The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,385

before he storms out.

I grab them and rush to the bathroom, throw them in the sink, and turn the water on to douse the flames.

The smoke makes my smoke detector go off, and I grab a towel to wave the small plume away. The sound stops, but I hear the patter of little feet, as soon as I turn the water off.

“ Y’a quelque chose qui brûle ici ?” (“What’s burning?”) Martinez peeks around the frame of my bathroom door. For the last two years, he’s only spoken French. He goes to the French school here and is fully immersed in it. I don’t mind, because it makes them very easy to tell apart. Unlike Remi and me, they are identical.

“C’était un accident, chéri,” (It was an accident) I tell him, guiding him out of the smoke stink of the bathroom. I shut the door and then stoop to put myself face to face with him. He looks so much like my brothers, but he has his father’s sky-blue eyes. Right now, they’re heavy and groggy with sleep.

I run a hand over his mop of curls and smile indulgently at him. My heart is still racing from Marcel’s fire and brimstone routine, but just having my hands on my son helps me calm down. “Tu es toujours fatigué?” (Are you still tired?)

“Non, mama,” he says, and then gives a huge yawn.

I laugh and scoop him up. “Allez viens. Retournons dormir.” (Come on let’s go back to sleep). I plop him onto the bed and pull the comforter off, when I see the spot when he’d thrown the paper. I grab a blanket from the leather bench at the foot of my bed and cover him with it, command the lights off and lay down with my soft, sweet smelling reason for everything tucked by my side. When his breathing evens out and I’m sure he’s asleep, I get out of bed and grab my phone and go back to the bathroom to call Stone.

Unlike the wild, consuming love affair we had on that island, our daily phone calls, while treasured, are distinctly dissatisfying.

By tacit agreement, we talk about everything but us or how we feel. Instead, we talk about work, our families, life, politics, anything, but the huge elephant in the room. With so much left unsaid, there’s an undercurrent of frustrated tension in every conversation.

But still, there’s no one else I’d rather talk to. And I know he feels the same way. As if to prove me right, my phone buzzes with a text before I can dial his number.

Are you awake?

Yes.

My heart skips a beat, and a smile breaks across my face when my phone starts to ring almost immediately.

“You okay? How’d it go?” He sounds like he’s holding his breath.

“Yes, I’m fine. It’s fine. He was mad, but it’s done,” I say, with a small burst of excitement.

He lets out a harsh breath. “I wish I could get away.” Half of the doctors on his team are out sick with some norovirus, and Stone is working double shifts.

“Stone, don't worry. The hard part is done. And I’m fine.”

“You know the more you say that, the less I believe you, right?”

“Okay, well I’ll stop saying it. But it’s true.”

“Did he call you? When is he coming back to Houston?” He asks each question in rapid fire succession. I can feel his anxiety, and I wish I could say something to soothe it. But given that mine is running high, I can’t even begin to.

“He flew to Houston.”

“What? He’s there?”

“This morning. He came as soon as he was served. He’s not happy. There’s nothing he can do to stop it. But he’ll try. I’m so afraid this is going to get ugly.”

“No, it won’t. And if he tries anything, I’ll kick his ass,” he says, in that assured way of his that makes everything feel like it’ll be okay.

“God, I miss you, Stone.” I sigh at how good it feels to say it aloud.

“Me too. I can’t stop thinking about you. People keep asking me why I’m smiling so much.”

I giggle, another new thing that being with Stone has brought about. Marcel’s visit feels like it happened in another lifetime. Stone has a way of making everything clean and bright and new.

“Let’s go back to Mexico,” I whisper.

“I wish. I’ve been looking at the pictures from our trip. I took so many good ones of your sexy ass.” His voice is husky and deep, and it makes my knees