Set to Music

by Negeen Papehn

  I stalk into the ER, shielding my eyes from the camera flashes. I ignore the faces that turn in my direction. Travis is beside me, making sure the path is clear. Two of his men arrive seconds later and the three of them create a wall between me and the ER waiting room.

  I walk up to the front desk and barely take note of the young receptionist gaping at me. “I’m looking for Carlos Castillo.”

  “He’s in room two.” She continues to gawk at me, starstruck, blinking rapidly as if she’s unsure whether she’s dreaming.

  I give her a polite nod. “Thank you.”

  “Wait, I need your ID,” she blurts out, pulling my attention back to her. “You can’t go back there anyway. He’s been taken for a chest X-ray so you’ll have to wait.” She hesitates, a worried crease finding her forehead. I work my jaw but manage another tight nod.

  Travis is already scanning the waiting room, no doubt taking inventory of our current spectators. Our luck, the ER is packed. Some people are visibly too sick to care who I am, but others are staring intently at me as I make my way across the room. Travis and his men create a semicircle around me as we lean against the wall in the corner.

  “The crowd is getting bigger outside,” Travis points out. “I wonder if there’s a back way we can use to get out of here.”

  “Won’t matter. The vultures already have enough footage to build some asinine story for the blogs.” I huff.

  Emmanuel paces the waiting room floor, one phone pressed to his ear, locked in a hushed conversation while his fingers fly across the keyboard of another. Damage control at its finest.

  “Don’t worry boss, he’ll get in front of it.” Travis juts his jaw in Emmanuel’s direction.

  “Can we find out how much longer it will be?” I ask.

  Suddenly, the hospital doors swing open and Hugo and Mateo shuffle in. They keep their heads low and walk quickly to our circle, trying to remain unseen. As if that’s possible. They each clasp my hand and hug me as the other people in the room take notice.

  “It’s going to be okay, amigo,” Hugo says.

  “Any news?” Mateo lifts up onto his toes and tries to get a glimpse of the ER through the glass cutouts in the double doors. “Has a doctor talked to you yet?”

  “No, he’s getting an X-ray.”

  “What did Mamá Carmen say? Is she coming?” Hugo looks at me expectantly.

  “Haven’t called her yet.”

  “Bro,” he says, eyes wide. “She’s going to kill you.”

  Emmanuel takes a minute from his multiple phone calls to raise an I-told-you-so brow at me. “Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off. “We don’t know anything yet.”

  Mateo whistles, a mischievous look on his face. “She’s going to kick your ass.”

  “No doubt.” Hugo fist-bumps him. “You know what that means, right?”

  “No, what?” I’m losing patience.

  “Every time the golden boy pisses her off, she gives us extra attention. In the form of treats.”

  “I hope she makes us pozole. I love when she does that.” Mateo gazes up at the ceiling and licks his lips as if he can already taste it.

  “Golden boy? Screw you guys.”

  They both laugh in unison. I swear they were twins in a past life.

  A group of six twenty-somethings come barreling into the waiting room. It’s late, and they’re loud, making it obvious that they’ve been out partying all night. A guy with a bloody towel pressed against his head stumbles toward the receptionist. He begins checking in as he laughs obnoxiously while unnecessarily giving his recount of the evening’s events to the receptionist, who’s staring at him with mild interest. The rest of his crew plops down in seats against the opposite wall from us. Mateo’s and Hugo’s attention is suddenly piqued.

  Here we go…

  A blonde sitting against the opposite wall notices Mateo first. She perks up as she realizes who he is, leaning in to the girl next to her, and whispers something. Two seconds later, they’re heading toward us.

  “Oh, holy hell,” Travis mumbles. “I told you we should have left them at the hotel. Can’t take these two anywhere.” I could easily have him break this up, but we don’t need a scene. Especially with the piranhas lurking on the other side of the entrance.

  They’re relentless in their flirting, flipping their hair, batting their eyes, touching the guys every chance they get. Giggles get louder as the boys turn on their charm. Pretty standard when these two players are involved.

