I give his hand another squeeze.
“Can we agree that Ryan is our mutual problem from now on?”
“But he’s not harassing you,” he whispers. “Just me.”
“Come here.”
Antonio unbuckles and climbs over the console in seconds, collapsing into me with a soft exhale. I sigh in relief as I get him in my arms. He nestles his head against my shoulder. I press him against my chest, drawing slow, grounding circles on his back.
“A bully should never be just the victim’s problem. What he’s doing crosses into police territory.”
“I don’t want that,” he says immediately, his voice muffled against my chest. “It’s too messy.”
“I get it, and it’s your call. I just wanted to point it out. Nothing about this is on you. It’s all on him.”
He rests his head against my chest for a while, his breathing gradually leveling out.
“I’m so proud of you. You were afraid to tell me, but you did anyway.”
I kiss him softly, and only when he’s completely calmed down do I stop holding him so that he can go back to his seat.
The drive to Wycliffe Memorial Hospital takes almost an hour.
Feeling considerably better, Antonio keeps teasing me about the embarrassing emojis I sent him the other day.
I was trying to flirt. I failed spectacularly.
“At first I thought they were instructions for an ancient pagan ritual,” he says happily, looking at his phone.
He shows me the emojis, as if I could ever forget.
A shy face.
A shocked face.
A candle and…
…a tombstone.
I sent my boyfriend a fucking tombstone.
“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” I ask, but I don’t mind in the slightest.
I’m relieved to see him smiling again.
“It’s not every day I get sent the emoji equivalent of a funeral.”
“The tombstone was an accident,” I say mildly.
“Or a murder plan,” he replies gleefully.
“That’s it. I’m going to use my fountain pen from now on for all correspondence.”
Antonio shifts in his seat, looking flustered.
I shoot him an amused look.
“You alright?”
