael.
Rafael who knows I’m Stevie.
Rafael who makes me feel more unstable than anyone else I know.
Rafael who’s helping me, despite everything.
See, you know I’m right! Coma Evie dusts herself off and flips off Pre-Coma Evie.
I sneak a peek to my left. The sun kisses his skin, giving him a faint glowing outline that screams Team Edward (cue that Cullen sparkle from Twilight). He’s drumming his fingers against the wheel, anxious about something. I know this about him, just like I know about half a million other things.
He catches my gaze and frowns. “Plotting my demise?”
“No!” I snap my gaze to the road. A blush creeps into my cheeks, and I blame it—and these new symptoms—on my condition. The fullness. The inability to think clearly. “I’m just … nervous about this,” I admit, quieter than I intend. I haven’t let myself be vulnerable with him in a long time.
I feel his gaze on me.
“Me too,” he says, his tone warm and honest, and I fear he’s swapped one weapon for a much more dangerous one.
Because beneath his tone is something else, something a lot like sadness.
It’s not anything I’ve associated with Rafael before, save for when his dad passed.
I’ve imagined it, sure. Multiple times across multiple scenarios.
Only I didn’t think it would somehow make me feel not happy.
He catches me staring again, and I manipulate my features into a scowl, gesturing at his hair. “What’s happening up there?”
“Oh?” He rakes his long fingers through his hair, tousling it in different directions. I want to reach out and fix it. I want to throw myself out of his moving vehicle and see what happens. “Lupe keeps saying she can give me a trim.”
“She’s a hairdresser too?”
“There’s little she’s not good at.” He grins.
“Well, maybe except sticking to one thing. We’re alike in that way.
We’ll get into one thing, invest our time and energy into it until something else comes along and becomes the new thing.
It’s how I ended up at Media Lab. The draw of new clients and projects.
Some days it’s working on marketing plans.
Other days it’s learning a new product.”
“What you’re saying is that all I had to do was make work boring and then you would have quit?”
Rafael’s shoulder lifts in a shrug. “Doubt it.”
“You underestimate my abilities.” I use his words against him.
He smile slips. “Never. Not once in five years,” he says, his tone suddenly serious. His words sear themselves into bits of me I didn’t know existed. My chest. My belly. Lower still. I’m glad his eyes are on the road.
“Too bad I don’t believe a word of it,” I say. Face flushed, I sink into my seat and look out the window, turning my attention outside.
We continue along Michigan Avenue, passing Millennium Park.
The Bean shines in the sunlight. Tourists already crowd the park, snapping photos and posting to their social media feeds.
I remember wanting to soak up all of the city when I first moved here, and I took photos of almost every moment in my completion of bucket list item #1.
An architecture tour down the Chicago River. Dinner atop John Hancock Tower. A Cubs game. A slice of deep-dish pizza. Ice cream along the Riverwalk. I took my time learning the city and becoming a part of it. I’d come here for Annie, but I stayed for me.
As we pass the Wrigley Building, I feel a renewed desperation I haven’t felt since waking up in Rafael’s apartment.
I want to stay and be a part of this. I want to feel the sun on my face when I run at sunset.
I want to pick up breakfast at Dollop Coffee and dinner at Francesca’s.
I want to cross things off my bucket list. I want to stay.
Who cares if he’s hiding something?
You do, both Evies say.