Page 36 of Second Chance Fate (Hope Falls: Brewed Awakenings #5)

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Bernadette Cole, whose nametag read Bardi C, sing-songed as she entered the room.

Taylor knew her better than any of the other nurses because Bernadette typically worked in the pediatric unit. As luck would have it, she was covering for a nurse on maternity leave, which is why she was on the general floor.

Bardi C was a nickname her grandchildren had given her after the rapper Cardi B. A lot of the kids in pediatrics were big Cardi B fans, so it was a great way to break the ice with them. Owen had picked up on it right away the first time she’d treated him, and they’d immediately bonded over it.

Each time Taylor saw Bernadette, she radiated positivity and joy, almost like she was a walking, breathing, living embodiment of the sun, and today was no different.

Her tangerine scrubs mirrored the vibrant energy she exuded.

Her waist-length box braids were pinned up in a topknot on her head, and the style accentuated her high cheekbones and almond-shaped hazel eyes that were as vivid as the sun setting in the east. “How’s my favorite patient doing? ”

Taylor had a sneaking suspicion that Bernadette cast a wide net when it came to her “favorites.”

“Great, I’m doing great.” Taylor absolutely could not spend another night in this hospital. She’d been in the hospital for five days. Three of those were in the ICU. She was transferred yesterday morning to the general ward.

Unfortunately, Bernadette didn’t just take Taylor’s word for it.

She decided to take her temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, respiratory rate, and oxygen saturation and document those results.

Without checking her chart to see what the numbers were, Taylor knew they weren’t great.

She knew that because she was lying about how she was feeling.

She felt better than she had when she arrived in the ICU but not even close to great.

She was still suffering from fatigue, brain fog, dizziness, chills, achiness, nausea, heart palpitations, and general flu-like symptoms. She lied about feeling great because she wanted, no, needed to get to go home.

“Mr. Cutie Patootie Pastor sure is worried about you.” Bernadette removed the empty bag from the IV pole before replacing it with a clear bag that was full.

“You know, I’ve worked here for about twenty years, and I remember Caleb visiting countless patients with his daddy.

And these past few years, since the pulpit torch was passed to him, he’s been here a lot in his pastoral role.

He always shows up when he’s needed and goes above and beyond…

But, with you …” She glanced, tilted her head, and her eyes narrowed slightly. “…with you…he’s different.”

Taylor was sure Caleb was different with her.

He’d gone from being a single man with no responsibilities to becoming a father of a pre-teen overnight.

If anything happened to her, he was going to be a single father.

Wouldn’t he? She wasn’t actually sure what would happen legally.

That had been bothering her a lot. What if she’d gotten in a car accident?

Or if this infection took a turn. What legal rights did Caleb have?

Caleb had been incredible with Owen. He was the only reason she hadn’t signed herself out of the hospital.

She wasn’t sure how she could have gotten through this without him.

Owen and Casper had been staying at Caleb’s house.

Owen had his own room and bathroom, and there was a big backyard that Casper loved.

Caleb had handled everything from school, a doctor’s appointment, prescription refills, and shuttling Owen back and forth to the hospital every afternoon when he got out of school, which was an hour round trip.

Each time the two of them walked into the hospital room, Taylor’s heart swelled just a little bit more.

She wanted so badly to tell Owen who Caleb was.

She was scared that he would feel like she’d kept a secret from him, because…

well, she had. She needed to tell him, but how could she when he was here in the hospital?

“It’s not just you; he’s so good with Owen,” Bernadette continued.

“He is,” Taylor agreed.

“The two of them are like two peas in a pod,” Bernadette observed as she exchanged the plastic pitcher of water that had been on the bedside tray since the day before with a fresh one and set a disposable paper souffle medicine cup filled with Taylor’s morning pills next to it.

She poured a fresh cup of chilled water, and the sides of the clear plastic cup clouded up with condensation.

Taylor put the pills in her mouth, picked up the cup, and tipped her head back as she took a big drink.

“Have you noticed that the two of them have the same dimples? Same eyes, too.”

Hearing Bernadette point out the genetic traits that they shared caused Taylor to choke as the pills slid down her throat.

Bernadette quickly assisted her by patting her back and instructing her to sit up straighter.

Thankfully, it was just the liquid that was blocking her air passages and not the actual pills.

After a few seconds of choking, Taylor was able to catch her breath. And in more good news, before Bernadette could follow up with any more observations, she got paged.

As Taylor sat in bed recovering, she picked up her phone and checked to see if she’d missed any calls or texts from Owen.

She messaged him every morning before school to check in, but she rarely got a reply back.

She wondered as she stared down at the wallpaper of Owen and Casper what the collateral damage would be once she revealed that Caleb was Owen’s biological father.

Thankfully, he’d always known the truth that her ex was not his dad.

Even though Martin had tried to force her to lie, it was the one thing she’d been adamant about.

Owen knew the truth about how he was conceived; he just didn’t know the who of it all. But he would very soon.

“Knock knock.”

