“Huh? You mean, an iguana?”
“No, it’s my tibia that’s banged up, not my head.” The corners of his wide mouth curved in a teasing grin she nearly found herself returning.
“An iguaca,” he enunciated the word. “It’s Taino for ‘parrot.’ Because of the efforts of those working at the Iguaca Aviary, the endangered Puerto Rican parrot population has started increasing. Still, you don’t see many. And when you do . . .”
“You can’t help but capture its photograph,” she finished, knowing him almost as well as she knew herself. Or so she’d once thought.
The reminder was a sobering one.
His camera had been like an extension of his hands. Always there, somehow finding the perfect moment, a beautiful or moving image the average eye may have missed, but his never did.
“So, you were snapping pics of this endangered bird and decided you could fly off the edge of the waterfall along with it.”
“Well, it wasn’t quite—”
“Only, gravity had other ideas,” she said, barely quelling the stark fear tightening her chest at the image of him toppling over the mottled gray and black rocks, his blood mingling with the water spilling off the jagged, slippery surface.
Driving an ambulance, she had witnessed her fair share of death and carnage, far too often the result of foolish thinking. She didn’t have to rely on her imagination to conjure any number of potential accidents when a daredevil like Alejandro went hiking on his own. The idea of him or any of her loved ones being the victim on a call she responded to at the station made her blood run colder than the springs she’d once tubed down in Central Florida.
“Not quite,” Alejandro countered. “I followed the parrot up a rock ledge I’d seen another hiker traverse. Actually got some incredible pictures of him in flight. A few other beauties with him perched on a tree limb.” He arched an impudent brow, far too sexy for someone in need of a bath, a shave, and a fatten-me-up Cuban mami meal. “I was feeling pretty satisfied with my Spidey climbing talents. Right up until my damn foot slipped and my non-superhero status became clear.”
A laugh bubbled up her throat at his self-deprecating grumble and perturbed grimace. Anamaría slapped a hand over her mouth to smother it.
“The only good thing was that I managed to save my camera from any damage.” He cradled his hands to his chest as if protecting a priceless object.
Anamaría snorted in disbelief as she sat on the edge of his bed facing him, careful not to bump his leg. “So, your camera’s fine, but your tibia shaft didn’t fare nearly as well. Why does that not surprise me?”
“Hey, anything for the best shot.” He spread his hands wide, his shoulders rising and falling with a shrug. “You know how it is. No pain, no gain.”
“Uh-uh. That’s my line as a fitness instructor,” she countered. “Sounds much better when I say it.”
“Depends on your perspective.”
“And we’ve always had different ones.” Coño, the jab slipped out before she could stop it.
Tension snapped in the air. The old accusation hung between them like overripe mangos left to rot on the branch.
“Forget I said that,” she offered, raising a hand to stem any argument from him. “It does no one, least of all us, any good to go there. The past is . . .”
“The past,” he completed her thought when she let her voice trail off.
Regret and the staunch determination to ignore it warred inside her, wounding her with each strike.
Alejandro’s sober gaze ensnared hers. “I had no idea she called you. If I’d known what she was thinking, I would have—”
“Been unable to stop her,” Anamaria interrupted. “She’s a force of nature, that woman. Much like my mami.”
“Dios mío, deliver me from meddling mamis. One of many things I don’t miss about Key West.” His head dropped back to thump against the wall behind him.
If she were a glutton for punishment, she’d ask what the other “many things” might be. But there was no need to confirm her place of honor on his undoubtedly long “don’t miss” list. That fact had become cruelly apparent the second she’d found out about his marriage to some swimsuit model. Less than six months after his and Anamaría’s final video chat.
Dios, she would never forget the day her mom had sat her down at the familia dinner table. Her mami’s face shadowed with remorse. Brown eyes shiny with unshed tears. Her hands twisting with unease, afraid of how her baby girl would react.
The news of Alejandro’s new wife had hit Anamaría like an unexpected backdraft, a whoosh of heated air and flames blowing over her. Incinerating her silly adolescent dreams and young love until they were nothing but a pile of smoke-tinged ashes.
Not that Alejandro needed to know how decimated his actions had left her. Or the errant choices she’d made in the ensuing years.
Her days of self-sabotage, of unwittingly falling into the trap of holding herself back, were over. She had her eyes on the future now. Not the past.
“Yeah, well, get used to that meddling and hovering,” she warned him, scooting a little closer to peer at his injury. “If you’re stuck here while you convalesce and get back on your feet, odds are that’ll be at least a couple months. Longer if you’re hardheaded and don’t take care of yourself or follow your doctor’s orders. Like I’m guessing you haven’t been?”
His bland expression didn’t fool her.
“Thought so,” she muttered.
“Believe me, I’m not pleased about having to drop or postpone my bookings for the next few months. I should be enjoying Belize. Not cooped up here. And after my mother’s move today, I am all for doing whatever it takes to speed up my recovery and get the hell out of here.”
Of course he was. Leaving “the Rock” had always been his goal. She’d simply thought he meant to eventually return, and not by force.
Her mistake.
“That’s news I’m sure your doctor will approve of.” Opening the first-aid kit, Anamaría set a handful of cotton balls on the lid, adding medical tape and gauze to the supplies. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with. That way we can make sure you’re back out there snapping the next Alejandro Miranda award-winning photograph as soon as possible.”
“So, you heard about those . . . the awards?” he clarified when she tilted her head in confusion.
“Por favor.” She rolled her eyes at his failed attempt at modesty. “The way news travels around this island? In our comunidad? Who didn’t hear, whether they wanted to or not?”
He waved off her backhanded praise, but his lips curved in a cocky tilt she would have tickled into a howl of laughter in the past. Not today, though.
“I’m surprised they didn’t hold a freaking parade,” she went on. “Although it probably would have been awkward when the guest of honor didn’t bother showing.”
His playful grin dissolved. Lips pressed together in a tight line, he rubbed a hand at the scruff on his cheeks, looking oddly uncomfortable with the truth.
A sliver of guilt for her rudeness pricked her conscience. A bigger person would congratulate him on his success. Compliment his magazine covers, gush over the breath-taking, cinematic images he’d taken across the world.