Page 13

Nic

Two hours later, I’m back at the Pacific Coast Children’s Ward, gripping a huge bouquet of white roses.

The ward is quieter than it was last night—no shrieking toddlers or frazzled moms, just the distant beeping of heart monitors.

And the anxious tapping of Barry’s red sneakers against the linoleum.

Since my van is still dead, I’d wrangled him into driving me to campus, throwing in a sweetener to get him to detour to the Pacific Coast on the way.

He exhales loudly, flicking his wrist to check his watch for the tenth time in five minutes.

“We really can’t afford to be late, Nic.”

I ignore him, paste on a smile and turn back to watch the windows overlooking Ward 4 through which I can see Bella and her mother, Jenna Anderson, speaking to the pediatric surgeon. Bella is nodding and smiling, while Jenna stands stiff, arms crossed, her mouth in a grim line.

“Nic . . .” Barry singsongs.

I shift my grip on the bouquet. “Look, this may be my last chance to make peace, Barry. Bella is getting discharged today. I can’t just—“

“Crash Jenna’s house with an overpowering bouquet of white roses like a guilt-ridden stalker?” Barry supplies dryly.

“Exactly.” I adjust my favorite purple knitted shrug as it slips down one shoulder, then smooth the fabric of my white maxi dress.

Another minute and Barry scrubs a hand over his face. “See, it’s bad enough that we signed up for Keoni’s course at the last minute, and now we’re going to be late to his first lecture.”

I let out a nervous chuckle and try not to imagine what getting on Professor Keoni’s bad side would mean. The guy is not only eccentric, he’s legendary for making examples out of students who piss him off.

“It’s only a twenty-minute drive. Worst-case scenario? We’ll skip the lecture.”

Barry stares at me like I just suggested we skip oxygen. “You don’t get it, do you? I have a feeling Keoni’s already marked us as the ‘late sign-ups,’ and now we’re gonna be his official scapegoats.”

I arch a brow. “I think you’re being overly dramatic.”

“Am I?” Barry huffs, adjusting his skinny leather tie before flicking invisible lint from his tailored black blazer—a sharp contrast to the bright red sneakers he somehow makes work. “Remember when I worked at the campus diner in our undergrad days?”

I nod.

“Well, I never told you this, but one time, Keoni came into the diner, sat in my section, ordered still water, and flat-out stared at me—for fifteen minutes straight.”

I bite back a laugh. “Maybe you were just really bad at refilling his drink.”

“Maybe I felt my soul leave my body that day. It was like being stared down by a shark.”

Okay, fine. Maybe he has a point. But I bought two dozen white roses for Jenna Anderson. I’m not leaving without getting back in her good books.

I glance at my own watch. Five more minutes. If Bella doesn’t come out, I’ll have to leave the flowers at the front desk and go, knowing I’m fucked.

I probably already am, considering Maya and Hunter’s moms pulled them out of the group this morning. If I don’t fix this, I might not have a class to teach by next week.

Valencia’s gossip mill moves fast: one mom tells another, and before you know it, you’re the town villain.

The double doors to the ward finally swing open, and Jenna Anderson wheels out Bella, who has one leg stretched straight in front of her encased in a pink cast. She beams when she sees me waiting.

Jenna notices me too, but she doesn’t acknowledge me at all.

“Mommy, it’s Miss Nic!” She squeals, giving Jenna no choice but to stop. “Look, Miss Nic!” she proudly shows off her leg. “It’s got glitter in it!”

I crouch down beside her wheelchair, forcing my voice to stay light. “No way! Did you get to pick the color too?”

She bobs her head enthusiastically, her blonde curls bouncing. “Pink is my favorite.”

“I know, sweetie,” I smile. “And guess what? Now all your friends can sign on it.”

Bella’s voice dips into something shy, wistful. “Oh yeah? I’m going to let Ron sign it first.”

I bite back a sigh and grin, already sensing the beginnings of a childhood crush.

“When can I come back to class, Miss Nic?” She asks, her big brown eyes imploring. “I promise I’ll be careful. I don’t even have to do anything. I can sit and watch everyone else.”

Behind her, Jenna stiffens.

“We talked about this, Bella,” she says gently, but her knuckles whiten on the wheelchair handles. “You must get better first. Then your daddy and I will think about it.”