Taylor looked up and saw a man she didn’t recognize in blue scrubs whose broad hands were balanced around a hospital tray.

He wore a short beard that had more salt than pepper in it and a mischievous smile.

He had the air of someone who’d worked enough hospital shifts to have seen it all.

There was a faint, pleasant aroma of coffee clinging to him, and he walked in as if he owned the place.

“Is MTV coming to shoot your Super Sweet Sixteen?” he asked, surveying the room.

The walls were crowded with Mylar and latex balloon bouquets.

Two floral arrangements bookended the windowsill, and another sat on the edge of the nightstand.

A small army of teddy bears and plush animals was staged around the room on every surface that could hold one.

Some of the balloons had already started to sag, like even the decorations were tired of being there and wanted to leave.

He set the tray down on the rolling overbed table and adjusted it so that the napkin and plastic utensils lined up precisely. She read the name on his tag, Mario.

Growing up, Taylor had to trust her instincts when it came to meeting strangers.

Her life depended on it. When you get moved around as much as she did, with no real protection in a system that was broken, you have to come up with your own system.

She put people in three categories: safe, neutral, and dangerous.

Mario wasn’t just safe; he was someone she instantly trusted. Just like she’d instantly trusted Caleb. Not ‘just like.’ She wasn’t attracted to Mario, and even if she were, she was almost certain she wasn’t his type.

“Either you’re a celebrity, or someone who loves you robbed the gift shop,” Mario added, giving Taylor a conspiratorial wink. “My money’s on your Hot Pastor. I always knew he had a little bad boy in him.”

“He’s not…we’re not…” Taylor stumbled over her words.

She knew Mario was joking. Obviously, he was not serious about Caleb robbing the gift shop.

But she didn’t want anyone to start throwing around words like “ love ,” or possessive adjectives like “your” when referring to Hot Pastor. “…he doesn’t…”

Mario lifted his hand and tsked three times.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Save it. That man sat by your bedside for hours when you were in the ICU; he was sick with worry. I’ve seen the look on his face when he leaves your room.

I’ve heard the way he speaks to doctors about you.

Little birdies have chirped about how amazing he is with your son.

You, my beauty, can float down DeNile all you want, but that man loves you. ”

Taylor knew she could explain all of Caleb’s behavior. He was Owen’s dad. That was why he was so worried about Taylor. It had nothing to do with her .

“Alright, bon appétit.” Mario lifted the plastic cloche.

Mario must have seen the look on Taylor’s face because he switched into tough love mode.

“It’s not about how it tastes. You, my beauty, need to get your strength back. These nurses are vultures. They smell blood, and they are circling Hot Pastor like sharks.”

“In this analogy, am I the blood?” Taylor asked, by way of clarification.

“Yes,” he nodded unapologetically. “And in the wise words of Whoopi in Ghost, Taylor, you’re in danger, girl. I have seen more YouTube tutorialed smokey eyes and contoured cheeks these past few days than I have in a decade of working here. Don’t get me started on tailored scrubs.”

Taylor couldn’t help but laugh, which was a surprise, because for days she’d felt like her body was too exhausted to waste energy on anything except the important stuff, like breathing and dragging herself to the bathroom.

“There it is.” Mario beamed. “That’s all I wanted.”

“What?” Taylor wasn’t sure what he was talking about.

“I’ve seen you with Owen. I had a single mom, and she was not …” Mario took a deep, shaky breath. “Well, I’ll just say, you are one of the good ones. These past few days you lost your smile. I wanted to help you find it.”

Taylor felt herself tear up. That might be the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.

“No.” Mario shook his head as he covered his eyes. “I don’t want to see that. I’m leaving on a happy note.”

He left as quickly as he came, humming a little tune under his breath.

Taylor looked around, and, for the first time since her admission, she really saw the room. There were cards taped up—some handmade, some with glitter and puns; one large one was signed by Owen’s entire classroom. He’d only been in school a few weeks.

She’d been so focused on the endless rounds of tests, the IVs, and the uncertainty that she hadn’t realized how many get-well wishes she’d received.

It was almost overwhelming. There were bouquets from the residents at Golden Years collectively and some individually, and over a dozen women at the book club had either sent balloons or stuffed animals or both.

Taylor started counting the deliveries and stopped after two dozen.

It wasn’t just the gifts; she’d had visitors.

Audrey and Viv both came by yesterday; they assured her that her job was waiting for her when she was feeling better and offered any help she needed.

She thought back to her childhood, to the endless parade of foster homes, the years where birthdays and Christmas meant a polite, distant greeting card if she was lucky.

She’d never been the kind of person who expected anyone to show up for her.

As she looked around, she saw that she was surrounded by messages of support and encouragement.

She felt buoyed in a weird current of belonging.

It was like being dropped into a family reunion she hadn’t known she was invited to.

As much as she wanted to get out of the hospital, she realized that being here—being cared for, thought of, remembered—felt strangely like a homecoming, to a home she’d always wanted but never had.