by Marie Skye
I unzip my hoodie and shrug it off my shoulders when I get a whiff of Betty. She’s got a distinct scent made up of moth balls, cigarettes and some cheap drugstore perfume.
“Beefy,” she calls from behind me.
Jesus fuck.
“Name is Gio, Betty,” I mutter as I pull my t-shirt over my head.
“Like that matters,” she retorts, her eyes traveling the length of my chest. “You could use a waxing,” she points out and I resist the urge to tell her maybe we can get a two for one deal. Instead, I kick off my work boots and reach for the waistband of my sweats.
“I’ll be sure to add it to my list of things I need to do,” I grunt, drawing the pants down my legs.
“You are pretty though,” she observes as I pull the pants from my ankles and rise to my full height. At six feet three inches I tower over the broad.
“Listen, Betty, I was hoping I could talk to you after the show,” I say, deciding it’s best to just cut to the chase. The truth is, as much as I despise the woman, I need her help. My nephew needs her help.
Two months ago, Matteo was on the little league field, running the bases when he collapsed. Frankie and I rushed him to the hospital and he was admitted into the pediatric intensive care unit. I remember it as if it was just yesterday, the way my heart clenched when they started slinging words around like, hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, heart transplant and the word that scared the living fuck out of me...fatal. They say he needs a new heart in order to survive but, they won’t put him on the wait list until Frankie comes up with fifty grand.
On top of that, she just got a new job and doesn’t have insurance yet. When it does finally kick in, they won’t cover a transplant and so, we need to come up with over two hundred and fifty grand for Matteo to live. I put myself into the equation because since Frankie’s husband died in a car accident three years ago, my sister and her son have become my responsibility.
“I thought I made it clear when I hired you, I don’t sleep with my employees,” she says, pulling a cigarette out of her bra.
“Gio, you’re up after Jag you better get your ass in gear,” August calls from behind me. Betty runs a hand down my arm. Grabbing a hold of her wrist, I glance over my shoulder.
“I’ll be ready,” I tell August before turning my attention back to Betty. She puffs her smoke in my face and I wave it away with my free hand. “I’m not propositioning you for sex, Betty.”
“Well then what could you possibly want from me?”
Lowering my voice, my eyes dart around the dressing room before I swallow my pride and look her straight in the eye.
Matteo’s face flashes before me.
Frankie’s cries echo in my ears.
“A loan,” I rasp. “I need a loan.”
2
“You know the coffee in the cafeteria is slightly better, and that there is a Starbucks in the front lobby, don’t you?” A familiar feminine voice questions from behind me, forcing me to glance over my shoulder. Rylee Daniels, the owner of the prettiest pair of hazel eyes and a mouth made to fulfill dirty fantasies stares back at me and I forget all about the fucking vending machine that keeps rejecting my money or the cup of coffee I was so desperate for only a second ago.
Her lips curve into a smile and instantly I’m reminded of the dream I had last night or rather this morning. Those full lips wrapped tight around my cock, taking me deep until the head touched the back of her throat. The memory alone is enough to get me hard.
Shaking the image of her on her knees with her mouth full, I force myself to focus and watch her eyes slide downward, zeroing in on the crumbled bill in my hand.
“I bet you’ve been standing here for five minutes feeding that bill into the machine,” she adds, reaching for the lanyard around her neck, producing some sort of card. She unlatches it from the string and swipes the plastic through the machine.
“More like ten,” I counter, biting back a yawn. I didn’t get in until nearly six this morning. After the show, I sat down with Betty and explained Matteo’s condition, my sister’s situation and why I asked her for fifty grand before I took my clothes off and humped a chair to Zayn’s Pillowtalk. I’d like to tell you the old hag has a heart buried under her overly tan wrinkled skin but, nope the bitch is hollow. She did however offer to give me two more nights at the club and told me if I drew in more of a crowd on those days then she’d advance me half the money. With no other choice, I agreed adding another two shifts to my already grueling schedule.
