Before I realize what I’m doing, I grab his arm. “Liam, please. Can we talk? Later?”
He looks me up and down, lips pursed in anger. “Talk? Why? Why should I listen to a word that comes out of your mouth after what you did?”
I swallow, throat dry, frozen by the venom in his voice. I expected it, of course. But to actually see the hate in his expression, hear his anger, hurts more than I feared. He had this light … this incorrigible urge to make the best of a situation, to find ways to bend a cruel world so it would be a little less horrible. It’s gone now. And it’s my fault.
“I …”
“I’m done with you, Isabel. From now on, we don’t know each other.” He brushes me off briskly. “Yell if he starts convulsing or stops breathing. Isidor will check him in a few hours.”
I blink, too hurt to do anything else. Liam leaves the bedroom, slamming the door on his way.
Back in my little shack in the middle of the jungle, I spent many nights wide awake, wondering what I would’ve done differently and what might’ve happened if Liam had caught me stealing instead of Dr. Melinda. I pictured his disappointment, his shock, but I couldn’t imagine what hatred would’ve looked like on his young face.
Now I know.
The hours pass slowly. The bedroom is dark, and I can barely see anything. Only one candle is still lit, dripping wax on the nightstand next to Diego’s bed. Even with the door closed, moans can be heard from the living room that is packed with more sick people. I try to ignore the sounds, wanting to keep the reality of Bonita far away for a little longer.
Like with my mother before, I can’t do anything else for him. No matter what, I don’t think I’ll ever accept that as anything but a failure. I don’t know why I carry this responsibility on my shoulders, but I do. It’s a heavy burden that brings me nothing but despair, yet I can’t get rid of it. His fate is out of my hands, and fate has never done me any favors.
I don’t remember ever feeling this lonely. Not even while crossing the jungle with my mother after leaving Liam behind. Diego and I barely know each other, but I want us to. I desperately want to connect with this man, someone who accepts me the way I am. I can’t stand this black hole of guilt and despair that my life is anymore. I just wanted one reason to climb out of that hole. Just one.
But what I want rarely makes any difference.
So I waver between certainty that he’ll be fine—that he’s strong enough to fight an infection and the blood loss—and fear that we took too long to reach the clinic, and he won’t make it through the night.
Desperate for the comfort of his presence, I move my chair closer to his bed.
“You dragged me back to this place, Vargas. You better not leave me alone in here. We had a deal, remember?”
I reach for his hand and follow his breathing patterns as if it was the only real thing left in this world. Much later, exhausted physically and mentally, I fall asleep.
Hours later, Diego’s fever breaks. I gently brush off a few strands of hair from his face. His skin is still hot, but the painful grimace from before has disappeared. His breathing, once haggard, calms down, and I finally allow myself to relax.
The tension abates but in its place comes the realization of my own body’s needs. The layers of dirt, sweat, and blood covering my clothes and skin suffocate me. I feel one hundred years old.
Next to the melting candle, there’s a bowl of water that I use to clean my face and hands. Aware that this might be my last chance at privacy for as long as I’m in Bonita, I undress and change into less filthy clothes.
“Well, that’s a nice view to wake up to but some proper lighting would be nice. This place is way too dark for a strip show.”
I pull down my last clean shirt, then spin around to face Diego. Light from the candle flickers on his face, giving me a glimpse of the weak smile on his dry lips. I hurry to his side, relief washing over me.
“How do you feel?” I whisper as I rest a hand on his shoulder.
“Like a rotten cow carcass hanging from a hook to be used as a punching bag after decaying under the sun for a century.”
I let out a short laugh, happy at hearing his voice. “Colorful.”
Diego shakes his head slightly. “I’m fine. Turns out being stabbed hurts a lot more than being shot. Where are we? I gotta admit, I checked out sometime after we left the mines.”
“We’re safe. We are in the clinic I told you about.”
Blinking slowly, he nods. “Okay. Now we find Alex, right?”
