Java Break (Java Cupid Series, Contributing Authors Book 1)

by Lynn Donovan

  She hoped he got the humor. Her gut clenched. Where was he?

  No response.

  She texted again, “Dillon? Where are you?”

  Her phone rang the default tune. She nearly dropped it. Number unknown. She stared at it while it rang. Then answered it. “H-hello.”

  “Wendy!” a woman hissed into the phone.

  She swallowed. “Yes?”

  “This is Brenda Barnes. From work?” Emotion cracked in her voice. “Listen, you need to come to the ER, right away.”

  “W-why?” Wendy’s stomach flipped over. Nausea lapped at the back of her tongue.

  “You know I’m breaking HIPPA telling you this, but you need to know.” Brenda hiss in a whispered tone. “It’s Dillon. Hurry!”

  Wendy ran as best she could into the ER entrance. Gasping for breath she rushed to the receptionist counter. “Dillon Cayne?”

  A young woman with a large bandage on her neck looked up from her computer. “Cayne family is over there, ma’am.” She pointed to her left. Wendy’s eyes shot to the room. Her mother stared up at the ceiling. “Mom?”

  Her mother was watching some sitcom on a TV mounted high on the ceiling. She lowered her gaze to meet Wendy’s. “Oh, honey!” She leapt to her feet and hugged her daughter. Her eyes were red and swollen.

  Wendy rushed into the waiting area. “What happened?”

  “We’re not sure, yet. Blake’s in with him, but—“

  “I don’t understand. Dillon was supposed to come to my apartment tonight, what happened to him?”

  “There was an accident.”

  Wendy gasped.

  “Here in the hospital, as I understand it.” Her mother continued. “He’s unconscious. That’s all I know right now.”

  Wendy closed her eyes and tried to comprehend what her mother had said. “Blake’s with him?”

  “Yes. Only one person is allowed with him right now, so, of course, Blake went in and I promised him I’d wait here.” Her mother leaned back and looked at her. She pushed a strand of hair from her eye. “You want anything? Something to eat, or a coffee?”

  “No, Mom.” Wendy brushed her hand away. “I just want to know Dillon’s alright.”

  Wendy bit her lip and glanced at the receptionist who had returned to whatever she was doing on the computer.

  Wendy stepped to the counter again. “Excuse me!”

  The woman looked up placidly, but didn’t utter a word.

  “Can you contact Blake Cayne? He’s the father of Dillon Cayne, and he’s in with Dillon now. Can you tell him I’m here? I’m Wendy Ashton.”

  “She smiled but she didn’t look friendly. I’ll see what we can do.” She lifted the black phone and pushed a button. “Yeah, I’ve got” —she held the receiver against her shoulder— “What was your name again?”

  “Wendy Ashton.”

  “I’ve got Wendy Ashton out here and she wants Cayne’s father to know she’s here. Uh-huh. Okay. Right. I’ll tell her.”

  “The nurse said they’ll let him know.”

  Wendy stared at her. Was there nothing else she could do? She turned to look at her mother. “What happened?” Wendy pointed at her own neck, indicating the woman’s bandage. Maybe if she became her friend, she could get some favor out of her.

  “Oh, nothing. I have a tattoo. We are required to cover them up when we are in the public stations. That’s all.”

  Windy nodded. “Oh. Bummer.”

  The woman rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Yeah, it’s a really cool tat.”

  “I’ll bet.” Wendy smiled and glanced over her should at her mom. She sat in the chair and watched Wendy, anxiously.

  She turned back to the woman. “Okay. Thanks.”

  Wendy’s shoulders rounded as she walked back to her mother. She eased down in the chair and rubbed her thigh. Her chin quivered, but she held it all in.

  Soon Blake came through the double doors, looking confused. He spied Patty and Wendy and quickly approached them. Wendy leapt to her feet and met him halfway across the floor. “How is he?” Wendy couldn’t stop the tears now.

  Blake placed both his hands on her shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes. So much like Dillon.

  “He’s alright.”

  Wendy threw herself into his arms and hugged him.