“Black, right?” Rylee questions. Not waiting for my reply, she stabs the keypad on the machine and a second later it rumbles to life brewing me a cup of coffee. Spinning around, she winks at me and I get a waft of the floral scented shampoo I’ve become addicted to over the last two months. Another thing that gets my dick stirring.
“Thank you,” I finally reply. Turning away from her, I run my fingers through my hair and glance down at the noticeable bulge in my pants, willing it to fucking disappear.
“Matteo seems to be doing better today,” she says softly. “I just checked in on him. He managed to eat half a banana and a cup of pudding.”
Sadly, that is an improvement. Last week was a rough one. Matteo not only felt fatigued, but the poor kid gasped for breath every two minutes. Literally, it was so bad they had to raise his oxygen intake.
“Your sister looks like hell though,” she adds. “I worked a twelve-hour shift yesterday, and she was here for most of it.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m here so early. I figured I’d give her some time to herself before she has to go into work,” I reply, narrowing my eyes. “If you worked twelve hours yesterday what the hell are you doing here now?”
Handing me the cup of coffee, she turns back to the machine and swipes her card again.
“The boards are this week and I still haven’t been told if the hospital made a decision as far as offering me a job,” she says. A frown works her lips but, quickly disappears as she lifts her head and forces a smile. “Anyway, it’s no big deal. Well, except I have to shadow Patty,” she adds. The frown returns. “You know who Patty is right? Short brown hair—”
“I know,” I interrupted. In the last two months I’ve become very familiar with the staff here at Victory Memorial Hospital and I’m on a first name basis with most of the nurses and attending physicians that have been treating my nephew. I’m also on a first name basis with the pricks down in the billing and accounting department who won’t put his name on the transplant list.
Patty is Rylee’s Betty.
Taking a sip of the coffee, I watch her closely as she stares absentmindedly at the machine and I can’t help but wonder what’s going on inside that pretty little head of hers. There’s more to Rylee than her eyes and that sexy as fuck mouth of hers. She’s the girl who wears her heart on her sleeve and her emotions on her face.
“Boards are this week, huh?” I question, drawing her attention back to me and away from whatever is putting that frown on her face. In the time since Matteo has been in the hospital, I’ve paid attention to Rylee. In fact, it’s probably safe to say I’ve paid too much mind to the student nurse working her ass off day after day.
Speaking of that ass, it’s fucking fantastic and I shamelessly let my eyes wander toward it as she turns her gaze back to me.
“As fascinating as my ass is, my eyes are up here, Gio,” she teases with a smirk.
“It is fascinating,” I agree with a smile. Lifting the coffee to her lips, she rolls her eyes playfully and takes a sip before replying.
“Yes, the boards are this week which means me, and my fascinating ass need to get back to work before Patty has my head,” she says. Reaching behind her, she gives her ass a pat for extra emphasis and winks at me. “Tell Matteo I’ll stop in and bring him some pudding a little later on.”
“Will do,” I reply, raising the cup in my hand. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Anytime,” she whispers, shifting her weight from one foot to another b
efore finally drawing in a deep breath. “I’ll see you later,” she mutters, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and smiling. For a second I think she’s going to say something else but before I can question it, she finally moves and steps around me. Leaning against the vending machine, I take another sip of coffee and enjoy the view, watching as she struts away—making those awful scrubs of hers look sexy as fuck.
Once Rylee is out of my sight, I push off the machine and down the rest of the coffee. Chucking the cup into the trash, I start for my nephew’s room and try to brace myself for what awaits me. It’s never easy taking those first steps inside and if I’m being honest, I’m always fearful when I do. What if one day I can’t fake the smile? What if one day I walk into that room and I break? I tell myself I need to be strong for him and for my sister but every single day I walk into that room, listen to those machines and see the life slowly fade from him, I struggle to keep it together.
Reaching Matteo’s room, I take a deep breath and push open the door. My eyes instantly fall on the center of the bed then to my sister who sits beside her son sobbing.