  “Do you think we could take a selfie with you?” the blonde asks, pulling her lower lip between her teeth.

  “Sure,” Hugo answers.

  She whips out her phone and they pull in close, the guys throwing their arms around the women’s shoulders like old friends. They take about a hundred different pictures.

  I don’t get it. The last thing I want to do is be photographed any more than I already am. We can’t breathe without it making front page news. But Carlos, Hugo, and Mateo eat this shit up. They never seem to get sick of all the attention.

  The rest of the crew seems to have realized they’re missing out on a very rare opportunity and join their friends. Their voices get louder as they talk over one another, hungry for attention. People around us start glaring at them. I’m about to give Travis the go-ahead to break it all up when the ER doors swing open.

  A woman dressed in a pair of blue scrubs and a white coat that reaches past her thighs breezes through. I presume she’s a doctor, not only from her outfit, but from the boss-like intensity she carries. Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, stray strands framing her face and running down her neck. She swipes one behind her ear, intently focused on the commotion.

  “Excuse me.” Her voice is tight and her tone stern, demanding order.

  The group of six is oblivious that she’s talking to them.

  “Hello?” she says, this time waving her hand and moving in their direction. Her cheeks redden with impatience. She inserts herself into the middle of the group, catching them all off guard. They finally fall silent. “This is a hospital, not a magazine photo shoot! We have sick patients here. Keep it down or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  The blonde appears to have something to say, but the doctor pins her to her spot with a don’t-mess-with-me glare. Her mouth abruptly snaps shut. She turns to Hugo, who she’s been hanging on for the past few minutes, with a look that yells, “are you going to let her talk to me like that?” He’s about to stupidly defend her honor until I give him a small shake of my head.

  The doctor catches our exchange and marches up to me. In a low, firm voice, she says, “I assume you’re the one in charge here, so I need you to understand that I can’t have your guys disrupting my ER. No one wants to feel like crap and be surrounded by some sort of fan meet-and-greet. So please, keep your men in check.”

  She stares me down—or up, I guess, since she can’t be more than five-foot-three—and whatever connects my brain to my mouth misfires. Worse, my heart trips and falls at her feet like I’m some fourteen-year-old kid who’s just come face-to-face with his hot next-door neighbor for the first time. What the hell is wrong with me?

  Before I can get my shit together long enough to respond, she gives me a short nod and turns on her heel, heading back inside.

  I stare at the door long after she’s disappeared through it.

  “Bro, I don’t think she knows who you are,” Mateo says.

  “Nope. She definitely doesn’t,” Hugo adds. They both crack up. I’m not sure what the hell there is to laugh about but I ignore them. I’m too busy being in awe.

  Travis leans in close. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen that look on your face.”

  It’s been a while since I’ve felt it. Maybe I never have. And I’m pretty sure the boys are right about her not knowing who I am. Very few people in my world don’t, and al
l the rest have some preconceived notion of who I’m supposed to be.

  I’ve never been so happy to go unnoticed before. Pair that with her fierceness, and she’s got my attention.

  Chapter Three

  Darya

  Lindsey hands me Carlos’s results. As I scan through the numbers, the man from the waiting room heads into the ER. He’s flustered and disheveled, a contradiction to his earlier demeanor. He scrubs his face as he searches the walls, presumably for room numbers, but gives up quickly and heads to the nurses’ desk for assistance.

  When he places his hand on the counter, his black T-shirt stretches tightly across his broad shoulders and barely keeps from tearing in half. An abundance of artwork twists and turns down his forearm, bleeding out onto his fingers. I can see the edges of more images peeking out from beneath his collar and onto the base of his neck.

  He smiles kindly at the nurse, politely asking where room two is. She damn near melts in her chair as she swoons.

  “Who’s that?” I ask Lindsey as she steps up beside me.

  “That’s big brother.”

