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Sloane
Valentino storms out of my makeshift hospital room without giving me an opportunity to argue. He’s never understood why I chose my current profession. Part of the blame rests with me. I never told him all the shit that went down when he left town to live in his fancy mansion, or the hell I went through trying to assimilate my personality into the Air Force.
I’d even sworn Tácito to secrecy. Not out of spite or anything. I didn’t want to rehash the high school bullying, the almost daily neighborhood beat downs, and the cruel branding. Since Tácito and I were in similar situations, he agreed not to say anything, but he’s never liked withholding the extent of my suffering from Valentino.
He doesn’t know about the branding, though. I doubt he would have kept quiet no matter how much I begged. If he found out how I acquired my burn scars…I shiver just thinking about the fallout. Thank God for the Air Force. The military served as great cover for several secrets. Had Tácito found out back then, I wouldn’t have been able to protect him with the limited power I had.
Looking back, I scoff at my hubris. Limited power? What a joke! We were powerless teens, Valentino included. So, despite Tácito’s puppy-dog expressions, my sore and bruised body, or the ointments I applied to my wounds in secret, I refused to embroil Valentino in our neighborhood drama when he had the luxury of an escape.
Tácito taps my shoulder. “How’s the pain?”
I take shallow breaths and move in slow motion. That’s my pain management. “You know me. I’m breathing. There’s a hell of a lot of people who can’t say the same. Many of those same people have me to thank for their current circumstances. A little pain is not worth complaining about.”
His jaw flexes under what I imagine is some intense pressure. How his teeth are still even and beautiful when he smiles versus ground to stumpy nubs is beyond me.
He shoves a spirometer in my hand. “Blow into the device. Ten times every hour. The farther the ball goes up, the more comfortable I’ll be that there’s no lingering anesthesia in your lungs.”
I do as I’m told without questioning him. It’s the same spiel from my last stint in this bed and arguing would be futile. I’ve lost every other time I ended up here; I don’t expect today to be any different.
I blow. Shit, this is hard. Harder than the other times I’ve woken up after Tácito patched me together. I’ve avoided looking at my body. Although I was there for the fight, felt every wound, after a while they blurred together. If I look now, see all the damage, a sense of guilt may compel me to seek Valentino and apologize to him.
That I will not do.
He’ll demand I find a new profession. I should agree with him. I don’t know why, but I can’t stop. Part of me needs to understand the reason taking on dangerous assignments gives me purpose. So, if I can’t articulate my reasons to myself, how can I face Valentino?
I almost miss Tácito preparing a syringe to inject into my IV. Without thinking, I grab his hand and shake my head with a painful wince I can’t disguise. Then, I release him to sign, “No drugs.”
He firms his jaw and shakes me off. With a step back, he gets me to relax. Too soon. As soon as I rest my spine against the bed, he shoves the needle into the IV. My reflexes are off and I’m unable to reach him to stop him before he empties the contents.
“Why?” I gaze at him, doing nothing to hide the betrayal I feel.
“Because your situation called for it. I’m the doctor here, not you. Although I understand why you don’t like being medicated, I won’t risk your body going into shock because the meds wore off and all the pain hits you at once.”
“I can handle it. I swear.” My hands fall feebly to my side while a cold sweat dots my brow.
Tácito shakes his head in disgust. Even with his frustration shooting at me, he can’t disguise his concern.
“I promise, one day I’ll stop putting you through all my bullshit.” My hands flutter to my lap as a new lassitude enters my limbs. The medicine is beginning to work. My lids become heavy. As they lower, I catch Tácito’s last words before unconsciousness takes me.
“Don’t make promises that will ensure my death.”
* * *
I wake up groggy to a darkening room and the even darker presence of the man who has had more influence over my life and thoughts than anyone has the right to have, with the exception of one other. I slit my eyes open to observe him without alerting him to my being awake.
As a politician, Valentino does not adhere to the normal stereotypes. His single status has never hurt his campaign runs. The opposite, in fact. In the last election he won all the votes from the eligible women in town.
I blame his beard. His facial hair is also to blame for the men’s votes, too.
When women see Valentino rub down the smooth hairs covering his jaw and chin, panties drop. Men? They see him as confident and knowledgeable enough to warrant his position. I’ve always understood the appeal.
Truth is, I have to remind myself all the time that we’re just friends. That’s all we can ever be. I’m lucky I can even claim friendship status. The one time I thought we could be more—
“Trying to fool me won’t work. I know you’re awake.” Valentino turns on the light and approaches me until he stands over my right side.
I contemplate pretending all the same, for all of two seconds. Knowing Valentino, he’ll say something out of pocket to get a rise from me. In the end, I’ll be in the same situation: sitting in on an uncomfortable lecture.
I must have taken too long for his liking because he presses the button on the controller to raise my upper body until I’m in a seated position. I glare at him. It’s one tool in my arsenal of self-preservation. I’ll do almost anything to keep him at a physical distance when I’m in no condition to back up my words.
