Page 56 of Forever Fighting
Roman is next, and the moment he’s on the dry dock, I launch myself at him the way that mother threw herself on her son.
“Oh my god!” I wrap my arms around him and check his face and body. “Are you okay?”
He nods. “I’m okay.”
I’m shaking, gasping for control as he pulls the life raft away from his body. The moment he’s clear, I climb on his lap and wrap my arms around him, hugging his wet body fiercely.
“You can’t ever do that to me again,” I tell him, half-sobbing against him.
He hugs me back, his face in my neck. “I’m okay, baby. I swear, I’m fine.”
My eyes pinch shut. He just called me baby, and he’s never done that before. I don’t know what it means or why he said it, but right now, I don’t care because he’s alive.
“Señor, you’re bleeding.”
“What?” I pull back and shift, noting the attendant’s face before glancing down at Roman. Sure enough, he’s bleeding from a large laceration on his hand.
“I think it’s from the rope,” he tells me. “It’s not that bad.”
I give him awho the fuck are you kiddinglook and take his hand onto my lap so I can examine it. Blood is oozing continuously from the wound and dripping down his wrist and all over my lap.
“You need stitches.”
He’s not amused.
“What? You do. You know you do.”
“I’ve had worse cuts in the kitchen.” He flexes his hand and winces slightly, more blood pouring out. “Shit. Fine. Can you do them?”
“With what? Fishing wire and a hook? I’m not freaking MacGyver, and it needs to be cleaned out. Especially if the rope sliced it. Those things are dirty as hell. I don’t want to think about the microbes living on that.”
The attendant hands him a clean washcloth to put over his wound to help with the bleeding.
He sighs, and I smack his shoulder. “What was that for?” he asks.
“For giving me a heart attack. Now that you’re okay, I can hit you for it.”
His lips twitch, but the mother and son come over, and I climb off his lap so they can thank him. They’re both a mess, hugging Roman and showering him with praise and gratitude that he brushes off because that’s Roman. Once everything is secured, the sailboat turns around and uses the engine to bring us back into port.
The sunset booze cruise is over.
When we arrive back on dry land, we’re handed towels and offered tokens of appreciation, including free robes and drinks, and a complimentary spa treatment, but told that for stitches, he needs to go to the local ER. We do a quick change, and the resort has a driver take us thirty minutes away to a hospital.
Roman throws me a look when we enter the overcrowded ER, teeming with people.
“Ah, home sweet home,” I drawl.
He rolls his eyes at me, but we go and check in. Roman and I both speak Spanish, though his is way better than mine. They inform us it’ll be a six-hour wait, give or take.
“No,” he tells me flatly. “Abso-fucking-lutely not. I’m goingto purchase the supplies that I’m positive they’ll sell me with cash, then we’ll go back, and you’ll do it.”
“Fine. Let’s do that.”
“Fantastic, I’ll be right back.”
Roman walks off, and I let him do his thing, watching as he goes up to the counter and talks with someone, only to remember he has no clue all the things I’ll need. I head in his direction, but now he’s speaking with a crying woman holding a crying baby.
I don’t catch every word. As I said, my Spanish is decent but not amazing. Roman is fluent. But from what I’m gathering, the woman’s baby is sick and needs special imaging, and she’s from Nicaragua, not Mexico, and therefore isn’t eligible for country-funded care and doesn’t have the money to pay for getting her child treatment.