  “How do you know that?” I cock my head to the side. “I mean, they don’t really look that much alike.” Brother’s onyx features rival Carlos’s lighter ones. Other than the tattoos, they don’t share much else.

  He heads in the direction the nurse indicates, and the Persian guy steps out to meet him. They speak in hushed tones for a minute and then Brother pulls him into a hug. He hesitates, looking like he’s going to follow the first guy into the room, but then decides not to, and goes back to meet the others outside.

  The Persian guy’s affiliation to this group confuses me. It’s not every day that you find an Iranian part of some rock star band. Niloo would love it.

  “You have no idea who they are, do you?” Lindsey appears thoroughly amused.

  “Am I supposed to?”

  “Everyone knows who they are.”

  I look around the floor and notice for the first time that the staff is hovered in various corners, whispering to one another while paying close attention to Brother’s every move. I get a distinct feeling I really am the only clueless one.

  “Okay, fine. Who the hell are they?”

  A smile stretches across her face. “Have you heard of Ternura?”

  “Te—who?”

  “Oh my God, Darya. Where have you been living this past year?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. In this ER,” I say, waving my hand in an arc for emphasis. “I don’t get out much.”

  “I know that, since I’m the one inviting you out half the time. You should really start hanging out with us more often. You’re kind of turning into a nerd.”

  “Please, I’ve always been a nerd,” I admit. “But that’s beside the point. Are they famous?”

  “Darya, you are so pretty.”

  “Shut up! Just because I don’t know who they are doesn’t make me ditzy.” I swat at her and she laughs. “But seriously, how famous are they?” I eye Brother as he takes four big strides back toward room two.

  “Really famous. Like, they’re up for a Grammy famous.”

  So talented and good looking. He would take my breath away if I weren’t a focused, no-nonsense, I-have-no-time-to- drool-over-anyone kind of woman. Besides, he looks entirely too wild for my twenty-nine-year-old self. He’s definitely not my type. But nonetheless, the body art scribbled across his skin in words I don’t understand combined with pictures I’m sure mean something, pique my curiosity.

  I’m deliriously tired, so the uncharacteristic thought of hanging on this man’s arm pops into my head. I almost laugh out loud. I can just see Maman’s angry scowl at the idea of her doctor daughter dating who she’d classify as “not good enough.” But then again, all Maman thinks is worthy of me is a successful Iranian man. By that, she means he’s a physician or a lawyer, owns his own house, and drives a fancy car or two. Pretty standard for Iranian moms and their wishes for daughters. But as if that’s not hard enough to find, Maman has also requested that he be only semi-handsome. Easy on the eyes but not easy on everyone’s eyes. A result of her own failed marriage with a cheating man.

  She’s very specific in this dream of hers.

  This is exactly why the guy in the hallway would never do. He’s too hot for his own good and totally my sister Niloo’s type. The bad boy edge excites her, with the added benefit of pissing off Maman. I, on the other hand, am a Goody Two-shoes. The people pleaser in me would never allow for some real fun.

  I watch as he pulls open the curtain with urgency and rushes over to Carlos’s bedside.

  “Que paso, hermanito?”

  Hermanito. My high school Spanish is rusty, but I believe that means little brother. He runs his palm across Carlos’s head as if he’s examining a sick child. There’s an unexpected tenderness in the way he strokes his brother’s hair, in contrast to the tatted-up, don’t-mess-with-me look he gives off. It causes a warmth to stir in my belly.

  “I’m fine.” Carlos laughs. “I’m Superman, remember?”

  “Yes, you are, little brother.” An affectionate smile stretches across his lips.

  “He’s so hot,” Lindsey whispers, snapping me back to reality.

  “He’s not my type,” I say, unable to pull my gaze away.

  “Uh-huh. Sure he’s not.”

  “Oh, shut up and give me that chart.”

  Chapter Four

  Anthony

  “I told you to take it easy.”

  “I was taking it easy.”

