In the mirror, her golden skin was dappled in shadow, her supple young body bent like an aged crone. Angel stood up and blazed at herself. “You will be strong. You are doing this for your son. Prostitutes do it. You will be strong, damn it.” She poked her image in the chest. “Just get in there. Talk him out of it or fuck him. Do what it takes.”

A knock on the front door distracted her from seesawing anger and despair.

In her terry bathrobe and a towel around her head, she strode across the living room. Not paying attention, she stepped on a scattering of Legos. “Puñeta!” she raged, kicking at the tiny blue and yellow and red blocks, cursing more than just her physical pain.

She opened the door.

“Were you yelling at me?” asked Duke, his eyebrows knit in concern.

She clutched the front of her robe, embarrassed, though more ashamed of the ratty old robe than of her bare flesh. He’d already seen that. She asked, “What do you want? This is a bad time.”

“I’m here for your nursing skills. After this, I’ll stay away, I promise.”

“Nursing skills? You can’t wrap your own ankle by now?”

“Can I come in?” The handsome man scanned the hallway nervously. “I’ll tell you inside.”

They sat awkwardly on the couch, like teenagers, space for two more people between them. She’d never noticed how lumpy the cushions were until now, or how threadbare the corduroy cover. The stains on the rug were suddenly obscene.

“So this is your place. It’s nice.”

“Yep, a real palace.”

“Seriously, you’ve made it homey. I bet Jose is happy here.” He gestured to the framed Botello print on the wall. “She looks like you. Very pretty. Is she related?”

“Funny guy. Jose says the same thing. It’s a famous painting from Puerto Rico.” She folded her arms. “Why are you here, Duke?”

He cleared his throat. “Last night, I didn’t tell you … I need a shot.” He opened the pocket of his leather coat, removing a syringe and a clear tincture bottle. “Will you do this for me?”

“Come on! After everything, now you want me to shoot you up?” She shook her head hard enough that the towel fell off and her long, damp curls sprang free. “No way!”

“This is what the doc gave me. It’s unethical, and definitely would get me disbarred from the league if they knew, but it’s a legal prescription.” He stared at her. “I don’t trust Pops to get it right. He’s not a medical professional. This is important.” His green eyes were earnest over his high cheekbones, his usual confidence shadowed by an air of anxiety and a deep pain. Angel hated seeing him like this.