by Annie O'Neil
They had been a team.
The sharp tang of freshly brewed coffee became an acrid reminder that a caffeine hit was a no-no now. She decided to get a glass of juice from the refrigerator, only to lodge some grit under her foot. She scanned the open living space for her flip-flops.
It took a few minutes to track down the first one through the cloudy sheet of tears blocking her vision. The second one? Who knew?
Santi had always been the finder in this scenario. Her reliable other half who had made her whole and she had stupidly driven him away.
Her cell phone’s distinctive ringtone broke into the morning silence. Her heart leaped for a moment. Santi?
She grabbed the phone from the countertop and stared at the digital display.
Amanda.
Her heart sank, but she forced herself to answer the phone with a cheery “Hello.”
Destroying all her relationships was inadvisable at this juncture.
“Hey, you. What’s up with the ambulance rescheduling?”
“What?” Saoirse felt her blood run cold. Santi might not have spent the night at the bungalow but she had still been clinging to the ridiculous hope she’d see him at work. That she’d have just one more chance to explain.
“I overheard one of the guys saying he was getting a new partner today. You.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
“Murphy?” Amanda drew out her name warily. “What’s going on? Have you two had a fight?”
“Something like that,” she mumbled.
How to explain the myriad complications? She was deeply regretting not speaking with Amanda before she’d come up with her brilliant plan to cut her losses with Santi before he found out about the baby. That’s what friends were for, right? Talking you out of half-baked ideas.
“Well, go fix it,” Amanda stated without reservation.
“It’s not that easy.”
“Yes, it is,” Amanda retorted in her usual no-nonsense style. “Who cares if your pride takes a bit of a bashing? If you love him, it will be easy. And from all the crazy vibes you’ve been putting out into the universe, I have a feeling it will be easy.”
“Nothing’s that simple!”
I’m carrying his child.
“It is when you decide to stop fighting.” Amanda’s voice was suddenly drowned out with a surge of noise from the ER. “Gotta run. Go fix it, hun. Love ya. Bye!”
* * *
Saoirse dropped onto the sofa, as if physically letting her friend’s words sink in.
Fighting what, exactly?
She gave her forehead a thud with the heel of her hand. Whether it was pregnancy or her trademark stubbornness, she was being a Class-A idiot.
She loved Santi and was actively sabotaging her relationship with him just to protect...
She growl-screamed in frustration at her idiocy.
To protect her heart.
She was no better than her ex who had cut and run when it had mattered the most. Apart from which, how on earth was she expecting to protect her heart from being broken by cutting to the chase and breaking it herself?
Hormones?
It was a handy catchall...but she was fairly certain she’d have to shoulder the blame on this one.
The pregnant woman’s list of dos and don’ts was something Saoirse knew back to front from her training. What to eat. What not to eat. Physical risks. Sensible precautions. None of them covered affairs of the heart. Today she had a new advisory to add:
Warning: to all pregnant women who thought they were doing the right thing by ending it with the man they loved. You’re being an idiot. Don’t do it. Stick with the scary stuff. Take the risk.
Take the risk.
The words formed a loop in her head. Slowly at first, then gaining traction like a car on a racetrack. What was the worst that could happen? She’d get deported. Big deal. It wasn’t about visas. Or borders. Or margaritas at Mad Ron’s or even the beautiful sunrises and sunsets Miami seemed to specialize in. It was all about Santi and whether or not he was in her life. In their lives. She had to act for two now. And it was time to act courageously.
Take the risk.
* * *
“Thanks for pulling a double, Santiago. You’ve got me out of one helluva pickle. I’ve called just about everyone I can think of. You’re sure you want the whole week?”
“Never met an overnight shift I didn’t like,” Santi replied with a grimness that actively contrasted with his chirpy proclamation. Sleep hadn’t come easily the past couple of nights so he might as well try and do some good in the world.
“Great. I’ll ink you in, then. You military guys...” The controller shook his head in admiration. “We’re lucky to have you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Santi gave him a clap on the arm, grateful for the kind words. They restored a minuscule portion of the dignity he’d left behind when he’d lashed out at Saoirse the other night. Taking on a few extra shifts was the least he could do in the penance department. Not that she knew about it. He hadn’t missed the fact that her name had disappeared from the roster sheets either.
“You happy to work with Rodriguez?”
“Very,” he replied distractedly. He didn’t have a clue who Rodriguez was. Didn’t care, really. Just as long as his partner wasn’t Saoirse. Seeing her now would be torture. He might regret his behavior, but he didn’t have it in him to apologize, to play the noble loser. Not with the cannon-sized wounds his heart was trying to cope with.
And yet he still had the damn ring in his pocket. Had carried it around with him for the past two days. Not to return. That could wait, too. He tugged the box out of his pocket to see if it would turn oracle when he flicked the lid open, and the diamond immediately caught the light.
