Chapter 31 Stefan #2
"You feel like you can finally let yourself relax?" I ask, hoping it's true. It's how I feel. Like a week's worth of constant adrenaline is rushing out of me. The crash is so hard I could fall asleep on the spot, and I'm not the injured one.
Another heartbreaking attempt at a smile, just a quirk of the edges of his lips. "Yeah. It's that. I'm so tired, Stefan."
"I know, love." Love? Since when am I a fan of sappy?
Since Evan came into my life, that's when.
I lean forward and kiss his forehead. Then the tip of his nose.
Then, so light it's the faintest brush, his lips.
I don't know if I have the right to do that, but I can't stop myself. "Go to sleep. I'll be here."
My need for information is not worth keeping him awake. Not when the shadows around his eyes are so dark they look like bruises.
I'm dozing in the chair next to the bed, holding Evan's hand, when the door opens and the woman I barely noticed earlier walks in.
Now that I take the time to look at her, it is obvious who she is.
Evan couldn't look more like her if he tried.
The same full lips, amber-brown eyes, curly dark hair. Even their noses look the same.
She smiles when our eyes meet, and yes, he inherited that, too. "You're Stefan Petryk," she whispers. She doesn't look angry at me. Does she not know the way I left him?
Fuck, does she even know that we're together? We've never talked about his parents, about what he's told them. Has he even come out to them as bi? Fuck. Did I out him when I rushed in here and fell at his feet?
"Mrs. Marquez," I answer, letting go of Evans's hand and standing up, rubbing my palms on my thighs. "I..." I have no idea what to say.
But she just smiles again and comes over to me to wrap me in her arms. It's a surprisingly comforting hug.
While my mom exudes expensive perfume with a chaser of aloofness, Mrs. Marquez smells like what I assume home should smell like.
Cinnamon, maybe a hint of chocolate. And if it's overlaid with the astringent scent of hospital, well, so is everything here.
She's small and curvy and warm. And I love her immediately. "I'm so glad you're here for my boy," she says. Her voice is musical, carrying the curved vowels of another country's native tongue. I should know which one.
No question Evan is Hispanic. But how come I never questioned what country his parents come from?
Am I so selfish I never even considered it?
As a child of immigrants myself, I should know better.
Our parents' cultures shape us, and we're both first-generation children. At least from his mother's side.
Why didn’t we talk about his family more? Why didn’t I ask? I’m such a fucking asshole.
"I'd have been here sooner, but I didn't know where he was." I don't mean for it to come out accusatory, but I think it does. If she wanted his friends around him, she should have told us how to find him.
Mrs. Marquez tightens her arms around me. "We were letting Evan make that decision, honey. I'm sorry. He had his phone. We assumed, since nobody came, that he didn't want anybody. But I'm so glad he finally reached out to you."
Not so much. Or at least, not until a few minutes ago. It hurts, though, knowing that Evan had his phone, could have reached out, and didn't. But he didn't know I wasn't getting updates. He told me that, and I have to believe him.
Plus, he’s far from well yet. This isn't something I should take to heart.
Mrs. Marquez squeezes me again, then lets go. "How's he doing?"
"I don’t really know. We talked for like a minute, and then he went to sleep. He didn't get a chance to tell me." Am I fishing for information? Absolutely. Do I feel guilty about it? Not even a little bit.
Her hand on my arm, Mrs. Marquez guides me a little bit away from the bed towards the door. We don't actually leave the room, but we're further away from Evan, at least. Less likely to wake him as we talk. "You know about his fall."
It's not a question, but I nod. "I watched it happen, yeah. But I haven't been able to learn much about his injuries. Is he ok?"
As Mrs. Marquez fills me in on the details, my heart breaks more and more every time she adds something.
I can imagine how Evan feels. How devastated he must be.
Learning that even if he does get back to his old skill level, it'll be too late for this Olympic cycle, breaks me.
How can Evan even be functioning with that information?
"He's been keeping a pretty brave face on it," she concludes, "but I know it's hurting him. "
Of course it is. The Olympics have been his dream as much as they are mine. He's worked so hard to be competitive at them. And now all of that is gone because of one fall.
Fuck, no wonder he worries about my training regimen so much. Ironic, though, that I'm not the one who got injured. In a horrible, depressing kind of way.
"But he'll be all right," I say aloud, as much to reassure myself as to double-check.
"He will be." She nods decisively. As if no matter what happens, she will make it so. I like this woman.
"Is it all right if I stay with him?" Is she going to fight me for bedside time with her son?
But she just smiles at me. "Of course, honey," she answers.
"Thank you."
"No need to thank me." She beams. "I'm sure he's so happy to have you here."
Then why didn't they call me? But I can't throw blame around, not when this is my fault. "I'm just glad I'm here."
"So am I," she pats my arm, "I'll leave you two alone now, yes? I think I'll run down to the cafeteria. Can I get you anything?"
"Honestly, I could use a coffee." I smile at her. "I haven't exactly been sleeping well. And there was the plane last night."
When I start to pull my wallet out of my pocket, she lays a hand on my arm. "I'll get it. You just take care of our boy."
After she leaves, I turn back to the bed, where I see that Evan's eyes have opened. Ah. That explains her rush out of the room.
"Your mom is kind of amazing."
His smile is bigger now, as if even the hour or so he's napped was enough to renew his energy. "Isn't she?" His voice is stronger, too, and I am so relieved to hear it.
When I return to the chair, his hand reaches out for me, and I take it. It's so natural holding hands with him. It's coming home.