“Frankie?” I whisper hoarsely, starting for her. “What happened?” I ask regretfully, unprepared for any more bad news. My gaze sweeps over my nephew, toward the machines that are all turned on and working like they’ve been.
“He’s dying, Gio,” she whispers. “My baby is dying and there isn’t a thing in this world I can do to save him,” she adds, lifting her bloodshot eyes to mine.
I shake my head violently and step closer.
“He’s not dying,” I reply firmly. Her lips part to argue but I shake my head. “He’s not,” I say quickly. “He’s going to get a heart Frankie, and he’s going to live. He’s going to live hard and you’re going to watch him grow up. He’s going to do all the things you hoped he would. He’s going to play sports again, he’s going to climb trees, build forts and get into all sorts of trouble.”
“Gio, they won’t put his name on the donor list and he’s getting weaker and weaker,” she cries, wiping her cheeks. “How long am I supposed to make him suffer? Am I being selfish? I don’t know what to do for him anymore.”
“You listen to me and you listen to me good,” I tell her as I take a seat next to her. “You’re not being selfish and yeah, he’s struggling, but he’s fighting every step of the way. We’re not giving up, we’re going to get the money, they’re going to put his name on that fucking list and he will get a new heart.”
Taking her hand in mine, I give it a squeeze and force her to look at me.
“I spoke with Betty, she’s willing to give me a few more nights and possibly advance me twenty-five grand.”
“Gio—”
“We’re going to get the money, Frankie. Matteo is going to be okay.”
He has to be because as much as my sister can’t stand to lose her son, neither can I.
3
“This one is my favorite,” I say, turning over the baseball card so Matteo can see it. “Derek Jeter’s rookie card,” I explain.
“That’s the guy who had the big retirement thing you made me watch on tv,” he replies, taking the card from my hand.
“That’s right and then we stayed up watching the highlights of his career remember?”
He nods.
“My favorite was when he dove into the stands to catch the ball,” he adds, closing his eyes to draw in a deep breath. The fatigue wears on his face, making it clear it’s time for him to rest some. Taking the card from him, I wink before placing it back with the others stacked on my lap.
“Why don’t you get some sleep and we’ll pick up where we left off when you wake up?” I suggest, knowing he won’t argue. Even if he wasn’t sick, the kid would never give me lip. He’s just a good boy. A good boy who got a shitty hand dealt to him.
As I put the cards away, Matteo closes his eyes and I settle into the chair beside his bed. For a moment the machines are the only noise in the room until the glass door slides open and Rylee shuffles through, carrying two pudding cups as promised. Her gaze softens once it lands on my nephew and she tiptoes into the room, placing the pudding on the table next to his bed.
“How’s he doing?”
Before I could answer, Matteo’s eyes flutter open and he hoarsely whispers her name.
“There’s my favorite patient,” she says, smiling brightly at him.
“I told my mom you’re my favorite nurse,” he says weakly, struggling to smile at her. Rylee leans forward and pushes the hair away from his forehead.
“Only because I bring you pudding,” she teases, reaching behind her to produce the cups for him to see. “Are you hungry? I can help you eat these before I go home.”
Matteo shakes his head and glances over at me be briefly before looking back at her.
“That’s not why,” he rasps. “You’re the prettiest one.”
“My boy,” I chuckle, watching Rylee’s cheeks flame. She glances over her shoulder at me and I shrug my shoulders, ignoring the embarrassment covering her features. “The kids got good taste.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, turning her attention back to my nephew. “If only I were younger,” she teases.
“Yeah, you’re too old for me,” Matteo agrees, causing us both to laugh. “But you’re not too old for Uncle Gio.”
“No, she’s not,” I add, crossing my arms against my chest as I lean back in the chair.
“You should ask her out.”
“I should.”
“I’ll say no.”
“Why?” Matteo asks.
