“I’m sorry,” I whisper back. My voice is coarse, unused, though it hasn’t really been that long that I was out.
“Layla, you got nothing to be sorry about.” Nico’s deep eyes fill with kindness.
“I know. I just…I’m pissed I ruined our date.”
At that, Nico tips his head back and laughs loudly, big from his belly. “Our date?” he asks between chuckles. “You were worried about ruining our date?”
“Well, it was important!” I protest, suddenly irritated that he finds this so funny. I want to shove him aside, but I’ve got a freaking needle stuck in my arm. “You went through all that trouble with the picnic. And it was our first big date since...you know. Since you decided to...”
“Stay?”
Nico just laughs harder, his whole body shaking. I cross my arms and fume, which only makes him laugh even more. I stare at the stupid teddy bears until finally he calms down long enough to catch his breath.
“Only you…shit…ah, my stomach hurts,” he stutters, still chuckling every few words. “Only you would faint in the middle of the fuckin’ street, baby, and worry that you ruined our date. God, you are so fuckin’ cute!”
I stick my lower lip out and frown, but I can’t keep the sour expression for long. My face is captured by Nico’s big hands as he gives me a gentle kiss, ending with a gentle nip of my bottom lip and the promise of more once I feel better.
He leans his forehead onto mine again and sighs. “Don’t ever fuckin’ do that to me again, all right?”
It’s then I realize that he was genuinely scared, that most of his laughter is rooted in fear. I whimper and accept another kiss with a closed mouth, conscious that I haven’t brushed my teeth since losing my lunch. Then I scoot over on the bed and pull him beside me so I can rest on his broad chest.
“How long was I out?” I ask, winding an arm around his middle while one of his wraps around my shoulder.
Nico kisses the top of my head and rests his chin there for a second. “About an hour and a half. You just…shit, baby. I thought you were dying or something. You just collapsed. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you just looked…gone.”
I exhale sharply. I obviously can’t remember what it felt like to pass out, but I can imagine how scary it would be to see Nico do something like that. Instinctively, I burrow a little closer.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He just hugs me tighter. “And I told you. Nothing to be sorry for. We just…I just need to take better care of my girl.”
I sigh, but don’t reply. I love that he wants to take care of me, but I don’t want to be another burden in his life. He already takes care of so many people.
But he speaks before I can say as much.
“Layla,” he says, and I’m struck by the way his voice, normally so deep and strong, quivers slightly around my name. “Layla, baby, I—”
But before he can finish his sentence, we’re interrupted by a tall woman in a white coat and a stethoscope.
“Ms. Barros?” she asks as she pulls the curtain aside. It’s not really a question, since she’s reading my name from the chart.
Nico stands up, and the doctor looks him over.
“I hear this guy is your hero.”
Nico suddenly looks bashful, and I smile back at the doctor. “I guess he is.”
“Lucky you.” She moves to the other side of the bed to sit next to me on a rolling stool. “I’m Dr. Andrews. I just wanted to check in, make sure you’re feeling better now that you’ve woken up. Tad said your vitals are good.”
I nod. “Okay.”
She looks at the IV bag. “Well, you took almost two full bags—you were pretty dehydrated. You don’t have a concussion thanks to this guy, but you should continue to hydrate at home and try to take it easy. It’s so easy to relapse when you’ve had mono this badly.”
I blink. “Wait...what?” Did she say mono? “No, no. I had the flu a few weeks ago. It’s just a relapse from that.”
Dr. Andrews pages through the chart again. “Um, no dear. We did a blood test just to check for some things, and you came up positive for mono. Mr. Soltero told us that you had been sick recently––it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.” She flips the papers back down. “Sometimes mono is hard to diagnose. It can look like the flu in the beginning. Let me guess: you’ve been a little more tired than usual and lost a bit of weight recently.”
“More like a lot,” Nico pipes up.
I swallow. My chest feels like it’s made of ice. I know it’s not cancer or anything, but this is the last thing I need right now. It’s the middle of the semester. I have finals coming in a few more weeks. I can’t be this sick right now.
