“Here, make sure you get a few of these crackers in you so the painkillers don’t make you nauseous.”
“Yeah, the last thing I need is to vomit all over your floor because I couldn’t make it to the bathroom in time. Then you’ll really be sick of me.”
Hector frowned. “I am not sick of you.”
Miguel popped a cracker into his mouth and rolled his eyes. “Please,” he said once he’d chewed and swallowed. “You’ve been avoiding me for days. And I’ve done nothing but inconvenience you and cost you money since I showed up to your apartment uninvited. I’m sick of me and I am me.”
Hector didn’t respond at first, sitting there silently as Miguel ate another cracker and took his pain pill. He had been avoiding Miguel, but it wasn’t because he was sick of him. Now wasn’t the time to get into it, however.
“You’re tired and hurting. Get some sleep.” He went to the door and flipped off the light. Before he left the room, he spoke over his shoulder. “And just so you know, I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. Ever. Everything that I’ve done since you showed up, I did because I wanted to. End of story.” With that, Hector closed the door behind him and went to fall asleep on the couch.
Chapter 7
Monday evening, Hector realized he was rushing home when he glanced down at the speedometer. He was doing fifty-five in a forty-five mile per hour zone. He eased his foot off the gas and the truck slowed. He’d called and texted Miguel several times throughout the workday so Hector knew he was fine. And the injury wasn’t severe; it was only a sprained ankle. There was no need to break speed limits rushing home to him.
Hector rolled his shoulders, trying to relax. He’d been tied up in knots for too many days to count. It was uncomfortably quiet in the truck, so he turned on the radio, hitting the button for the classical radio station he secretly listened to. The music was perfect for helping him de-stress after a particularly tough day on the job. Today he’d use it to soothe his personal angst.
He didn’t pretend to be a connoisseur, but he thought he recognized Bach. Hector rolled his shoulders once more. This time they actually relaxed as he focused on the music. By the time he reached his apartment complex, the music had done its job, and he was no longer tense.
Inside his apartment, he set the bag of takeout he’d stopped to get on the living room table and went straight to his bedroom. As expected, Miguel was there in bed, his foot propped up on pillows.
“Hey.”
Miguel turned off the TV. “Hey.”
“How are you? Feeling better?” He sat down on the edge of the bed, making sure not to jostle Miguel’s injured leg.
“I’m okay. It’s throbbing like the doctor said it would, but it’s not unbearable. Are you sure you don’t want me to cook?”
“No, the doctor said you were to stay off your feet as much as possible. I brought us soup and sandwiches so we don’t have to eat my cooking.” Hector brought a hand up and let it hover over Miguel’s leg. “When’s the last time you iced your ankle?”
“A couple of hours ago.”
“You need to do it more often than that,” he said with a frown. “I’ll get you an ice pack then we’ll eat.”
Hector went back out into the living room and grabbed the bag of food to take into the kitchen. He put the food on the table and opened the freezer to get one of the reusable gel ice packs he’d bought yesterday. He took it back to the bedroom, helped Miguel wrap it around his ankle, and sat down again. Miguel looked at him in surprise.
“You don’t have to stay in here.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked in genuine confusion.
Miguel looked down, plucking at the sheet. “I know you were avoiding me, Hector. So you don’t have to sit in here with me now just because I’m hurt.” He paused, then continued, his head still low and forced determination in his voice. “I was actually thinking about calling my mom and going to stay over there. It’s been weeks, and we haven’t heard from Santos. If he hasn’t done anything by now, I doubt he will at all. It should be okay for me to go home.”
Hector felt like an asshole. “Hey. Mira me,” Hector said as he reached out to cover the fingers that plucked at the sheet. He waited until Miguel looked up at him, his dark eyes wide and filled with sadness. “I’m sorry I made you feel I wanted you to leave. I promise I don’t.”
“Are you sure? I know we talked about what happened and agreed to move on. But it’s obvious I make you uncomfortable.”
Hector shook his head. “You don’t make me uncomfortable. You make me—” Heat crawled up Hector’s neck after he almost blurted out his growing attraction for his friend. He changed direction. “You’ve been my friend for a long time. I’ve always watched out for you and I care about you. The actions of one night aren’t going to change that.” He hoped that would be enough to clear Miguel’s upset, but the sadness didn’t leave his eyes.
“It’s not only that. I can’t expect you to fix all my problems for me.”
Confused again, a frown settled on Hector’s forehead. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been rescuing me since we were kids. Now, not only am I living here rent-free, I’ve taken over your bed. You paid my emergency room bill. You even helped me get my job. And it’s too much. I feel like…like a helpless, worthless piece of shit.”
“You cook for me, remember? That was the deal we made.”
Miguel snorted. “Yeah. Food that you pay for. Big deal.”