I hold my breath for a second. The thought of putting him in danger again so soon pains me. “First, you rest.”
Diego closes his eyes for a few seconds, clearly still very tired. “Not for long. Alex is waiting.”
“You can’t rescue him if you can’t stand. Rest.”
His smile brightens the entire room. Or maybe it’s my eyes. “Don’t you know? There’s no rest for the wicked…”
I give him a strained smile.
Alex. We never discussed how we would actually find him. We didn’t have time to think of a plan. I frown, gazing at the walls around us.
The boy could be anywhere—if he’s still alive. He lost his mother, which means he’s alone, scared, and hanging on the hope that his father got his letter. If he’s smart, he won’t be easily found. The best way to survive Bonita is to be invisible, hiding from the infected that roam the streets and from Ezequiel’s abuse.
I could knock on the doors of every apartment to ask if they have seen a boy with his description, but people here don’t trust anyone, don’t share secrets, or get close to strangers. They only care for one thing—their own survival. We’ll either need to trade or threaten people for information, and even then, it will be like looking for a needle in a haystack.
But there’s one place everyone goes to seek help, where they feel safe enough to be vulnerable. Even when I was beaten and tortured by Ezequiel, the clinic gave me protection. Every day, all kinds of people come here and tell their stories to the doctors. If we’re lucky, Alex was treated by Liam at some point.
Which means our best and only chance of finding Diego’s son’s whereabouts involves a very uncomfortable conversation with the man I hurt.
Perhaps sensing my worries, Diego sits up on the bed. A little more alert, he asks, “Hey, how are you holding up? It can’t be easy being back.”
I sigh and close my eyes for a second.
He reaches for my hand, and our fingers intertwine. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll leave soon.”
I smile.
He brings the back of my hand to his lips and kisses it just as the bedroom door opens and Liam steps inside.
Ashamed, my heart pounding against my chest, I immediately untangle my hand from Diego’s as if burned. He narrows his eyes but, by the time I feel bad about my reaction, I’d already pushed the chair away from the bed too.
Cheeks flaming from shame, I look down at the ground. I’m not sure what makes me feel worse—Liam seeing me comforting another man after I abandoned him or Diego’s hurt at my brisk rejection of his touch.
All I know is that I want to disappear into a deep hole, never to surface again.
Blissfully unaware of my troubles or simply too angry to care, Liam stops next to Diego and rests two fingers on his neck to check his vitals. “How are you feeling? Dizzy? Tired?”
“Both,” Diego responds in a cheery tone that sounds a tiny sarcastic. “Who are you?”
I bite my lip as they glare at each other. It’s far too strange to see these two men, who mean so much to me, speaking to each other. The mere fact that they’re here, at the same place, is something I would’ve never imagined happening. For so long, I kept what happened in Bonita buried to protect myself and now that illusion is breaking down piece by piece. I can’t pretend Liam is just some forgotten part of my past anymore.
“I’m Doctor Brown. I took care of your wound last night. Are you having problems with your memory?” His professional to
ne slips at the end of the question.
“No. I wanted your name, that’s all. By the way, I’m Diego Vargas. Nice to meet you, Doc.”
He offers his hand in greeting, along with a smirk. I’m getting the impression Diego might be jealous.
Six months ago, Liam would’ve widened his eyes or cleared his throat, his reaction plain for all to see, but now he merely takes out an electronic thermometer and pushes it into Diego’s ear with more force than necessary while holding a neutral expression.
While it might have been possible that a gringo like him wouldn’t have known the infamy behind Diego’s name, I notice his Adam’s apple rise and fall nervously. He knows.
“Okay, Diego Vargas. Your fever is down. You’re responding well to the antibiotics, but you lost too much blood. You’ll feel weak for a few days. The bullet did a lot of damage, so moving around will be painful. Usually, I would advise you to stay in bed, eat plenty of food, and rest, but that’s not really a possibility here. You can stay one more night, and then I’ll need the bed for another patient.”
