Mickey filled the kettle and set it to boil. He gave Gianna another hug, then left her to check on Benito.
A paramedic emerged from the bathroom and beckoned Mickey and Rosetta into the living room. “He’s had some oxygen and he’s doing much better. Sometimes the effects of smoke inhalation can take a while to manifest, but his vital signs are strong so he’s probably going to be okay.”
“Are you sure?” Rosetta twisted her hands in knots. “He wasn’t right even before the fire. He fell asleep on the sofa and he never does that, even when he’s been driving all night.”
“His blood sugar is low,” the paramedic said. “Did he eat this evening? He said something about pizza when I asked him, but he wasn’t making much sense.”
Rosetta shook her head. “He was in his car all day waiting for Gianna to come home from school, and he didn’t eat the dinner I made him.” She glanced at Mickey. “He was upset.”
The paramedic nodded slowly. “Well, whatever’s happened today, it’s a lot, so seeing as he’s refusing hospital treatment, the best thing you can do is keep him warm and safe. Maybe a light meal, if he can eat? And plenty of fluids. Keep an eye on him and call us back if you’re the slightest bit worried.”
Worried didn’t even come close. Mickey drifted to the doorway where he could see Benito’s legs. They were no longer shaking, and if he strained his ears, he could hear the low rumble of Benito’s voice. “Are you sure he doesn’t need more oxygen? He was struggling to breathe.”
“Some of that might’ve been shock,” the paramedic said. “It’s been quite a night for him. I was at the fire scene and I saw him carry that old lady out.”
“Benito carried her out?” Mickey said faintly.
The paramedic nodded. “And the cat who seems happy enough now, eh?” He tickled the big ginger cat’s ears, earning a chirruping purr in response.
Rosetta asked more questions.
He answered them while Mickey gave in to the pull in his chest dragging him back to Benito.
Mickey reached the bathroom as the other paramedic was packing up and rising to her feet.
Benito remained on the floor, leaning against the wall, head tipped back, eyes closed.
“Is he okay?” Mickey asked the paramedic.
She smiled. “I think so. You can call us back any time if you’re concerned about anything. But for now, something to eat and then some rest is probably the best thing for him.”
Mickey nodded, absorbing the repeated instructions.
The paramedic patted his arm and left the bathroom.
Mickey crouched beside Benito and took his hand. “You still with us?”
Benito cracked a heavy eye, colour already returning to his face. “Think so. What are you—fuck, how are you even here? Am I trippin’?”
Mickey squeezed Benito’s fingers hard enough that it had to hurt. “Gianna called me. I came running.”
“Why?”
“Because I fucking love you, that’s why. I—” Mickey snatched a shaky breath. “As stupid as it sounds after everything I’ve said before, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you—you damn fuckingmotherfucker. I—”
Mickey pressed the fist of his free hand to his lips, willing the words to stop spilling out. He stared at where his fingers wrapped so tightly around Benito’s, picturing Benito cold and grey.
Picturing him dead, lips and nose blackened by soot. “I love you,” he said again, almost to himself. “I don’t know what that means right now, but we can talk about it later, okay?”
Benito took a shallow breath, but the older paramedic appeared before he could speak.
“We’re leaving,” she said. “Are you staying here for the next few hours?”
“Of course he is.” Gianna slipped under the paramedic’s arm and into the bathroom. “He’s my brother’s boyfriend.”
A beat of silence blanketed the room.
Mickey cocked a brow at Benito.