Hail Mary

by Vale, Lani Lynn

Not that I wanted it.

  But at times, it was useful.

  Like now.

  Drake glared at me as I passed, and I tilted my head down once in acknowledgment.

  He didn’t return the gesture…not that I’d expected him to.

  Shit.

  I thought about leaving, and honestly, I was ready to say to Cobie that we should go, when she exhaustedly collapsed into the seat and looked at me like she was ready to break.

  “When we get back, I’m taking a four-hour nap.”

  I tightened my lips and sat down next to her, not wanting Drake at my back.

  She looked at me curiously but otherwise didn’t say anything about me sitting on the same side of the booth as her.

  With the new position, Mary curled her head into my neck but reached out to offer her hand to Cobie, who took that hand and brought it up to her lips.

  “Such a sweet girl,” Cobie cooed.

  Mary held onto her hand and didn’t let go, as she breathed into my neck and went limp. Back out like a light.

  My eyes, however, were glued on the man turned almost around backward in his booth, staring daggers at us.

  I averted my eyes in order not to incite him into coming over, and said, “Drake’s here.”

  Cobie started to look around, but I growled at her. “Don’t.”

  She froze, her eyes on me, and said, “I thought you said he was in Hostel?”

  I shrugged. “He was.”

  At least, that’s the last time I’d known his actual whereabouts. I hadn’t thought to keep up with him this week once I’d known that he was in town visiting family—oh, and that his truck was in our shop getting fixed.

  I’d asked to be told once it was fixed, and I hadn’t heard anything to the contrary.

  Except, apparently, he was gone and in Longview again—eating at the same freakin’ place that I’d decided to take Cobie and Mary to for lunch. Just freakin’ perfect.

  Two people that I knew would stick under his craw.

  Sweet.

  “Oh, shit,” Cobie muttered. “What now?”

  I didn’t know.

  “I guess we eat and try to act like we don’t notice that he’s angry,” I suggested. “If we were to get up and leave, I think it’d be a little more suspicious.”

  “It’ll probably be suspicious if I don’t say anything to him. I do know him, after all.”

  “Just act like you didn’t see him, and it’ll be okay,” I muttered.

  Mary twitched in her sleep, and I repositioned her until she was laying on my other side, making it easier for her to sleep, as well as Cobie to continue holding her hand.

  So, there we sat, speaking about nothing but random facts and then later memes when Mary woke up.

  We’d just given our order, had gotten a refill on our sweet tea and were discussing whether it would be a good idea for Cobie to go home when the crying started.

  One second, Mary was asleep, and the next, she was screaming her head off.

  Not nice crying, either. It was pained crying, almost as if something had hurt her.

  I frowned and pushed her hair off her head. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  Mary shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

  “Is she hot?” Cobie asked, reaching forward to place her hand on Mary’s forehead.

  I felt, too, but didn’t notice that she was fevered.

  “No,” I hesitated. “Not really.”

  At this point, a minute after she’d started, I started to really worry.

  Mary didn’t usually cry. In fact, it was rare for her to even be unhappy. She was literally the most even-tempered baby that I’d ever met, which was what concerned me.

  Mary only ever cried when she was sick, and she’d had an ear infection twice since Marianne had dropped her into my lap.

  Since then, I’d learned to read the signs. Only without a fever, and without her pulling at her ear, I wasn’t sure that was it this time.

  “Is she teething?” Cobie asked, running her finger along Mary’s jaw.

  “Keep that fucked up kid under control, or get it the fuck out of here. Nobody wants to listen to that nonsense.”

  Everything inside of me stilled.

  My annoyance at Drake, who wouldn’t stop looking at Mary like she was a nuisance, vanished. My desire to get up and leave because Mary was throwing an unholy fit—which toddlers did do every now and then, stilled. And my worry for Cobie as she started to look uncomfortable the longer she sat in the hard booth waiting for our food, dissipated.

  I stood up, slowly, and hitched Mary up higher against my chest.

  “Sir,” the young waitress looked at me like she would rather be anywhere else. “We’re going to have to ask you to leave. A number of our patrons have expressed difficulty eating their meals because of her screams.”

  I didn’t bother to tell her that I was already planning on leaving.

  Instead, I looked over at Cobie.

  “Come on,” I growled.

  Cobie stood, her face showing her discomfort, but she didn’t slow in her movements—though they weren’t any faster than her norm as of late.

  “I’ll bag your food up.”

  The waitress shouldn’t have bothered, but before I could tell her that, Cobie patted my arm. “I’ll wait in here for it and bring it out with me, okay?”

  My jaw clenched, and I nodded my head at the same time that Mary screeched rather loudly into my ear.

  I looked over at my girl, saw the tears and unhappiness streaming down her face, and decided that before I said anything I’d regret later, I’d better go.

  “Okay,” I grunted, then walked to the door.

  “Thank fuckin’ God,” I heard a male voice say. Drake again. “Fuckin’ fucked up kid shouldn’t be here if she’s going to act like that.”

  Fucking fucked up kid.

  Fucking. Fucked up. Kid.

  And that’s when I lost it.