“That’s fine by me, Doc. In fact, I think we might be leaving even sooner.”
I get up from the chair, arms crossed. “Wait. No. He needs rest, Liam. You can’t just send us away. He’s not—”
Diego interrupts me, “Bel, we need to go anyway. It’s fine.”
“Another night is more than anyone else would give you. I need the bed, Bel.”
Who knew a nickname could sound so bitter? Is he doing this because of me or did he become colder since I last saw him? Either way, I feel responsible.
“We need a safe place to stay. Liam, please.”
The desperation in my voice seems to surprise him. For a second, I catch a glimpse of the old Liam—anxious to help, always happy to make me smile. Then he disappears as a frown marks his young face.
“No place in Bonita is safe, Isabel. You taught me that. Now, excuse me, I have to go. Other patients to see.”
Liam marches out of the room, slamming the door once again. I watch him leave, biting my lip and clenching my hands into fists.
My eyes almost drill a hole into the door until Diego calls my name. He pats the mattress, inviting me to sit next to him again.
“So, what just happened?” His question sounds casual, but the way he clears his throat afterward suggests he’s a little too curious about the whole thing.
I sit and sigh. “That was Liam … We were friends before I left.”
Diego adjusts his position on the bed, resting his head against its frame.
“Friends, huh?” Jealousy drips from his tone, and then he shakes his head with a sigh. “Bel, I can see in your face that this guy matters a lot to you. The only time I ever see you act this sad is when you talk about your mother. You care for him, don’t you? Did you love him?”
There’s a tinge of sadness in his voice. I want to reassure him, but I can’t deny my feelings for Liam, as messy as they are. Despite having no right, I still hold Liam in my heart. He might hate me now, but I owe him to still care, to still hurt for what I did to him. But is that love or guilt?
At my hesitation, he sighs, and then gives me a rueful smile. “That’s okay. I’m not worried. There’s no competition here. I’m Diego Vargas, and he’s some skinny gringo. Come on. It’s not even a fair fight.”
He reaches for my hand, and I let him. Then, I change the subject. “We should focus on your son now. We need a plan. Did his letter mention anything about where he might be?”
He shakes his head. “No. I think he was afraid of the letter falling into the wrong hands.”
I nod, dread rising at the realization there will be no other choice but to ask Liam. The thought of facing Liam’s hatred again … it chokes me from the inside.
“I figured we could start looking for him by finding the soldier who sneaked out the letter,” Diego says. “Retrace his steps, somehow.”
Although it’s a good idea, it also involves talking to the only person who can contact the Army directly—Ezequiel. Any exchange involving soldiers has to go through him; no other person has that kind of leverage. Getting involved with that man is far too dangerous.
“That’s one way … but there might be another one.” I sigh. “The doctors here treat dozens of people every day. Liam might have seen Alex recently.”
It takes Diego a second to answer. He nods. “Right. That makes sense. But he doesn’t seem very open to helping us.”
“Which is why I think it would be better if I talked to him alone. Make amends first.”
“Are you sure you want to do this on your own? Without a certain guy glaring at that gringo to make sure he behaves? I mean, I know I look like crap right now, but he knows who I am. And my reputation could speed things up. Along with some threats of maiming and murder.”
I smile and take his hand into mine. “Thank you for the offer, but threats won’t make him talk.”
“But you will?”
Even though I shouldn’t, I like the jealous edge in his tone. The more time we spend together, the more I realize how deep I have fallen already. The water is up to my chest now, and I don’t seem to care; ready to drown in this relationship. I hope that’s the wrong metaphor for what we have but I’ll only be sure once we are safe and far from Bonita.
“I hope so, yes.”
“Can’t we try talking to the other doctor? The tall one?”
“Isidor never liked me in the first place, much less now. On the other hand, Liam has a history of liking me, so maybe I might have a better shot with him.”
Diego sighs. “I think you do too. From the way that gringo stormed out of here, I think it’s pretty clear he still cares. Maybe this way you can both put the past behind you for good. Just promise you won’t fall for him again. I would hate to punch the guy who just patched me up.”