A dazzler. Just like Saoirse had been the first time he’d laid eyes on her. First and last. Her light had never faded, only become brighter.
He snapped the lid shut and stuffed it back into the deep pockets of his regulation-issue cargo pants. Maybe he’d keep the ring as a cruel talisman to remind him what happened when you didn’t enter into a relationship with all your senses on high alert.
No. That didn’t sit right either. You didn’t stop loving someone just because you didn’t get what you wanted.
He thought of his brothers. The ease and love with which they’d opened up their hearts to him. Not a word of anger. No malice for the years he’d left them wondering. Just pure, straight-to-the-core, unconditional love.
Exactly what he felt for Saoirse.
It had just about killed him to hear her dismiss their time together as if it had been nothing.
So. Night shifts it was until he figured out how to find the best path to forgiveness.
He stared out of the huge ambulance garage into the night sky, his future opening up like an unfillable black hole. There would be no replacing Saoirse. That was a no-brainer. But forgiveness might help make moving on that little bit easier to bear. He could start up a poker game with his brothers. Four single Valentinos—maybe a couple of the other surgeons could join them. He might even consider taking a few shifts in the ER, shore up his emergency medicine skills. After all, the military had made a huge investment in him. He could fill the emptiness in his life with payback. Patient after patient. Life after life. Making a difference. Trying to do the best he could in the face of having messed it all up again.
“You Valentino?” A man in his early twenties holding a duffel bag was stretching out his hand.
“The one and only! Unless you add my brothers into the mix.” He slapped a smile on his face and shook the man’s hand. “I’m guessing you’re Rodriguez.”
“Samuel.” He gave Santi’s hand a firm shake and then dropped it as if he’d been stung. “Caracoles! Hang on a minute—are you on
e of those Valentinos?” Samuel gave a low whistle.
“I’m not strictly sure how to answer that. Are you saying it’s a good or a bad thing?”
“Neither, man.” He whistled again. “It’s just... I was from the same neighborhood as you. My family used to go to your parents’ bodega all the time. Mi madre...” He laughed warmly as the memory came to him. “After you all went through what you did, my mother used to use you boys as an example whenever I misbehaved. ‘You don’t see the Valentino brothers lying around, watching TV all day!
“‘You should take a page out of the Valentino household and pick up a book and study!’”
Samuel’s overexaggerated reenactment of his mother’s admonishments made Santi chuckle.
“If she saw what we were really like she probably would have told you to steer well clear of us.” None of them had been perfect. But they’d all worked hard and were doing their best to make a difference in the world.
“Eh, bonco!” Samuel put on a warning tone, though his face was wreathed in a warm smile. “Don’t go telling me the reason I became a paramedic has no basis. Your family was the only reason I ever did any homework at all!”
“Glad to have helped,” Santi said, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. He’d come home to find peace and be someone his brothers could be proud of. It gave him a swell of pride to hear they all had lent a hand in inspiring Sam.
“You go sort your stuff out and I’ll get this baby loaded up.” Santi pointed at their rig and turned toward the back to do his preliminary supplies check. He never relied on the previous crew, always had to check for himself they were stocked with everything they might need. “Self-contained at all times!” He heard Saoirse’s voice as clear as a bell in his head. He had made her repeat it time after time when she’d leaped straight into the cab of the ambulance, cranked the engine and revved the vehicle to hit the road without checking. No point in going somewhere if you weren’t prepared.
He thought he had been when he’d taken her out to the beach. Ring, beautiful woman he loved. Job done.
Talk about being blindsided.
“Sure thing, bro. I’ll just go and dump my bag in the locker room and see you in a few. And be sure to tell your brothers from me, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making sure I kept on the right side of the tracks.”
Santi waved off the compliment and lengthened his stride. It was nice to talk about his brothers without the usual hit of guilt.
He reached for the back door of the ambulance and clicked the handle open, thinking how lucky he was to have them. They would be keeping him on the straight and narrow now that—
“Hello, Santi.”
An all-consuming stillness took hold of him.
Saoirse.
“I’m about to go on shift.”
“I know. That’s why I asked Sam if I could wait here.”
“Self-contained at all times,” they repeated together, eyes locked.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea. The other night was...” He faltered, unable to finish his train of thought as his gaze meshed with hers again. The connection was virtually palpable, his fingers aching all the while to reach out and touch her, stroke her soft-as-a-rose-petal cheek with the back of his hand. Her pink lips wore a gentle smile, her blue eyes, a bit red-rimmed, were wide with hope that he would hear her out.
He felt his chest heave and heavily huff out an indecisive sigh. The sooner he forgave her, the sooner he could move on.
His brothers had done it in milliseconds. Did he have the strength to do the same?
Dios! He hadn’t even really pinpointed what he was forgiving her for.
Unwittingly breaking his heart? It wasn’t as if he’d opened up and told her how he’d felt. If anything, he’d been pushing her further away the deeper in love he’d become.