  Blake patted her back and pulled her back from him. “He’s suffered a concussion and two broken ribs. One lung is bruised and he is having trouble with short-term memory. But the doc says that’ll pass. They’ve put him on a pain med pump and are going to move him to ICU here in a little bit.”

  “Oh mom!” Wendy threw herself in her mother’s arms. Patty held her and let her cry. Finally, she had control and lifted red, raw eyes. At last Wendy asked, “How did this happen?”

  Blake guided the two women to the chairs and told Wendy how Dillon touched a live box and fell from the top of the ladder. “He’s lucky it wasn’t worse.”

  Gentle, caring eyes met Wendy’s “Doc says he’ll be alright in a few days. The ribs will take several weeks and the bruising will heal on its own. He’s gonna be pretty sore for a while, like six to eight weeks, but it’s nothing he hasn’t been through before.” Blake’s eyes misted. “We nearly lost him that time. I think my Dillon has a guardian angel working overtime.” He chuckled.

  Guardian angel? Wendy mused, and a Java Cupid. Wendy stepped up to Blake and pressed into him with a loving family hug. They both loved Dillon and were equally glad he would be alright. She wiped her eyes and stepped back. “Can I see him?” She sniffed.

  “Of course.” Blake wiped his eye, too.

  They walked to the receptionist’s desk. Blake touched the counter. “Mariana, will you buzz us in.”

  Mariana lifted her eyes from her computer. “Let me check.” She lifted the black phone and pushed a button. “Yeah, Mr. Cayne is here. Uh huh. Yeah, he’s asking to come back.”

  Wendy’s stomach clenched. What was wrong with Dillon?

  “No, they’re right here.” She glanced up without any expression, good or bad. “Okay.” She scribbled something on a post-it note. “Okay, I’ll tell them.” She hung up. “He’s being moved.”

  “To ICU?” Blake asked.

  “No. To this room.” Mariana handed Blake the post-it. “You can go on up. He’ll probably beat you there.” She smiled for the first time.

  “Thank you.” Blake said and guided Wendy and her mom to the elevators.

  Wendy stayed by Dillon’s side all through the night. The nurses had pulled in a chair that made into a bed and Blake had added her name to the list of people allowed to remain with Dillon after visiting hours. Early the next morning, his eyes fluttered open. “Wendy?” he whispered.

  “Dillon!” She struggled to get up. Her leg had stiffened in the night. It was a slow go, but she managed to sit up.

  He winced when he tried to adjust himself in the bed.

  “Take it easy!” she gingerly stood beside him. “Do you remember what happened?”

  “Yeah, I was changing out a ballast, and I forgot to turn the circuit off. Stupid!” He punched his forehead with his palm and winced. “My head hurts.”

  “You’ve got a concussion. And you broke two ribs when you fell. You’re pretty lucky though. That’s what your dad said.”

  “Dad’s here?”

  “Well, he was. So was my mom. But they went home around one. Your dad let me stay.”

  “Good.” Dillon reached out and took her hand. “I love you, Wendy. I’m so sorry about Priscilla and all the mess she caused. I—“

  “Shh. Don’t worry about that now. Besides, I know you’re telling the truth.”

  “You do? I mean, I’m not looking a—a, what is the word? A horse present in the teeth.” He looked at her questioningly, was that right? “But how do you know?”

  The expression on Dillon’s face exposed concern.

  Wendy touched his shoulder to reassure him she was alright. “Dillon, I get it. She’s psycho. I forgive you.”


  “Thank you?” He cocked his head to one side. “I’m not sure what you’re forgiving me for. Is there something I’m missing?”

  “I don’t know, either. It just seemed like the thing to say.” She giggled.

  “Oh.” He chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair, the IV tube trailing down his arm. “So, we’re okay?”

  She leaned over his bed and laid her head against his chest. “We’re okay.”

  They stayed like that for a while, relieved to have the other back. Finally, Dillon said, “But, how’d you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “I was telling the truth?”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “I dunno. Honesty just exudes from your eyes. That, and Priscilla came to the college that next morning and was going all Norman Bates on me.”

