Page 93 of Heartfelt Pain
After a second of stupidly staring up at him, he goes back to his typical grumpy demeanor. My lashes are coated with tears, the mascara burning my eyes. I’m afraid I ripped my pants on the fall down, but I’m too embarrassed to say anything. And I’m sure my hair, the hair I spent thirty minutes drying and styling, is mussed from being smushed against the cabinets.
“I hurt my arm,” I whine like a baby.
His touch is gentle.
“There’s frozen peas in the freezer.” It’s a pathetic whimper.
He stands, appearing even taller from my vantage point, and grabs the peas. Wrapping a towel around them, he places it on my wrist.
“Hold on.” He grabs me, hauling me up.
I tear into my bottom lip, I bite down so hard. I’m going to need three plus pain pills to get through the morning alone.
But Trevino has other plans.
“We’re going to the hospital.”
“I’ve got a meeting.”
“Who should I call?” he asks, grabbing my bag and helpfully placing my phone in it. “Which one normally cancels for you?”
I wipe at my tear-stained face. Tiny baby steps are enough to jostle my arm, sending jolts of pain. “I’ve never canceled a meeting before.”
Trevino grabs my keys. “You’ve never cancelled a meeting?”
I shake my head.
“In all the years of you owning your own business you’ve never once cancelled a meeting?”
I shake my head again. “I’m really good at my job.”
Clients know they can depend on me.
“Okay.” He slides his phone out. “We’re canceling all of today.” He ignores my cries. “And tomorrow.”
“That’s too much.” I don’t want to take one sick day let alone two.
“I hate to break it to you,” he says while sending a text off, “but your wrist is probably broken. If you’re lucky you’ll be drugged up on some good pain killers soon. You’ll want the same tomorrow too.”
“It’s not broken.” I sniff.
He wraps a jacket around my shoulders. “Careful when we get down there. It’s rained off and on all night.”
The whole interaction is reminiscent of a parent prodding their toddler along. He guides me into the hallway, my bag hanging off his shoulder. If only they could see the Ghost now. After locking my door, we continue into the elevator.
The doorman’s already holding the door open.
I’m holding back tears as I get into the black SUV. It’s stupid. How painful this is.
My head rolls onto the headrest, but otherwise, I stay still. Every single little poke and prod is enough to make me hate myself. Trevino speaks Spanish to the driver. Luis is trying to drive as smoothly as he can. This is New York City, though. Even gridlocked, cars are aggressive.
“We passed the hospital.”
Trevino is on his phone again. “We’re not going to that one.”
“Which one are we going to?” I’ve gotten lucky. Other than my primary physician my time in the city has comehospital free. I’m not sure which is the best to go to, but Trevino, like always, is confident in his choices.
“I’ve got a guy here,” he says as Luis angles us close to the door.