  He doesn’t even know what that means. Too busy partying it up every night. No matter how many times I tell him to stop that shit, he doesn’t listen. He’s young, famous, and thinks he’s invincible.

  “Mentiroso.”

  “I’m not lying!” Carlos laughs and I punch his arm. “Ouch! What’s your problem? You need to relax.” He smacks me back.

  I’m so busy staring him down that I don’t hear the light knock against the doorframe until Carlos straightens in his bed.

  “Hey.” Carlos sits up. I lock eyes with the doctor and realize it’s the one from the waiting room. She pauses, seeming to lose her train of thought as she lets her gaze run across my body. Curiosity stirs beneath my ribs. “Anthony, meet the pretty doctor lady.” Carlos’s voice pulls her out of her trance, and her attention drops to my brother. The edge of her lip twitches and he catches her. “Ah! I knew it.”

  “Knew what?” she asks.

  “That I could make you like me.” Carlos winks.

  The nurse who followed the doctor inside tries to hide her laughter.

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry about my brother, Doctor…?”

  “Zameeni.”

  “Dr. Zameeni. He can be a bit immature.” I throw Carlos a hard glare, and he sinks back into the mattress.

  I hate that he makes me play dad all the time. Doesn’t he realize everything I’m doing for him? I despise this life. I’m here only because he loves it. The least he could do is take care of himself so I don’t always have to be the damn bad guy.

  “It’s okay,” the doctor says. She watches me with consideration, like she can read my thoughts. I feel exposed, and my heart beats faster.

  “So, how’s he doing?” I ask.

  She glances at Travis, who’s trying to stand as far in the corner as possible to stay out of the way. “Carlos, are you okay discussing your medical diagnosis with other people in the room?”

  “I have a medical diagnosis?” Carlos scoots up in the bed, turning to me. His forehead creases but he doesn’t look at the doctor who can answer his question. Instead, he waits for me to say something. He needs me to be strong right now. That only makes my stomach churn worse.

  “It’ll be okay, hermanito,” I reassure him. He leans closer to me, and the doctor’s expression softens. “What’s going on, Dr. Zamee
ni?”

  She doesn’t answer right away and her pause sends my stomach rushing to the floor. She’s just staring at me, so I smile because I don’t know what else to do. The taste of bile burns my throat. Maybe she sees right through my calm disguise and doesn’t know how to break it to me? I square my shoulders and prepare for the news. Still she doesn’t speak. Why isn’t she saying anything? Is it that bad?

  The nurse grips her elbow lightly and the doctor startles and blushes as if she’s been caught doing something wrong. Travis raises a brow at me.

  Wait? Was she just checking me out?

  Normally, I’d be flattered. Especially from a woman like her. But right now, I need her to focus on Carlos’s situation before I have a heart attack myself.

  “What’s wrong with my brother, Dr. Zameeni?” I keep my voice steady, not wanting anyone to know how freaked out I really am.

  She clears her throat, now flushed with embarrassment. And even though I’m annoyed, I find her intriguing.

  “Your test results showed some irregularities with your heartbeat,” she begins. “We’ll need to get some more extensive tests before a solid diagnosis can be made, but it looks like it could be more than just an adrenaline rush up onstage. I’m calling for a consult with Cardiology.”

  At the mention of his heart, my own pulse starts racing. I grab the edge of the bed to steady myself. Carlos doesn’t notice but Dr. Zameeni does. “At least we’ve spotted the issue early. That’s good news.” I cross my arms over my chest and give her a nod and she returns it with an encouraging smile. “Once they do their assessment, they’ll decide on how to proceed.”

  Carlos, meanwhile, has turned chalky. “You…you think I have a heart condition?”

  “We don’t know that yet,” I tell him. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?” I squeeze his shoulder, then turn my attention back to the doctor. “Thank you, Dr. Zameeni.”

  “I’m just doing my job.”

  “Well, we really appreciate it.”

  “If you need anything else, I’ll be here for a few more hours. Try to get comfortable. We’re very backed up this evening and the consults are running behind.”