“You’ll need to take it easy over the next few weeks,” Dr. Andrews is saying. “I’m going to prescribe some anti-nausea medication to make sure you can keep food down, but more importantly, you need to be getting enough sleep. I’m guessing you’ve been feeling tired a bit?”
I nod. I have, but I figured that was just because, you know, I hadn’t exactly been sleeping a ton. Like every other college student.
“Well, then,” Dr. Andrews says. “No hot baths. Minimize your caffeine intake. No alcohol, or even tea, which is a diuretic.”
Nico takes my hand as my mouth falls open. No caffeine? How am I supposed to make it through eight-a.m. classes without caffeine?
The doctor continues to rattle off a bunch more suggestions for a speedy recovery. I’m left feeling like an invalid––I basically have to be treated like I’m on hospice for a week or two. This is seriously the last thing I need right now. I glance up at Nico, who is listening intently to every word she says. Shit. Like a twenty-six-year-old wants to play nursemaid to his new girlfriend. How fucking romantic.
“Ms. Barros?” Dr. Andrews pulls my attention. “Do you have any questions?”
I blink. “No. No, I think I got it.”
Dr. Andrews replaces the chart at the end of my bed. “All right, I’m going to get your paperwork started to go home. As soon as it’s finished, you’re free to go.”
“Sounds good. Thank you.”
She ducks out with a polite nod, and Nico immediately resumes our previous position with my head back on his chest. He hums a little as he strokes my hair. I close my eyes. Nowhere feels as good as right here.
“Mono,” he murmurs. “Damn.”
“I’m okay,” I say, gripping him closer. His warmth emanates through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, soft and worn under my cheek. He smells so good—an antidote for any ailment. But then the realization hits me of just what I’ve been diagnosed with. Mono is a kissing disease. Which means if I have it, Nico probably does too. Or will, unless I stop kissing him now.
Double damn.
“God, Layla,” he breathes. He kisses my forehead. “I just…I feel…Layla, I really lo—”
My heart is starting to beat a little quicker at the cadence of his words when a familiar voice cuts through the beeps and hustle of the hospital.
“No, no, Mr. Barros, I’m here now.”
I flop back into my pillow while Nico chuckles and shakes his head beside me. Apparently, hospital beds are the absolute worst places for emotional confessions.
Quinn blusters through the curtain, batting it out of her way as if it’s no more than a spider web. Her other hand clasps her phone to her ear; she’s obviously talking with my father.
“She’s awake,” she tells him. “Okay. Here she is.” Quinn shakes her head as she holds the phone to me, her palm covering the speaker at the bottom. “You,” she says before tsking. “What are we going to do with you? It’s your dad. And he is pissed, Lay.”
I scowl at the phone. “Do I have to?”
Before Quinn can give me a sharp retort—which I’m certain she’s been saving up since my dad is no picnic to deal with—Nico plucks the phone away and holds it to his ear.
“Mr. Barros?” he says while Quinn and I just stare in shock.
> Quinn glances at me in one of those secret, telepathic messages only best friends can perform. Her confused expression clearly asks, “Has he ever talked to your dad before?”
I just shrug and shake my head. I’m equal parts curious and terrified by this turn of events.
“This is Nico Soltero, sir. Layla’s—ah—friend.” Nico glances at me and raises his big shoulders. He clearly isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say here. “She’s just sleeping, sir. Yes. Yes, I was with her. No, sir, I didn’t do anything to her.”
At that, I reach out, beckoning for the phone. Nico shakes his head and waves my hand away.
“No, sir, I’m not a student. I, uh, I’m a friend of hers from work. We were at the park. A picnic, sir. No, sir, I wasn’t planning to assault your daughter in any way. I mean, unless she asked me to, sir. That was a joke, sir.”
Nico turns back to me with wide eyes, but I can tell by the appearance of his dimples that he’s pretty tickled by the conversation. I struggle to sit up and try for the phone again, but he dodges my reach as he hops off the bed.
