“Until my what?” I nearly yell. I shake my head. What the hell?
“Like I said, it’s none of my business, but I do have to ask, Valentina, do you feel safe at home? Is that why you moved away from your family? Is your husband abusive?” Sara places a hand on my forearm and smiles warmly, inviting me to confess. Is this woman insane?
“There’s a mistake, Sara, I don’t have a hus—” I don’t finish my sentence because a massive figure blocks the entire doorway to my room. I swallow hard.
Shit.
Chema stands with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at me with a face full of tension only reserved for when he is upset with me for slacking off during training.
Sara must confuse my look of panic with confirmation of her fears because she assumes a defensive stance between my bed and Chema. I twist in the bed so I can reach for her and gently pat her arm.
“No, it’s okay,” I say. “But he’s not my husband.”
Sara keeps pinning him down with a glare, and I’m in awe that Chema actually flinches. I’ve never seen him do that before.
“Did you lie to hospital staff to get patient information?” she asks defiantly.
“Sheisfamily,” he says with an accent even thicker than mine.
Sara throws her hands in the air and finally turns to face me again. “Do I need to call security? Do you want him out of here?”
I shake my head but have a hard time finding my voice. “He’s, um, he—is right. He’s family. He can be here.”
Sara’s brows knit together, but she lets it go when I smile at her. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Call if you need anything,” she says before leaving my room and sending one last nasty glare Chema’s way.
Chema walks forward, his nostrils flaring, and I can’t help but recoil as I wrap my middle with the blankets. I wouldn’t want to be his opponent in a fight.
I close my eyes for a second, then take a deep breath. He is going to yell. He looks so mad, so betrayed. I roll every lie I ever told him on a loop in my brain and know he has every right to be angry with me.
I’ve betrayed him.
But he doesn’t yell.
Instead, he drags a chair to the spot next to my bed, and it’s only when he sits that his shoulders collapse, and he buries his head in his hands. His shoulders start shaking, and I would think it’s laughter, but the sob that escapes from deep in his chest leaves no room for interpretation.
“Hey, Chema, love, no,” I say, switching to Spanish for him and place a hand on his shoulder. “I’m here. I’m okay.”
His head snaps up, and his jaw sets with a fury I know all too well. “You are not okay,” he hisses.
The tears streaming down his face deflate me. “You’re right. But I’m working on it, okay? I am still here.”
“What if you died and nobody knew, Valentina? What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I didn’t, Chema, I’m right here,” I say a bit louder, hoping the words get through to him.
He sits back, and it is only then, with his hands folded over his lap and the light flooding through the window illuminating his face, that I see his puffy, bloodshot eyes and red nose, like he has been crying for hours.
Or days.
“Chema, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to worry; that’s why I didn’t say anything.”
“Worry? Valentina, you are going to send me to an early grave. I almost had a heart attack when I saw you.”
“Lucky you were in a hospital, then,” I say and grin. Chema glares at me with icy eyes, and I realize Rory’s dark humor is starting to rub off on me, and it is not for everyone. Rory. Where is Rory?
“Chema?”
“Yeah?”