I know better than this.
I’m not an idiot.
I know I can’t have her. She’s Lukas’ sister, but more importantly I’m not the one she wants.
Still, when she looks up at me like that… fuck.
3
Julia
Ineed to sober up ASAP and never, ever drink around Mateo again. There must be something wrong with me. A couple drinks and a hand on my back is all it takes to make me borderline self-destructive. Mateo is so far off-limits and wrong for me he might as well be on another planet. And yet, I’m actively fighting back fantasies of getting him to undo that top button.
The nurse, Gretchen, isn’t familiar to me, but that’s no surprise. I rarely stray far from the pediatric wing. In fact, the last time I was down here was when Parker punched her neighbor and dislocated her thumb.
I’m only a five-minute walk and an elevator ride away from my stomping grounds, and I’m beyond tempted to sneak upstairs and check in on my patients. I know that once the administration officially puts me on leave, I won’t be allowed to see them and it’s already killing me.
I can’t leave Luis, though. I’d say he’s as good as a father to me, but truthfully, he’s way better than any father I could have had. My bio dad bailed when I was barely a toddler. Just dropped us off at Gran’s and hit the road a couple months after our mom died. I can’t remember his face and honestly, I don’t care to. Luis and his two boys lived next door. He wasn’t just welcoming to me and my orphaned siblings. He built us a treehouse with his own two hands, dressed up as Santa every year, even long after we were old enough to know better, and helped raise us. I spent nearly as much time at his house as I did my Gran’s.
Gretchen is efficient with the sticky electrode pads, and she clearly has the right temperament for an E.R. nurse. She’s teasing Luis and has him grinning like this is just a picnic in the park and we aren’t trying to rule out a heart attack. It’s an awful blend of relief and horror, seeing Luis hooked up to the EKG as the phlebotomist fills vials to run bloodwork. If anything is actually wrong, this is where he needs to be, but if the gray, hollow expression on Mateo’s face is anything to go by, this is a shared misery.
I had already texted Lilah from the back of my Uber as I headed to the hospital, but I pull out my phone to give her an update and let her know that either way, the new kid is going to have to cover the bakery in the morning. There’s no way we’re getting out of here at a reasonable time, and even if we did, Luis would be running on zero sleep. We both agree not to bother Olive on her honeymoon unless there’s a literal fire.
“You’re covered at the bakery for tomorrow,” I tell Luis.
He sighs heavily. I know for a fact that he’d argue with me if he had a single point in his favor right now, but he knows better.
“Fine. I’m taking a nap,” Luis sighs, arching his eyebrow at me and Mateo as the phlebotomist bustles out. We’re crammed into the corner in two cheap, uncomfortable, plastic chairs that have been welded together. Mateo’s massive bulk makes it impossible for him to stay on his side. It’s not that he’s man-spreading exactly, he just can’t help how big he is. Under normal circumstances, I’d spread right out, personal space be damned, but my body has gone rogue where he's concerned, so I tuck my elbows into my sides and press my knees together to avoid touching him.
“I’d tell you two to go for a walk or something, but I know you’d rather sit there and stare at me, so I won’t bother. Just don’t wake me up.” Luis lays back and gets comfortable, muttering about ‘nervous Nellies’ as he closes his eyes, apparently planning to actually take a fucking nap.
Mateo shakes his head and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, putting his face in his hands. I’m so tempted to reach out and rub the broad expanse of his back. Do something, anything to make him feel better. But touching him feels like a dangerous game at this point, and I’m not exactly in the mood to play with fire.
Instead, I focus on the vital sign monitor. I watch the lines jump in uniform, consistent waves, and the tension in my chest loosens up. Technically, I’m not qualified to read the EKG and make any kind of determination, but that doesn’t mean I’m ignorant.
I watch for a couple minutes to make sure I’m right before squeezing Mateo’s forearm. He looks over at me blearily, the muscles in his arm rippling under my touch. I pointedly shove every thought except for Luis out of my mind as I point at the monitor and make the “O.K.” motion with my fingers. His vitals, from what I’m seeing, look outstanding.
Mateo looks at the monitor, and back at me, the strain around his eyes lightening. I hold out a hand and tap the veins of my inner elbow, trying to convey “Let’s wait for the bloodwork before we celebrate.”
Mateo nods, blessedly understanding my crappy pantomiming, and releases a deep breath. He leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me against his side in a show of gratitude. His warm hand smooths over my bare shoulder and he peers down at me.
“You’re cold.” He mouths at me.
Truthfully, I’m freezing. But I’m not about to complain when we have bigger things to worry about, so I just shrug and mouth back, “I’m fine.”
He gives me a look, releases me, and shrugs off his suit coat, arranging it around my shoulders in one quick motion before pulling me back in. The warmth from his body and the silky liner of his jacket envelopes me. The entire length of his body presses against mine, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, as he tucks me neatly under his arm. I’m exhausted, my nerves are raw, and he smells so fucking good. It’s all just too much to resist right now.
Laying my head on his shoulder, I close my eyes and feel him breathe next to me. This is platonic, I remind myself. This is friendly. This is just comfort. This is nothing, and I mean absolute-fucking-lutely nothing, besides that.
I slip off into a fitful sleep, interrupted by beeping and the bustle of the nurses outside the room, and when I come to again, something is stroking my arm. My body is slumped against Mateo’s, my face buried in his neck. His cheek is resting on top of my head and each breath he takes ruffles my hair. It’s been so long since someone held me like this, and even though I know better, I keep my eyes closed, enjoying every last second of the physical contact.
I’m startled by a knock on the door. A tall doctor barges in with all the grace of a drunk rhino, knocking into the portable monitor and nearly sending it toppling to the floor. Mateo and I bolt upright, wide awake. I catch Luis smirking down at his hands, and I wonder how long he’s been awake.
“Alright, Mr. Marquez, I have good news and more good news,” the doctor declares, flipping through Luis’ chart. “You, sir, are in excellent health. Especially for a man of your age.” Luis scowls at that last comment and I hold back a snorting laugh, disguising it by clearing my throat. Mateo removes his arm from my shoulders and the laugh dies in my throat at the loss of his warmth.
“Your bloodwork came back clear of any markers that would signify a cardiac event. I’d like to have you follow up for a stress test with a specialist but—”
“Then what’s wrong with him?” Mateo interrupts, visibly irritated. “He didn’t imagine the pain.”