  But, since Mary was still in my arms, now pulling at her ear rather roughly, I kept my feet moving forward even though I wanted to turn around and slam that guy’s stupid face into the fucking table he was pounding on.

  The old Dante would’ve let it go. The old Dante who’d been all about not making a scene? Yeah, he was gone. He was buried with my children and wife.

  The new Dante?

  Well, he didn’t give one single fuck about making a scene.

  Placing Mary in the car seat and strapping her in, I closed the door very softly, then marched right back inside.

  I met Cobie on the way out and handed her the keys. “Start it up, will you?”

  Cobie looked at me, looked at the truck, then back at me again.

  Then she nodded and walked to the truck, stiffly.

  I hesitated, seeing that she was very uncomfortable now, and closed my eyes.

  After taking a deep, calming breath, I turned back around, opened the door for Cobie, took the food from her hand and placed it on the floorboard, then snatched the keys from Cobie’s hands.

  It was when I was rounding the truck’s nose that I saw Drake was now standing in the doorway glaring at me.

  He didn’t say a word as I got into my truck and that’s probably what saved him from having his face beat in.

  Chapter 15

  I may look like a potato now, but one day I’ll be that tasty basket of fries and you’ll want me then.

  -Cobie’s secret thoughts

  Cobie

  Day 12 Post Surgery

  Was there anything sexier than seeing a man, holding a sick baby who had an ear infection, shirtless?

  No. I didn’t think there was, either.

  I may be under the weather, but my body wasn’t dead.

  And the things I was feeling for the man that was clearly only ever going to be my friend was quite scary.

  Day 13 Post Surgery

  I shivered and pulled the quilt off the back o
f the couch, wrapping it around both Mary—who’d been in my lap for over an hour now just lying there—and myself.

  She snuggled down into the quilt, her little fingers touching a patterned heart.

  My eyes zeroed in on the heart, and I realized that the quilt wasn’t just a quilt.

  On the back of the couch, how it had been folded, it looked just like a chevron patterned quilt.

  But on the other side was anything but a plain quilt.

  Hundreds of squares of tiny little outfits were sewn onto twelve-by-twelve squares.

  Some of them were the entire outfit. While other outfits were tilted so you could see the tiny neckline of a onesie or the patterned smiling face embroidered on the foot of a sleeper.

  It was darling. And in an instant, I knew that these outfits were the clothes that Dante’s kids had worn growing up.

  One, in particular, brought my attention to it. A tiny little onesie, the size of a preemie at most, was in the center of the quilt. The front read “Daddy Loves Me” on it.

  And my heart broke.

  I ran the edge of my finger over it. Saw the yellow stain on one side of the onesie that was either from formula or breast milk. There was no way to really tell without asking.

  And I felt a tear leak out of my eye.

  God.

  My eyes flicked up to Mary, and I wondered if Dante had thought to save any of her clothes.

  Marianne wouldn’t have had a chance to save any, would she?

  It was the first quilt I’d seen like it. Likely not every parent saved all those clothes. But I knew, if the impossible ever happened and I became a parent, I’d save them. Then I’d make something exactly like it.

  I’d just repositioned, moving Mary to rest a little more comfortably in the crook of my leg, and tried to ignore the pain.

  While I was doing that, Mary chose that moment to throw up.

  Whatever green she’d eaten earlier projectiled everywhere. All over the quilt, all over the floor.

  And some of it even hit the wall.

  Oh, no.

  “Dante!”

  He came running, and at first, he wasn’t mad. Then he saw the quilt, and his entire body strung tight like a bowstring.

  He gently pulled Mary up and out of my arms, walking away without a word.

  I got up myself, folded the quilt into itself, and took it to the laundry room.

  My intention was to clean it, but within moments of me getting to the laundry room with it, he followed me in there, ripped it out of my hands, and walked it out to the garage without another word.

  I followed him, watched as he took the quilt to the trash, then angrily slammed it down. The lid followed.

  Without a word or a glance at me, he stormed back inside and shut the door.

  I went to the trash, pulled the quilt out, and then took it back inside.

  He was nowhere to be seen, which worked out.

  With what little strength I had, I washed the quilt. Cleaned it, dried it, and then laid it back delicately on the couch.

  All the while Dante stayed sequestered in his room.

  Day 14 Post Surgery

  “Today you need to write your eviction letter,” Dante ordered.

  I blinked, then turned.

  “Have you heard any more?”

  Dante nodded.

  “Jack got the number off the side of the box. From what I was able to understand, it’s ammo. Not the guns that they were originally thinking. The ammo itself is all military surplus, though. It was sold at an auction for pennies on the dollar due to the sheer amount that was sold. However, the buyer was a guy out of Florida. He reported the shipment missing about a month ago. Apparently, this is connected to some case that Rafe is working on, but that’s all he would give me. I hadn’t even realized he was working a case, so whatever we did helped him out. However, we’re all agreed that you should evict him. Rafe, I think, is hoping that they’ll move the shipment to where other stolen items are being held—in which I’m not supposed to know about. So, don’t go sharing that I know.”

  He gave me a pointed look, and I saluted him.

  “Sir. Yes, sir.”

  He rolled his eyes at me.

