Chapter 32 Rodriguez #2
“Got hit. S’not—” I try to sit up and the room tilts violently. Her hands are there immediately, steadying me. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay.” Her thumb brushes across my cheekbone and that’s when I realize I’m crying. “You have a concussion.”
“Needed you here first.”
Something flickers in her eyes but her hands stay gentle on my face.
“I’m here now.” She looks at Marnie without moving her hands from me, won’t let me go. “What do I need to do?”
Marnie explains the overnight protocol. Wake me every two hours, watch for warning signs, when to call 911. I barely hear any of it. Too busy staring at Juliette, at the way she’s biting her lip while she listens, at how she hasn’t let go of me yet.
She came. Even though I hurt her. Even though we’re broken. She came.
“Can you do that?” Marnie asks.
“Yes. Of course.” No hesitation. Just immediate certainty.
“Good. Then let’s get him home.”
Home. The word hits different when Juliette’s the one who’s going to take me there.
She helps me stand and my legs don’t quite work right, the floor tilts, but her arm wraps around my waist, solid and sure, and I lean into her without shame.
“Easy. I’ve got you.”
I know you do. You always do.
The words are there but I can’t quite get them out with my brain too fuzzy and my mouth not cooperating. So I just hold onto her and let her guide me.
The parking garage is too bright with every light a spike through my skull. But Juliette’s there, murmuring quiet reassurances, helping me into her car like I’m something precious that might break.
Maybe I am.
She drives carefully. No music, avoiding every bump in the road. The silence should be awkward but it’s not. It’s just there, heavy with everything we haven’t said.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out slurred but clear enough. Need her to hear them. “Should have told you. About the coffee. About Sienna. Was stupid.”
“Romeo, we can talk about this when—”
“No.” I turn my head to look at her even though it makes everything spin worse. Need her to see my face, see that I mean it. “Need you to know. She doesn’t mean anything. Never did. You’re the only one.”
Her hands tighten on the steering wheel. “You’re concussed. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Know exactly what I’m saying.” The words are coming easier now, loose and unfiltered. “Loved you from the beginning. From the first time I saw you on the ice. Did I tell you that? Don’t remember if I told you.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“Makes perfect sense. You were teaching those kids. Had that blue jacket on. Hair in a ponytail. You smiled at one of them and I thought—” I lose the thread. Grab it back. “I thought I’d do anything to have you smile at me like that.”
She’s quiet with her jaw tight and eyes on the road.
“Said yes to Toronto just to be near you. Didn’t care about fake dating. Just wanted any excuse. Any reason to—to—” The thought slips away like water through my fingers. “What was I saying?”
“Toronto.”
“Right.” Everything’s getting fuzzy again, soft around the edges. “Loved that trip. Loved watching you be yourself. No walls. Just you. My favorite version of you. I love all the versions. Even the mean one. Especially the mean one.”
We pull into my building. She parks and comes around to help me out. I lean on her heavily with my coordination shot to hell.
Inside the elevator, I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes. Feel her hand on my arm keeping me steady.
“Gonna be okay,” I mumble. “We’re gonna be okay.”
She doesn’t answer.
My apartment feels different with her in it again. Right, like something that was missing has clicked back into place.
She sits me on the couch and gets me water and pain meds. I take them without complaint even though swallowing hurts.
“Let’s get you changed.”
She helps me to the bedroom, out of my clothes and into sweatpants. I should be embarrassed, needing help getting dressed like a child, but I’m not. Because it’s her. Because her hands are gentle and she’s here.
“Bed,” she says softly.
I climb in and immediately reach for her. “Stay.”
“I’m staying. I have to wake you up every two hours.”
“No.” I tug her hand. “Here. With me. In the bed.”
She hesitates. I can see the war on her face. Want versus hurt, anger versus worry.
Want wins.
She climbs in next to me, staying on top of the covers. But when I pull her closer, she doesn’t resist. Just lets me tuck her against my side, lets me bury my face in her hair and breathe her in.
“Missed you,” I mumble into her hair. “Missed you so fucking much.”
“I missed you too.”
“Don’t leave again.”
“I won’t. Not tonight.”
Not tonight. I want forever.
But I can’t say it because my eyes are already closing with the pain meds and the concussion and the exhaustion pulling me under.
“Promise?” I manage.
“I promise. Sleep now.”
So I do.
She wakes me at midnight.
Everything in my brain is thick and slow and wrong. But her voice cuts through it.
“Romeo. I need you to wake up for me.”