He’s smiling, but there’s no true amusement in his eyes and a hint of steel in his voice.
“I’ll be back,” is my only answer. I don’t have the confidence to promise him anything. I’m about to face one of my biggest sins, among many. I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know how I’ll handle this.
After a second of hesitation, I leave in search of Liam. As I walk between the occupied cots, my body threatens another panic attack, chest tight, as the wails of the sick, and sober whispers fill my ears.
I find Liam talking to Isidor. When he sees me coming in their direction, the tall man predictably starts yelling in his native tongue. Curses, no doubt.
Liam places a hand on the man’s chest, stopping him from lunging at me. “I’ll deal with her. Please finish my rounds.”
The tall, blond doctor nods even as his nostrils flare.
I take a deep breath as Liam marches toward me, eyes lit with hatred. He grabs my wrist. Pulling me out of the room, he practically pushes me into a small supply closet, closing the door behind us. Breathing fast, he glares, but he keeps his fingers around my wrist for a few seconds before realizing and breaking the contact as if burnt by it.
“What do you want now?”
“Can’t we talk for just five minutes? It’s important.”
“You’re unbelievable, you know that? Wasn’t I clear before? Leave me the hell alone.”
Pushing back the pain, I lift my chin. I can’t give up so easily. Diego needs this. And I need this. I have to try fixing what happened between us, somehow.
“I’m sorry, but I need to talk to you. Diego and I need your help.”
“Help? You want me to help a notorious drug lord? Are you out of your mind? Even I’ve heard of Diego Vargas, Bel, and I’m just a dumb gringo. He’s a murderer, no better than Ezequiel.”
My cheeks burn with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation. “No, he’s different. He’s nothing like Zeke.”
Liam snorts, and then shakes his head. “Wow. He did a number on you, didn’t he? And I used to think you were smart.”
My nostrils flare, but I don’t fight back. He deserves to throw a f
ew punches at me.
“We came to this place to find Diego’s son, Alessandro. He was taken from Rio Alto. Have you seen him or heard anything that might help us find him? He’s eleven, probably looks like a young Diego.”
This at least merits a pause from Liam. It’s hard to read his expression while he considers the question. There’s doubt in his frown, but also realization.
“No. I don’t know anything about that person.” His Adam’s apple goes up and down. He’s hiding something, but why? Just out of hatred for me?
“Liam, please, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t—”
His eyes dance around the room before he shakes his head. “I don’t care. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore. Can’t you see that? I lost good people because of what you did. All those months of work, all those people we wanted to help. They’re dead because of you. Because of me. Because I trusted you. Don’t you get it? Their deaths are on my hands.”
Back when I first met him, his Spanish was always thick with an accent, a bit slow and far too clunky whenever he was nervous or excited. Now, his words come as fast as a whip, and as painful too.
“I don’t understand. What happened? What happened to the clinic after I left?”
Liam sighs, truly facing me for the first time. “What do you think happened, Isabel? Without the sedatives you stole, we couldn’t control the infected. One of them escaped during the night. By the time we realized what was happening, it was too late. Melinda was bitten, and so were many others. To stop it from spreading even further, Ezequiel came with his men. They locked the warehouses up with everyone inside, infected or not, and torched them to the ground. Isidor and I barely escaped. We’re the only doctors left.”
I hold my breath as tears threaten to fall. Guilt crawls back again, choking me from the inside. The consequences of what I did drain the last bit of strength I had left. I can feel Liam’s icy glare focused on me, but I can’t find anything to say. Words can’t fix this. Nothing can fix this.
“I’m sorry, Liam.” My voice trembles, and it’s hard to swallow. I can feel my throat tightening, my chest constraining. “I’m so sorry, but I had to take the sedatives. I needed them to run away with my mother.”
Deadly Hearts: A Post Apocalyptic Romance Novel Page 14