  Then flicked the tip of my nose with one blunt finger.

  It made my breath catch.

  Day 15 Post Surgery

  Dante and Mary were in Mary’s room. Dante was trying to get Mary asleep, and Mary was fighting it with everything she had. Dante would get her to sleep, though, hopefully for the night.

  I was standing in the middle of the kitchen, starving.

  So hungry, in fact, that I’d actually been able to get up and find myself something to eat instead of waiting for Dante.

  Dante did TV dinners.

  He did a lot of sandwiches, and he also did a lot of frozen corn dogs.

  What he did not do was cook—at least well. He tried, yes. But trying and excelling were two different things.

  Craving something hot that didn’t come out of a box that wasn’t housing frozen food, I took it upon myself to look through his cabinets.

  His mother had come over and stocked the pantry the day before, and my eyes lit on the box of macaroni that was just sitting on the shelf.

  Not wanting to bother Dante, I shuffled to the cabinets and started to open them. I didn’t stop until I found a pot big enough to fit two boxes of macaroni.

  Once I had it going—my chest starting to ache—I’d walked to the fridge to get a drink.

  Opening both doors out of habit, my eyes lit on the ice cream.

  Smiling, I pulled it out, placed it on the counter, and then shuffle-walked to the cabinet I’d seen the bowls in earlier.

  Once I had a bowl and a spoon, I went back to the table and took a seat.

  It took me another five minutes before I could find the strength to scoop any ice cream out. Another five to get the lid back on and look at my pitiful amount of ice cream—who knew how many muscles you worked that were in your chest—which also happened to be sore?

  So, there I was, sitting there, eating my ice cream and waiting for the water to boil on the stove when Dante came in.

  At first, he only smiled when he saw me there.

  But then his eyes lit on the bowl—a cute little pink bowl that said ‘Yum!’ on it.

  His eyes went all wonky, and he left the room without another word.

  I never saw him again that evening, but in the middle of the night when I got up for a glass of water, I saw the same bowl broken into about ten pieces in the trash. Along with the spoon that I’d used—another one that was shaped differently than all the others.

  And that was when I realized that they must’ve been his wife’s, and he most certainly didn’t like me using them.

  Day 16 Post Surgery

  Mary was back. And when I say Mary was back, I meant she was back. There were no more fevers. No more sitting still in anybody’s lap, mine or her daddy’s. No more throwing up. And there was no more up all night, sleep all day. She was back on her routine. She was back to her grandmother’s, and I was back left alone.

  Only, I wasn’t left alone at my own house. I was left alone at Dante’s house.

  Dante’s house that was covered with another woman’s life.

  There were signs of his family everywhere.

  On the mantle. On the walls. In the bathroom with the pretty pink towels.

  So, I wasn’t sure what to do.

  I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries that I couldn’t see. Which meant that I literally sat on the couch, or on the bed he’d ordered me to sleep in, and I hadn’t ventured anywhere.

  Dante left at seven in the morning. He got home at five in the evening. I never once moved but to go to the bathroom.

  Hell, I hadn’t even eaten.

  I was scared to.

  My stomach was practically eating itself, and I was on the verge of crying because I was told not to take pa
in medication on an empty stomach.

  I’d already planned on weaning myself off of the good drugs, but I hadn’t meant to get off of them that early.

  Dante walked in the door with a box of chicken hanging off of one finger by the little paper handle, a gallon of sweet tea off of another finger, and Mary’s diaper bag hooked on another.

  Mary was on his hip, and the moment that they both got inside, I smiled.

  It was a tired smile.

  One that clearly relayed how much pain I was in, causing Dante to immediately zero his eyes in on me.

  “You in pain?”

  Couldn’t hide anything from him, I supposed.

  “A little,” I lied.

  I was in a whole fuckin’ lot of pain.

  Hence not bothering to get up and move over the last two hours.

  Hell, I’d been stuck watching old reruns of Roseanne for the last two hours because the remote had dropped on the floor when I’d sat down after going to the bathroom.

  “You need to eat,” he growled.

  I wanted to eat. But the act of chewing made my chest hurt—at least at this point.

  How? Why? I had no fuckin’ clue, but it did.

  “Okay,” I murmured.

  He walked away without another word, and I looked over at Mary as she steadily fed a handful of mashed potatoes into her mouth.

  “Good?” I asked her.

  “Goo!” she agreed.

  Or at least I thought she agreed.

  “Here.”

  I looked up to find Dante heading back toward me, a white pain pill in one hand and a cup of sweet tea in the other.

  I reached up to take the pill from him, but the act of lifting my arm caused everything to scream at me not to do it.

  My hand dropped back to the table.

  He looked at me, eyes hard and angry, and brought the pill up to my lips using two fingers.

  I opened my mouth, tried to swallow the pill, and nearly choked when it got hung in the back of my throat.

  He gave an exasperated sound, brought the cup up to my lips, and tilted it.

  I swallowed greedily, then pulled away when I was finished.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  Dante’s lips twitched. “Welcome.”

  Day 17 Post Surgery

  I took my pain pills today.

  I also ordered pizza around lunchtime when I started to get hungry.