  “She did?” Dillon shook his head.

  “Yeah, she was intent on stopping me from busting up her and her fiancé.” She widened her eyes at him to emphasize how crazy Priscilla’s statement had been.

  “Fiancé?” His forehead wrinkled. “Where’d she get that?”

  “In that psychotic made-up world in her head, I suppose.” Wendy chuckled.

  “Wow. Well, I’m glad you’re alright and I’m glad you know I told the truth.” He held her tight. “I promise, I’ll never lie to you.”

  “You better not.” She giggled. “So… you slept on it…”

  He pulled back from her and stared into her eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

  Way back when all this started with Priscilla and you came to my place with the pizza, you said you’d slept on it and decided…”

  Confusion filled his eyes.

  She prompted, “About what we were going to do about my mom dating your dad?”

  “Oh! God, that seems like so long ago.” He closed his eyes. “Let me think. I had this all figured out. Man, my head hurts.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Wendy patted his chest. Heart monitor wires and stickers felt rough under his hospital gown.

  “No. I think I was going to say… no matter what Dad and your mom do. We are… people. Growed people.”

  “Grown.” She gently corrected.

  He squeezed his eyes in frustration. “Grown people and we’re not related.” He opened his eyes and searched hers for understanding.

  She nodded. She understood.

  “Not” —he pointed an index finger at his arm— “vein, red, bleed.”

  “Blood?” She guessed his meaning.

  He nodded. “Yes. Not blood related.”

  “Right.” Wendy waited patiently as Dillon struggled to get past the concussion injury to have his say. “If Dad and your mom, have relationships. We okay together. Not related.”

  He shook his head. “I really don’t want to lose what we have. You’re amazing.”

  Wendy lifted her head. He was speaking so much clearer now.

  “And I can’t imagine my life without you. I love you, Wendy. I love—”

  She smothered his words with her lips.

  Startled, he didn’t respond at first, but then he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her closer into his body.

  She lifted her knee and slid into his bed, snuggled up against his side. He kissed her with a longing that had needed to be filled for the last two days. His tongue traced her bottom lip, then probed for her tongue. She twirled hers around his and pressed harder against him. He pulled back, breathless. “Wendy, we better stop. I don’t know that my ribs can handle this.” He squeezed his eyes with the pain in his chest.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She scrambled off the bed. “I forget about your ribs.”

  He looked at the machine standing beside her, and lifted a finger to point at it. “Is that for pain?”

  “Yeah, and this” — she lifted the button— “is what you push when you’re hurting.”

  He pushed it and laid his head back against the pillow.

  Wendy watched the tension release from his face as the Dilaudid worked through his system.

  She re-adjusted her makeshift bed back into a chair and sat by him. “You know something?”

  “Hmm.” He responded sleepily.

  “You were right.” She smiled and took his hand into hers. Intertwining their fingers she kissed each of his knuckles.

  “What was I right?” he mumbled.

  “You are broken without me.” She smiled.

  “Mmm.” He lay still for a moment. Then his eyes shot open. “What did you say?”

  “That note you wrote on my cup.” Her eyes met his. “At Java Cupid that first day.”

  He glared at her with a furrowed brow.

  “Oh come on. They said your short-term memory would be affected, but surely you remember that!”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Really?” she chuckled. “You remember me talking to you—“

  “Yeah, you wanted a tall red velvet cake caramel drip latte with whip and changed it to a chocolate cappuccino with a caramel drizzle.”

  “Right.” She marveled how precisely he did remember her jumbled up order. “And you wrote on my cup. You said, ‘I’m broken without you.’”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did.” Her chuckle waned to a sober stare. “Didn’t you? With a heat sensitive pen? Cause it didn’t show up ’til I got to my booth… You don’t remember any of this?”

  “Wendy, I remember you ordering. I remember you changing your order. But I didn’t write anything on your cup. We don’t have heat sensitive pens.”

