I love you. I never expected him to say that, but now that he has, I replay it over and over in my mind. I imagine different scenarios where I told him I loved him, too.
“I get it,” Zora says, as we’re sharing a coffee in the waiting room. I’ve explained everything to her and Quinny now, except for the part about Angelo being a drug dealer. I just said we had a fight. “But this rift between you two, Dani, it seems bad. Are you sure you can’t tell me what he did? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“Not physically,” I rush to say, and then feel a pang of annoyance when I realize I’m defending him. “Let’s just say this: he’s partly to blame for Wyatt’s situation. I can’t say more than that, though. Okay?”
She looks at me closely, nodding slowly. “I think I understand,” she says. “But you still love him?”
I down my black coffee. I like the way it scorches down my throat. “I think so,” I say, voice strangled. “Does that make me the world’s biggest idiot?”
Zora touches my arm supportively. “I think love makes most people the world’s biggest idiot.”
“What’s that about love?” Quinny says, walking down the hallway in her construction gear.
“You don’t have to come, you know,” I tell them. “I know you’re busy. I know you’ve got lives to live.”
Quinny drops into the seat next to me, placing her helmet on the table. “Shut your face, Dani,” she says, laughing. “We’re your ride-or-dies, remember?” Quinny nods at Zora, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “This girl, I swear to God. You do realize this is a hospital and not a BDSM club, right?”
Zora flicks her hair back. She’s dyed it violent shades of pink and black. It suits her, just like the fishnets and platform books. “Oh, really?” she replies playfully, batting her eyelashes. “Well, I wish somebody would have told me!”
I do my best to laugh along with them, but I know I’m forcing it. It’s hard to think about anything other than Wyatt and the mess we’re in, even when something else is happening right in front of me. It’s like ninety percent of my brain is on constant Wyatt watch. And the other ten percent belongs to Angelo.
“How’s your man, anyway?” I ask Zora.
“Ben?” Zora shrugs. “He’s working on his magnum opus, he says, which means that I can’t even go around his place anymore. Apparently he’s turning his apartment into some sort of art exhibit, something to do with loose wiring.” She shakes her head. “I know how that sounds to normies, but in the art world, that has the potential to make him millions.”
“Yeah,” Quinny grumbles. “Or get him into serious trouble with his landlord. Let’s just hope he doesn’t start an electrical fire.”
“You wouldn’t understand, you peasant,” Zora mocks.
A moment later, we all glance up at the ruckus down the hallway. One of the nurses, a matronly older woman named Henrietta, is being yelled at by a bodybuilder-looking man. He’s wearing a vest, despite the fact it’s winter, and he’s got tribal tattoos all up and down his arm. “I’m asking you a simple question,” he’s yelling, jabbing his finger at her face. “Who put a boot on my fucking car?”
“Wow, jerk,” Quinny comments. “Like it’s her job who locks up the cars. Jesus.”
I watch for a second longer, all my heartache and anger moving through me. Henrietta is just staring at him, dumbfounded. Then something in me snaps. I leap to my feet and rush over, fists clenched at my side.
“What are you doing, asshole?” I say, stepping between them.
The man towers over me, staring down in disbelief. He’s got a shaved head and Neanderthal eyebrows, heavily ridged. “What’s that, sweetheart?”
“I asked, what are you doing, then I called you an asshole.” I turn to Quinny and Zora, who, of course, are standing right behind me to back me up. “Did I stutter?”
“Nope,” Zora grins.
“I heard you perfectly fine,” adds Quinny.
“Henrietta isn’t in charge of parking regulation,” I continue. “So you shouting at her isn’t accomplishing anything other than making you look like a fucking idiot.”
“Now listen here, you uppity little bitch—” the man snarls.
“What did you just say?” I yell, getting so close to him I can smell B.O. and cigarette smoke. “You disgusting prick. What, you think injecting steroids into your ass twice a day means you get to talk to people however you want?”
“I’m warning you…” he growls.
“Are you going to hit her?” Quinny snaps. “Get out of my way, Dani. I’ll teach this asshole a lesson.”
The man sneers at Quinny. “Just because you’re a dyke, sweetheart, it don’t mean you’re a man. Do yourself a favor and shut your bitch mouth.”
I take a step closer. “Are you drunk? Or just stupid?”
“Listen here.” To my disbelief, the man grabs my arm, squeezing hard. He leans down, bringing his face close to mine. I try to move, but he’s too strong. So instead I just don’t let him see that I’m afraid. I stare back at him emotionlessly. “I just got outta the can two goddamn weeks ago for putting a posh, arrogant bitch like you in her place. Don’t make me go back.”
“Let. Me. Go.” I hiss. “Right now. Or I’ll call the cops.”
“With what hands, darling?” He’s grinning. This is fun for him, the sick bastard.
Just as Quinny steps forward—apparently going to bash him with her construction helmet—I see Angelo walking down the hallway. At first, I wonder if I’m dreaming, the sight is so unexpected. But then again, he always did joke about how fate throws us together.
He pauses, narrowing his eyes, and then, when he sees what’s going on, he sprints over.
“You better let me go,” I whisper, more in concern for this juiced-up asshole now, not that he deserves it. “Right now.”
“Or what—”
He yells wordlessly when Angelo grabs his shoulder and wrenches hard, whirling him around. The guy lets me go and takes a step back, hands raised. “Do yourself a favor, pal,” he warns Angelo. “Walk the fuck away.”
Angelo smirks, but his dark eyes are filled with anger. “You have no idea what you just did,” he says calmly, except for a small tremor toward the end, like he’s trying hard to rein in his anger. He gestures at me. “You don’t put your hands on her. Ever.”
The bodybuilder narrows his eyes. Maybe his time in prison gave him the ability to sense when somebody is bluffing, because suddenly he looks almost scared. Angelo is definitely not bluffing. “I was just fucking around, man,” he says. “You know what women are like.”
“Do I?” Angelo steps forward. I watch, captivated, both resenting him for rescuing me and loving him for it. “I think not. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
All around us, people are watching. Henrietta stands rooted to the spot, her hand to her mouth. The desk nurse is leaning over, eyes wide. It’s the way Angelo talks, deadly calm, as though it makes no difference to him whether he has to kill this man or not. As though he’d happily slaughter him with his bare hands for the mere crime of touching me.