Page 312 of Ricardo

And somehow, he knows.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“I’m fine,” I say, clearly not fine.

“Liar.”

I put the magazine down.

“Fine. I’m scared,” I admit.

“I know.”

“I keep thinking I’ll walk in and see you on that floor again.”

“I won't be,” he says simply. “I'll be here, eating shitty hospital food because someone won't sneak a burger in for me.”

“They caught me the last time I tried,” I say in defense. “I'm not very sneaky, apparently.”

“You put it in a big bag, Jules. How hard is that?”

I look at him for a long moment.

He is thinner than he was a week ago. Pale. Bruised under the eyes. Still too weak, still in pain, still here because of me, though he would scowl if I said that.

But he is here.

He is awake.

He is calling me Jules and insulting me, just like before.

His eyes dropped to my stomach again, and my hand moves there instinctively.

“Still weird?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Bad weird?”

He is quiet for a second.

Then he shakes his head.

“No.” His voice is rough again, and this time I do not think it is from the tube or the medication. “Just new weird.”

I smile through the sting in my eyes. “New weird I can handle.”

“Good.” His eyelids lower, then lift again with effort. “Because that's my sibling in there, there are a few things about the world that I have to teach him.”

I narrow my eyes. “You're not teaching my baby anything.”

But he's already listing things off. “I have to teach him how to cheat at cards.”

“You're not teaching my child to cheat at cards.”

“I'm teaching my brother or sister how to win at life,” he says.

“Ricardo will never allow this.”