Page 57 of Forever Fighting
Roman listens intently before he turns back to the nurse he was speaking with prior. “Add whatever the baby needs onto my bill,” he says in Spanish.
And much like when he ran and jumped into the water, he’s not doing this for fanfare or for Instagram likes or for any notoriety at all. He’s doing this because that’s the sort of human he is. The woman tries to argue, but her attempt is half-assed. After all, her baby is sick and needs help.
“Please,” Roman says to her in Spanish. “I can do this. It’s okay. Let me help you.”
She thanks him profusely and says something about repayment.
He shakes his head. “No. No repayment. Take care of your girl.”
He must catch me out of the corner of his eye because he turns, and if Roman Fritz could blush, I swear he would be now. He didn’t want me to know he was doing this for her, and I can’t describe the rush I’m suddenly feeling. It’s the nurse in me, but it’s more than that.
It’s him. This man. This incredible fucking man.
The same one who can scare the shit out of men with a simple look. Who can reduce line cooks to tears over an improperly cooked sauce. Who fights strangers for money in warehouses because he can’t handle the anger inside of himself but donates every cent of his winnings to charity. Who has an emotional barrier between himself and the world, never revealing too much. His heart is a secret. A beautiful, magical place.
And I get to see it.
He’s been my best friend forever, but somehow, it’s like I haven’t truly seen him until now. It’s all these things, the giant and the tiny, but they all add up to something I’m finding harder and harder to ignore or deny.
It’s Roman.
At least that’s what my heart is trying to scream at me.
But what happens to us if I listen?
18
ROMAN
Braelyn is quiet as we sit in the back of the taxi, the bag of supplies I purchased without issue on her lap since she made me hold a clean pad of gauze over my cut. She’s not mad at me. I don’t think it’s that, but she’s… I don’t know. I don’t know what this is, and I can typically read her pretty well.
“What’s up?” I ask, no longer able to handle the suspense. Our driver is yelling at someone on his phone in Spanish while blasting music, so it’s just us back here.
She turns her head and looks up at me. “You’re a good man, Roman Fritz.”
My insides shift, and not in a fun way. “I’m really not. Ask anyone who works for me.”
“I’m not talking about being nice. I’m talking about beinggood. There’s a difference.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. I don’t feel like a good man. Or maybe it’s that I don’t feel like a deserving man. Nash was the good one. Always smiling and happy. He wanted to be a pediatric neurosurgeon. He wanted to save lives and make a difference. I cook food. Expensive foodthat not many can afford. I slam my fists into people and revel when I make them bleed or break bones.
That’s not good. There’s a certain amount of evil in a man who does that.
I have more money than I’ll ever be able to spend in ten lifetimes, and I spread it around. It’s my way of evening the karmic scales, but I already know they’ll never be tipped in my favor.
“You’re a nurse and have the kindest, most honest and pure heart I’ve ever experienced in anyone. You see the best in everyone.”
“Roman, you’re a good man,” she tells me firmly. “At some point, you need to start accepting that. What happened that awful day wasn’t your fault. You saved two lives today, and that’s everything.”
She lets it end there, and it does because now we’re back at the resort, then in our suite. She sits me down at the dining room table, a towel beneath my hand, where she has me soaking it in a basin of Betadine as she sets everything else up.
“Dude, there’s no lidocaine.”
“What?”
“Numbing agent.”
“Oh.” I shrug. “I guess they forgot to include it. It’s fine.”
