“Listen, I don’t want anything to happen to your mother either. I want us all safe, and I’ll do everything I can to keep it that way. We’ll figure this out. Somehow.”
And with that Cole pulled safely into his father’s reserved parking spot at the hospital. “Is the love-fest over? Can we go entertain the sick kids with our magic tricks now?” he chirped a little over anxiously.
Alik gave his friend a sideways look and thought, not for the first time, how difficult it must be for Cole knowing everyone else was expected to protect him because he would be helpless against a metahuman.
I guess if I were him, I’d change the subject, too, Alik thought to himself.
6 Cafeteria Food
Morning shook the fog from my mind. Did last night really happen? Did I take Maze for a walk and run into a guy outside last night? A guy who wouldn’t get the hint that I wanted nothing to do with him? A guy with handsome blue eyes and a wide, dreamy smile?
Yeah, that’s it. It had to be a dream.
Who in their right mind would go by the name ‘Creed?’ I thought to myself smugly. Good grief. That was a soap opera name, not a real guy’s name.
Still groggy, I let the morning sun from the hospital window warm my face. I slowly batted my eyes open and turned to watch my mother breathe. Her chest rose and fell faintly, but definitely.
“Evan, wake up,” I whispered so as not to disturb mom. Evan mumbled in response. “Evan, it’s seven o’clock, and I’m starved. Do you wanna go get breakfast, or do you want me to?” Her littlest brother mumbled more and rolled over on his way-too-small cot.
He sure was cute when he was sleeping. That sandy blond hair falling in wisps over his long eyelashes just made him look so sweet—like he used to when he was a little boy. His birthday was fast approaching, though. He was nearly thirteen-years-old. Where did my baby brother go? I reached out and touched his unruly hair away from his eyes. Maybe I should just let him sleep.
“Okay, kiddo. I’ll go fetch breakfast for us. You sleep,” I whispered to him.
“Maze, you coming?” I looked over at my loyal coyote fast asleep at the foot of my cot. He opened his eyes just a crack and blinked once before letting his sleepy lids fall back closed.
“Okay, you guys. I’ll bring back food. Just don’t complain if I didn’t grab your favorites,” I whispered to the room full of sleeping family.
After a quick kiss to my mom’s cheek, I turned and stepped out of the hospital room, and listened for the door to lock automatically behind me.
The hospital’s cafeteria was located in the basement. It usually had the standard stuff with one “daily special” posted on an old-fashioned green chalk board. Today’s turquoise chalk proudly announced, “Sausage and Eggs with Flour Tortillas, Beans and Salsa!”
Now, that sounds delicious! I thought to myself. I haven’t had good Mexican food since I left our Texas ranch. Not wanting to get my hopes too high, I placed my order. “Three daily specials, three milks and six biscuits to go, please.” I said to the cook behind the cafeteria-like counter.
“Ah, a girl after my own heart and a hearty appetite, too!” the cook chirped happily. I just smiled back, not wanting to explain that I’d just ordered for myself, my bottomless pit of a brother, and my sixty-pound coyote.
“Wow, you must be hungry,” a vaguely familiar voice laughed beside me.
I turned and saw the blue eyes from my dreams; only, this wasn’t a dream. We were standing side-by-side in the hospital cafeteria line under glaring florescent lights. He was real, and the immediate magnetism I felt was enough to knock me silent.
“I’ll have two orders of the special, please,” he called over to the cook. He glanced at me and added, “To go.”
“You seem to be making a habit of doing that,” I said trying to regain my composure.
“Doing what?”
“Sneaking up on me.”
“I almost didn’t recognize you without your fur coat,” he teased, referring to Maze no doubt.
“I almost didn’t recognize you in the light of day,” I tried to counter smartly, but came across smug instead.
“You never told me your name last night,” he said under his breath.
“I told you the name of my ferocious coyote. That should be enough.” I could feel his sleeve brush my arm, barely grazing the fine hair, sending sparks to my tummy. Self-consciously, I scooted my plastic orange tray further away from him.
“I only have a passing interest in your coyote; it’s you I want to know.” His voice was barely audible above the noise of the room. I had to force myself to concentrate on breathing because the room was getting very thick and my senses were feeling overwhelmed. The sounds of the clanking pots and pans, food sizzling in pats of butter, scraping of griddles by metal spatulas, voices murmuring, laughing, talking all around me.
“That’ll be $30.35, miss,” a female voice said. “Miss?”