Saoirse climbed down from the interior bench and settled on the wide rear step of the ambulance, giving the step a little pat so that he would join her.
The least he could do was hear her out. Listening came first. The ring box jammed into his leg as he sat down so he stretched out his legs, feigning a nonchalance he didn’t feel.
“I know I hijacked whatever it was you were going to say to me the other day,” Saoirse began, both of their gazes fastidiously fixed on the stream of traffic flowing past them outside the EMT garage.
“That’s one way of putting it.”
If only you knew.
“I feel awful about the things I said.”
“Then why did you say them?”
* * *
There was heat behind his words and Saoirse couldn’t blame him. She deserved it. She’d made a foolish decision for an even more ridiculous reason. She sucked in a breath and kept going.
“I have no right to know what you were going to say to me the other day, but if I explain to you why I was such an impulsive idiot, would you tell me what you were going to say?”
Santi eyed her warily. He didn’t answer, but he wasn’t running for the hills or telling her to get out of his life, which she’d half braced herself for.
“Go on, then.” His fingers drummed impatiently on the metal step.
It wasn’t a promise but at least he’d hear her out. It was more than she felt she deserved.
“When I spoke to you the other day, just about everything I said was fear-based. I guess, because of what I went through back in Ireland, the last thing I ever wanted when you agreed to help me with my visa problems was to feel trapped. It’s obvious that’s what my ex felt and why he bolted, and I never wanted to go through that again. Everything I told you was true. I do want to live here. I do love the work. Working with you.”
Loving you.
Santi’s energy level shot up a notch. She sensed the hairs bristling at the nape of his neck as he turned to her and said, “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”
She nodded in agreement. “You’re right. It’s just that something happened to me—something big—and it threw me off balance. I’ve spoken to my manager, who thought it would best if I transferred off ambulances—”
“You’re not sick, are you?” A jag of concern darkened Santi’s features.
“No, no! Not at all. I feel great. I mean, I’m fine.” She flopped her hands into her lap and shot him a hangdog look. “I—I’m not doing this very well, am I?” She grinned apologetically, hoping the smile encapsulated the deep love she felt for him. Dumping all her feelings into his lap and telling him about the miracle her body was celebrating seemed too much to unload on him in one hit but...
This could very well be her last chance.
She hesitated for a moment before carefully pulling a black-and-white photo from the envelope in her backpack and held it between them. The image would say more than she ever could.
The picture wasn’t very clear.
Just a blur of grey lines in a large arc of blackness. She was only about seven weeks along so it was near impossible to make out the miniature fingers and toes their child was busily growing. Within its little peanut-sized body she had only just heard her baby’s heartbeat—a heartbeat that would steadily build in strength. The tiny ear buds just beginning to form that would, in just a few short weeks, be able to discern between her voice and Santi’s. If he chose to accept the olive branch she was offering. No expectations or demands...just understanding that she’d been trying her best.
The silence of his response was anything but passive.
The air between them virtually crackled with electricity. Tingles skittered along Saoirse’s spine as Santi’s dark, black-lashed eyes took in the image, the gold flecks catching alight as the meaning of the scan took hold.
Her eyes followed his across the top of the scan, where her name was printed along with a couple of small
hand-scribbled notes about conception date...expected due date...the teensy-tiny measurements. A pea? A plump blueberry at a stretch...
His eyes flicked to hers and she saw what she had barely dared to hope for. Love. Compassion. And wonder.
“Looks tall.”
“He takes after his father.” She tried to answer as neutrally as she could.
Santi’s eyebrows shot up.
“Or she,” Saoirse quickly filled in.
“Too early to tell,” they said at the same time, their eyes catching as their voices wove together then faded into nervy laughs.
Santi took hold of the image and held it up between them again. “I hope you don’t think for a second you’re raising this baby on your own.”
His words may have been stern but they were more than Saoirse had hoped to hear. Tears stung at the back of her throat as she tried to keep her emotions in check. This was just the first step.
“I was—”
“I was—”
They both began to talk at the same time, chasing up their snafus with “Go ahead” and “No, you first” until Saoirse finally dissolved into nervous giggles, rose from the bumper and gave a curtsy with the billowing skirts of an imaginary ball gown. “Please, good sir, I insist you go first.”
* * *
Santi’s mind worked at lightning speed, trying to unravel the tangle of questions he had. They struck him in electric shots of understanding, all leading to the same realization. He was going to be a father.
“How?”
Hardly elegant, but it covered all the bases.
“The doctors aren’t really sure,” Saoirse began, the bright sparks of delight lighting her up from within. “I showed them all my medical history from Ireland and they reckon my doctor there shouldn’t have been so absolute in pronouncing me infertile.” She flushed a little and shot him a shy glance. “They say sometimes what doesn’t work with one person does with another. It’s just a question of finding the best match.”
“And I’m that match?” he asked before his brain caught up with his mouth.