  She stared at him. His eyes weren’t lying. “Well, then, how—” She stood up. “Wait. I kept the cup. I’ll be right back.” She hurried from his room and rushed out to her car. The cup still lay in her back seat. She’d been meaning to take it in, to save it in a scrap book or something. She hurried as best she could with her leg stiff and aching from the make-do bed in his room.

  Nearly twenty minutes later, she rushed into his room. He had fallen asleep.

  “See.” She panted and held the cup to him.

  He started and opened his eyes. The message was long gone.

  “If you look close you can see the outline of the words. It’s like yellowish compared to the cup.” She pointed at the residual message.

  He stared at the yellowing marks she pointed to. “Wendy, I’m telling you, I didn’t write that. We don’t have heat sensitive pens at the Java Cupid.”

  “Well, then who?”

  He cocked his head back. “I have no idea.”

  “But… that’s why I started talking to you at the hospital. Remember, in the break room. You were up on a ladder then, too.” She giggled.

  He took her hand in his and kissed her palm. “I remember everything except writing the message. And like I said, we don’t have any kind of a heat sensitive pen to write something like that in the first place.”

  “Huh?” She eased down on the chair. “That’s really weird.” She giggled uncomfortably.

  “Yeah, it is. But if that message is what got you to talk to me and lead us to all of this, then I’m grateful. Perhaps the Java Cupid Coffee Shop actually has a Java Cupid.”

  She stood and took his hand, holding it against her heart. “Maybe. I certainly think his arrow hit the right mark with you and me.”

  “You got that right.” Dillon pulled her down to him and kissed her tenderly. She pressed into his lips. Cupping her hand on the back of his head, her passion unfurled, consuming him with her mouth. He winced.

  She jumped back. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m not.” He smiled. “I think the cupid’s arrow is still in my chest.”

  Wendy giggled. “Stupid cupid.”

  THE END

  How about a sneak peek at the next book in this series? Here’s the first chapter in Book 2

  Java Muse

  Java Cupid Series

  Book 2

  By George McVey

  © George McVey 2017

 
Cover Copyright © 2017 George McVey

  All rights reserved

  One

  Rob Donovan sat at Java Cupid Coffee Shop in the corner where he could see everyone as they came and went. He needed something interesting to happen, something that would inspire him and get him out of this writer’s block. The deadline on his next book was less than a month away. He was twenty thousand words short of the thirty-five thousand word minimum requirement.

  He scanned the boring cafe. Come on, drop something, kiss someone, have a coffee bar brawl. Give me something, anything.

  His fingers moved over the keyboard as he started to type out a scene of a coffee bar brawl. Then he shook his head as he realized how ridiculous it was and erased it all. He sighed and put his head in his hands. His coffee was cold and he was out of snacks. He’d been here an hour and had nothing to show for it.

  “Excuse me.”

  Rob looked over at the woman seated at the table to his right. She was breathtakingly beautiful with her beach-girl tan and sun-bleach-blonde hair. The thing that caught his attention though was her right eye was a golden brown while her left was that he would call ice blue in color. “Me?”

  She smiled and his pulse sped up like a trip hammer. “Yes, um, could you watch my things for a minute? I need… ummm…” She blushed and Rob laughed. “Gotcha, sure I’ll make sure no one messes with anything.”

  “Thank you.” She quickly scurried to the restroom that sat between the coffee shop and the bar and grill. Rob pulled up a character sheet and quickly described her. Five foot five, long sun-bleached blonde hair, cupids bow lips, bubblegum pink in color. Right eye golden brown, left eye ice blue. Curves in all the right places, early twenties.

  Then he typed: Name? Occupation?

  After that he opened a new document and titled it “Love at the Coffee Shop,”and started typing away. He was thankful. It wasn’t the book he had been working on but this was an open deadline book. Meaning he just needed to meet the deadlines with a romantic novel between thirty-five and fifty thousand words. It wasn’t for one of his multi-author series that had to follow a certain format and plot. Those ideas he’d already submitted. No this was for a romance contest and would allow him a discounted table at the convention later this year.