Bella pouts. “But the doctor said—“

“Sweetie, your mom is right,” I cut in quickly. “You need to get better first.”

I reach into my tote bag, pulling out a stuffed ballerina doll to pacify her. “Here. She can keep you company while you heal.”

Bella gasps like I’ve handed her a diamond tiara. She hugs the toy to her chest, eyes shining. “Thank you, Miss Nic!”

Jenna says nothing.

I straighten, ignoring the cold weight in my stomach, and offer Jenna the bouquet.

“These are for you, Mrs. Anderson. Again, I’m really sorry.”

She takes them with an obligatory tight smile. Then she turns without a word and wheels Bella away while I stand there, hand still outstretched, watching as they disappear down the hall.

“Yep. She still hates your guts,” Barry mutters beside me.

“I gathered as much, but thanks for pointing out that helpful fact.”

Barry chuckles, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and steering me toward the exit. “We try. We fail. We move. Come on.”

The irony of it all is, the $2,500 check cleared my account this morning, along with another $5,000, no doubt the commission for the check Kai tried to give me that night.

Two years of grinding myself to the bone and I can almost taste success. And now it’s likely too late to be of any use now.

Frustration bubbles in my chest, but Barry’s right. There’s nothing left to do here.

Barry’s beat-up Civic lurches forward another inch, groaning like it might just give up on life entirely. The second he taps the brake, my seatbelt locks, nearly strangling me.

I press my fingertips to my temples. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. We had time.”

“Yeah, well, so did the dinosaurs. Look how that turned out.”

Another horn blares behind us, long and angry. Barry glares at the rearview mirror, flipping them off. “Calm down, Kyle. No one cares about your Ford F-150 compensation issues.”

Apparently done venting, Barry turns to me with renewed focus. “Enough freaking out. Let’s talk about you.”

I’d rather keep freaking out than talk about me.

“I’ll start. For the hundredth time, Nic—are you sure you don’t know that guy from the fundraiser?”

I grit my teeth. “And for the hundredth time, I told you—it’s not up for discussion.”

“Just checking if maybe, I don’t know, you had a sudden change of heart about spilling the tea.”

I shoot him a flat look. “Since when you asked half an hour ago?”

He shrugs. “Can you blame me? You two looked like you’d been starving for years. The kiss was The Notebook—with a side serving of hardcore porn.”

I send him a sharp glare.

Barry lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine.”

Two beats of silence.

Then—

“It’s just . . .” He shifts in his seat, clearly unable to let it go. “I can’t, for the life of me, work out how two strangers go from ‘Come here often?’ to full-on ass-groping in ten seconds flat.”

“Shut up, Barry.”

“You shut up. Just fucking tell me already! You know I’ll never stop bugging you otherwise. I’m already getting nightmares from it. I mean, that man’s head was so far down your throat, he probably knows what your lungs taste like.”

“Eww. Jesus! Fiiiine!” I growl. “Cafe! After Keoni’s lecture.”

Barry grins instantly. “Knew you’d break.”

I cross my arms, but Barry isn’t done.

“And while you’re at it, maybe you can also explain why you’re still holed up in Daddy’s house and why I’m getting missed calls from the Douche of Valencia? Do I hear breakup bells?”

I groan. “God, I loathe everyone right now.”

He eyes me. “And yet, there you are, minutes from plotting another love bomb on Jenna Anderson.”

I roll my eyes, hating that he’s right.

Fifteen minutes later, Barry jerks the Civic into a spot with all the grace of a drunk toddler on a tricycle.

With a mix of dread and relief, I step out, smoothing my maxi dress. We half-jog the rest of the way to the post grad lecture hall, narrowly missing being trampled by a group of freshmen—bright-eyed, brimming with delusion.

Barry pauses when we reach the double doors and then turns to me. “You know we’re fucked, right?”

“You mean we’re the two horror movie idiots that die first?”

We exchange a look. Then—despite ourselves—snicker.

Barry shoulders open the door. And then—the asshole shoves me in.

The smile dies on my lips the moment I stumble inside.

The amphitheater is too quiet. Too still.

Which makes the voice at the podium even more jarring.

The same one that’s been on replay in my head. Deep. Rough. Like gravel soaked in aged whiskey.

My stomach knots with dread as my lids fall closed.

Please, God, no.

This is worse than a horror movie.

It’s the monster showing up in real life.