“I can be very convincing,” I add, watching as she nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
“If you’re worried about being his type, mommy says Uncle Gio doesn’t have one. He will—”
“Okay, Matteo, I think we’re good, buddy,” I interrupt before he gets the rest of the words out.
“I bet,” she mumbles, raising an eyebrow.
“Kids,” I say with a shrug.
“Yeah, they say the most inappropriate things,” she finishes with a smile. “Most of its true though.”
“Well, I assure you, Matteo here is wrong. I most certainly have a type.”
And it’s Rylee. It’s hazel eyes, a sweet mouth, and a body meant for sin. It’s the goodness in her, the playfulness and the wild streak I’m sure is buries somewhere beneath her scrubs. It’s her.
“I bet you do, lover boy,” she taunts, setting the pudding back on the table. “I’ll leave these here for later,” she adds. Reaching down she squeezes Matteo’s hand. “Get some rest little guy and keep an eye on your uncle.” She looks at me. “He seems the type who could use someone to look after him.”
She doesn’t give me a chance to object or even suggest she’s the one to keep an eye on me. She’s gone in a flash, leaving me looking after her long after she slides the door closed. After a few moments, I settle back in the chair and wonder what it will take to crack Rylee. It baffles me that I give a fuck. I have an exploding plate. Between both jobs and helping Frankie out, I don’t have time to date much less put any effort behind it. Still, I can’t help myself from wanting to know more about Rylee—from wanting to know everything. The reasons she wants to become a nurse, the things she does when she takes off her scrubs and I sure as fuck want to know what she looks like when she’s naked, panting and screaming my name.
“Uncle Gio?”
Shaking away the fantasy of Rylee in my bed, I clear my throat and look expectantly at Matteo.
“You should get some rest, Teo,” I tell him, as he forces his eyes open and on me.
“I will but, first I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything,” I murmur, dragging the chair closer to his bed. The air suddenly grows heavy as he fights to keep his eyes on me and find his words.
“When I die will you make sure my mom doesn’t cry all the time?”
His words punch me in the gut and knock the wind out of me. It was easier to convince my sister Mat
teo would get through this but, how do I reassure a little boy who has spent the last two months in a hospital, struggling to survive. How do I restore his faith and encourage him to keep fighting? How am I supposed to explain why he hasn’t gotten a new heart yet or the politics that we’re at the mercy of?
“Buddy, you’re not going anywhere,” I rasp, swallowing the emotion clogging my throat.
“I heard my mom earlier,” he whispers. “Plus, I’m not stupid Uncle Gio, I know how sick I am. I feel it.”
I open my mouth but, nothing comes out. My lips smack together and I swallow the thick knot of emotion lodged in my throat. Pushing my fingers through my hair, I try to find the words as Matteo settles back against his pillow and closes his eye.
“Promise me she won’t be so sad,” he whispers. “That’s all you have to do.”
To Matteo it’s a simple request but to me, it’s asking me to admit he won’t recover from this. It’s saying the words I fear aloud and not being able to take them back. He extends his little hand and holds his pinky out for me to take.
“Pinky promise, Uncle Gio,” he probes, eyes still firmly shut.
Without uttering a single word my feet usher forward. I take the cowards way out and hesitantly wrap my pinky around his.
“Thank you,” he whispers, as I tighten my finger around his, watching the lone tear fall from the corner of his eye. Bending down, I brush it away with my free hand and press my lips to his forehead. My eyes water but I fight to keep my tears at bay as my finger stays firmly wrapped around his.
I swore to Frankie I wouldn’t leave his side but once he’s asleep, I release his pinky and draw in a deep breath. Desperate for air and unwilling to chance Matteo watch me become unhinged, I step out of the room. I drop my head into my hands and violently rub my eyes that burn with tears. Failure and grief rush through my veins as I stalk toward the elevator. As I step inside, I swear not to be long, convincing myself I just need a moment to collect my thoughts and put my game face back on. Everyone has their breaking point—this is mine.