“Nico,” I hiss. “Give it to me. Now!”
“Oh, look, sir, she’s awake. She wants to talk to you. Yes, Mr. Barros, nice talking to you, too.”
He hands me the phone with a shit-eating grin. I want to hurl it at him and kiss him at the same time. No one ever gives my dad a bad time. But I know I’m going to have to pay for it in just a second.
“Hi, Dad,” I say reluctantly.
“Layla, who was that?” My dad’s voice is sharp and insistent. He’s clearly not amused with the conversation.
I sigh. “Just like he said, Dad. Nico is a friend from work.”
“Why were you with him alone in a park? He said his name is Nico? What kind of man is that? It sounds Greek. You were with a strange Greek man at the park?”
I roll my eyes. Only my dad can make a spring day in the park sound like a lecherous activity. Of course, it was pretty damn lecherous at one point, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“It’s a nice day,” I say. “No strange Greek men involved. Nico and I both had some free time, so we met up for lunch. Is that a crime?”
“What did he do that made you pass out? He says his name is Soltero? Where is he from?”
My heart picks up a beat, and I glance at Quinn, who is now watching me sympathetically. She’s no stranger to my dad’s third-degree.
“I just walked too far, Dad,” I mumble, ignoring the second question about Nico’s name. “The weather is super humid here, and we got caught in a rainstorm. It changed quickly, and we had to run across the park to get out of the rain. I over-exerted. That’s what the doctors say.”
“Yes, I know. Dr. Andrews also said you have mononucleosis. This is a serious thing, Layla.”
Great, so he’s been on the phone with the hospital too. Now I’m wishing I hadn’t given them permission to disclose my records to him, doctor or not. But that’s the condition of being on his health insurance.
“Layla, your mother and I think you should come home.”
It’s the sentence I’ve been waiting for all semester––the last three, to be exact––and frankly, I’m surprised it hasn’t come sooner. I sit up farther, bracing myself for an argument, and Nico, who is now beside me with a comfortable hand on my leg, frowns in confusion.
“Dad,” I say. “It’s too late in the semester for that. Classes are done in less than two months. I’m fine, really.”
“You are not fine!” he roars into my ear so loudly before continuing in a quick, almost unintelligible onslaught of Portuguese, full of idioms I can’t follow. I have to hold Quinn’s phone away until he calms down. Both Quinn and Nico watch with wide eyes, and I bite my lip. My dad only speaks Portuguese to his family or when he’s really, really angry. He doesn’t do well when he loses control of the situation.
“Dad?” I say once he’s finally done yelling.
There’s a long pause on the other side of the line. Then, finally, “What, Layla?”
I exhale. If he’s back to my name, I’m on the way into the clear. “I’ll be back in May. I promise.”
I can’t look at Nico’s face when I say it. He just promised to stay, and here I am, promising my father I’ll leave New York, if only for the summer. But there is no way in hell I’ll be able to convince my folks to let me stay here for the summer, and the money my mom sent already went to paying off the rest of my bills. Without being able to work, I won’t be able to save up enough to stay.
“I can manage, okay?” I continue. “No more walks in the rainstorms, I promise. I’ll be careful.”
My dad grumbles something unintelligible before answering. “May,” he barks, and hangs up.
I hold the phone away, somewhat dazed, before Quinn takes it. She and Nico both watch with obvious concern as I slide back against my pillows. Suddenly, I’m exhausted again.
“He’s…worried,” I say as I curl into Nico’s chest when he pulls me close again.
“He cares,” Quinn says. She takes a seat in the small chair next to the bed. “We all do.”
“Yeah,” Nico murmurs as he lightly strokes my hair. “We do.”
~
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Layla
I wake up the next morning in a pile of blankets, my skin clammy under the weight of a rumpled twist of sheets and an extra comforter. It’s been a restless night, one made worse by the return of nausea whenever the pills wore off. Mono, said the doctor. Fuck.
