“No,” I say flatly. “That’s not normal.”
His brows knit together. “It could just be stress, right? Or like, muscle stuff?”
“Any pain in the chest is bad,” I say, firm now. Doctor voice sliding into place whether I want it to or not. “I don’t care ifit’s sharp, dull, burning, shooting, or ‘kind of weird but probably nothing.’ Chest pain is never something you crowdsource at a birthday party.”
He swallows.
“Tell yourfriendto go to the ER,” I continue. “Today. Not urgent care. Not Google. Not tomorrow morning if it happens again. The ER. They need labs. An EKG. Possibly imaging.”
His awkward smile is gone now. “You think it’s serious?”
“I think ignoring chest pain is how people end up being a cautionary tale,” I say gently. “Best case? It’s nothing and you wasted a few hours. Worst case? You didn’t.”
He nods slowly. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll tell him.”
“Good,” I say. Then, softer, because I can see the fear creeping in. “And for the record, friends who ask for help are doing the right thing.”
He exhales, thanks me, and walks off, phone already in his hand.
Feeling eyes on me, I turn.
Patrick’s standing a few feet away, one hand wrapped around a neon plastic sword Milo must’ve abandoned, the other braced on his hip. He raises a brow in the direction Blanco disappeared, mock-scowling like he’s about to interrogate a suspect.
I smile and lift a brow right back.
Challenge accepted.
He starts toward me, rolling his shoulders like he’s gearing up for something dramatic, plastic sword swinging at his side.
Only, he never makes it.
Patrick
“Hey, Mom,” I say, trying to angle around her.
She mirrors me instantly, stepping just enough to block my line of sight again. It doesn’t actually work, I can see over her head, but it definitely gets my attention.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“What?” I ask confused.
She lowers her voice, that careful, sympathetic tone she uses when she’s about to drop some unsolicited advice. “Honey… I know it’s painful seeing Lorelie with another man. But you’ve been apart for a long time. She was bound to move on at some point.”
I blink. “Mom?”
She keeps going. “You have to understand. I mean, I’m sure you’ve had needs too, and-”
“Mom,” I cut in quickly, before she can finish whatever sentence about my ‘needs’she’s winding up to deliver.
I glance around. The kids are blissfully unaware, running wild on sugar, but the adults? Oh, they’re watching. Subtle pretending-not-to-listen watching.
“Can we not?” I murmur, gesturing vaguely with my eyes.
She huffs. “I just don’t want you to be lonely.”
“I’m not,” I say. Then, because apparently, I can’t help myself, I add, “Actually… I have someone special in my life.”
Her mouth drops open. “You do?”
