Page 248 of Ricardo

“Dizzy?”

“No.”

“Cold?”

“A little.”

He takes off his jacket before I can protest and settles it around my shoulders.

It smells like him.

Expensive soap. Hospital air now. The faint trace of his cologne beneath everything else.

My fingers curl into the edge of it.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

His hand returns to mine.

Another hour might pass.

Or ten minutes.

I’m no longer keeping track.

At some point, Victoria moves to sit on my other side. She does not say anything at first. She only places a bottle of water in my hand.

“Drink,” she says.

“I’m fine.”

“Drink,” she repeats.

I take a sip because it is easier than refusing her.

The water is too cold, which feels nice against my raw throat.

Victoria watches me until she is satisfied, then looks toward the doors again.

“He’ll be furious when he wakes up,” she says softly.

My breath catches.

Ricardo’s eyes shift to her.

Victoria keeps her eyes forward. “At all of us. At the hospital. At the fact that anyone made a fuss.”

A broken sound comes out of me.

Almost a laugh. Almost pain.

Ricardo’s mouth moves, but it does not become a smile.

“He hates being treated like he is fragile,” Victoria says.

“He is going to hate this,” I whisper.

“Yes.” Her voice softens. “He’ll have to wake up to complain about it.”