Nico and Quinn brought me home together after the hospital, arguing in the cab most of the way. Quinn was more in line with my father, convinced that Nico was at least partially responsible for my condition, while Nico insisted the entire time that he had no idea I wasn’t feeling well.
Stuck between them, I was too tired to defend Nico, and I collapsed into my bed almost immediately when we got back to Lafayette. I woke several times during the night, usually to shove a blanket off my sweaty body, and then again to pull it back on when I was chilled to the bone. Some of my memories were tinted with the proximity of a warm, comforting body and a kind hand on my forehead. The sounds of a baritone hum and the occasional “Shh.”
It’s not until I finally climb out of bed sometime past nine in the morning that, when I nearly step smack onto a pile of curled-up man, I realize how many of the fevered dreams were real. Nico is asleep in a nest of extra blankets and cushions pulled off the couch. His jacket, cap, and shoes are folded neatly on my desk chair, but otherwise he still wears the jeans and wrinkled shirt from the day before. He’s snoring slightly and some spit has dried on the pillowcase under his mouth. He’s adorable.
Careful not to disturb him, I tiptoe out to the kitchen, closing the bedroom door gently behind me. Quinn is sitting at the bar, calmly paging through a textbook while she sips a cup of coffee. A glance at the couch tells me she spent the night there. Again. My stomach plummets with guilt.
“Hey there, sickie!” she greets me with a smile. “How’re you feeling, babe?”
I take a seat, wrapping my bathrobe tightly around my waist. “Okay. Better than last night.” I look at the couch again. “I’m so sorry you’re sleeping out here again.”
“Bah, it’s fine,” she says. “Seriously, if I was the one with mono, you’d be kicked to the curb.” She looks past me toward the closed door of our bedroom. “I take it Special Delivery is still asleep?”
I nod. “Yeah. I can’t believe he stayed.”
Even in my achy condition, my heart swells a little at the thought. I stare at the big oak door separating his sleeping form from the common room.
“He’s sweet, Lay.”
Quinn’s voice is softer, more forgiving than usual. It’s the first time she’s really acknowledged anything good about Nico. For most of the time he and I have been seeing each other, she’s been a consistent Devil’s Advocate, and it’s caused some tension between us over the past several weeks.
“He is,” I agree. “Very.”
I sigh again and run a hand through my bedraggled hair. I no doubt look horrendous after spending a day at the hospital and a night twisting around.
“I’m going to take a shower.” I get up, holding the edge of the bar to keep myself steady. I’m still so weak; already I’m feeling tired all over again.
Quinn nods and turns back to her textbook.
“I’m glad he’s here,” she says. “He’ll take care of you.”
~
It’s not until I’m in the shower that Quinn’s last words really sink in, and I start to think about what this situation means for me and Nico. That there is no way I’m going to be able to convince my parents to let me stay in New York this summer. In six more weeks, I’m going to have to go back to Washington for the summer, leaving when Nico and I have barely had time to start. It’s not that long to solidify a new relationship, and now I might have to spend half that time staying away from him if I don’t want to get him sick too.
My heart suddenly feels like it’s been smashed with a hammer. Tears spring to my eyes, and a sob chokes in my throat. I know I’m being melodramatic, but as I stand under the running water, thinking about my misfortunes—the bills that keep piling up as I skip more days off work, the fact that just after Nico promised he would stay, I have to leave for the entire summer, and now that I’m sick, our time together will be shortened even more—I can’t see the bright spot in any of it. Except Nico.
I love him. That’s really all it boils down to. The words come easily in my mind. I love him with every fiber of my being, and every new thing I discover about him makes me fall harder. I love him like crazy, and when it really comes down to it, no one says no to that.
Except this goddamn body.
I slap an angry hand on my thigh, hard enough to leave a red mark that fades beneath the water. A rush of nausea rises. I dart out of the shower just in time to make it to the toilet, heaving up what little I’ve been able to eat in the last twenty-four hours in a mess of choked sobs as water runs off my body and onto the warped boards of the bathroom floor.
Bad Idea Page 29