I force my eyes open. She’s leaning over me, backlit by the lamp she must have turned on. Looks like an angel. My angel.
“JuJu?”
“Yeah. How do you feel?”
“Head hurts.” Understatement of the century. Feels like someone’s taken a sledgehammer to my skull.
“I know. I need to ask you some questions, okay? Can you tell me what day it is?”
I have to think about it, harder than it should be. “Thursday. No, Friday. After midnight.”
“Good. What’s my name?”
“Juliette Chastain.” The words come easier than the day. “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Could look at you forever and never get tired of it.”
She smiles just a little. “You’re still concussed.”
“Doesn’t make it less true.” I reach up and touch her face with my hand shaky but determined. “Everything about you is beautiful. Your eyes, they’re like ice when the sun hits them. Did I tell you that? Meant to tell you that. Ice blue.”
“Ice is clear. White maybe.”
“Like Elsa, my Ice Queen.”
“Go back to sleep, Romeo.”
“Can’t sleep when you’re right here looking like that.” I trace my thumb across her cheekbone, the skin soft and warm. “I love your face. Could look at it for hours.”
“Okay, Romeo.” She catches my hand gently. “That’s enough. Go back to sleep.”
“Only if you stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She settles back down next to me. I pull her closer, needing the contact, the proof that she’s really here.
“Love you,” I mumble into her hair.
She goes still. “You’re concussed.”
“Love you anyway.”
I drift off before she can respond.
Two AM.
This time I’m already half-awake when she touches my shoulder. The pain in my head has dulled from sharp agony to a persistent throb.
“Hey. Time to check in.”
I blink up at her. She looks tired, worried, beautiful.
“You’re still here.”
“Still here.” She brushes my hair back from my forehead with a tender gesture. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Two.”
“What month is it?”
“March.” My brain’s working better now, faster. “We played Edmonton. I got hit. You came for me even though you’re mad at me.”
“I’m not mad.”
“You should be. I fucked up.”
“We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“No. Need to say it now.” I catch her hand and hold it against my chest so she can feel my heartbeat. “I love your hands. They’re perfect. Small and strong and they always know how to fix people. How to make them feel better. You do that for me. Make me feel better just by existing.”
She’s blinking away tears.
“I love the way you smell. I steal your shampoo sometimes just so I can smell like you.”
“Romeo—”
“I love your laugh. The real one. Not the polite one you do for other people. The one that takes over your whole face. The one you tried to hide from me at first.” The words won’t stop pouring out.
“I love that you’re patient with those kids when they’re being brats.
I love you even though you put ketchup on hot dogs. ”
“Oh my god. You’re ridiculous.”
“It’s a serious character flaw, JuJu. I’ve chosen to overlook it.”
She laughs. The sound cuts through the pain in my head like light through fog. “You’re concussed and you’re still mad about the ketchup?”
“I will be mad about the ketchup forever. I will love you forever, too.”
“Go back to sleep,” she says.
“Kiss me first. Just one kiss. Please.”
She leans down and presses her lips to mine. Soft, gentle, it’s over too soon.
But it’s enough. For now it’s enough.
I close my eyes and let sleep pull me under again.
Four AM.
The alarm wakes us both. I can feel her moving, trying to reach for her phone without disturbing me.
“M’awake,” I mumble.
“How do you feel?”
Better than I did two hours ago. The room’s not spinning anymore. My thoughts feel clearer, more organized.
“Better. Still hurts but better.”
“Good.” She turns to face me and studies my face in the dim light. “Where are we?”
“My apartment. You brought me home from the game. Stayed with me because I have a concussion and someone needs to watch me.”
“What game were you playing?”
“Edmonton. Home ice. I was playing like shit. Got hit in the second period.” I reach up and trace my fingers through her hair. It’s a mess. I probably did that. “We left before the game ended. Don’t know if we won.”
“Do you care?”
“Not even a little bit.” The only thing I care about is right here in my arms. “Can I tell you something?”
“You’ve been telling me things all night.”
“This is different.” I pull her closer but hold her chin so she’s looking at me because I need her to hear this.
Really hear it. “I love how smart you are. Not just book smart, though you’re that too.
But people smart. You can read anyone in seconds.
See right through their bullshit. You saw through mine from day one. ”
“Romeo—”
“I love that you don’t let me get away with anything. That you push back when I’m being an idiot.” My hand tangles in her hair. “I love that you’re scared of getting hurt again but you trusted me anyway. And I’m sorry, so fucking sorry, that I gave you a reason to doubt that trust.”