Page 11 of Embracing Sky
And here comes the tears…
I didn’t know what to do. Adam and Fletcher were giving me an out, but did I really deserve it?
Or was Gracie right and I should be dropped off on the side of the road like yesterday’s trash, forced to survive off scraps? To sell my body in exchange for safety?
Once I’d finally pulled myself together, I got out of the now-cool water and dried off with a towel. I scrubbed my blond hair as dry as I could get it, not sparing a glance in the mirror, knowing I’d hate who I’d see.
I changed into the clothing that Fletcher had brought me. It was a little loose, but I didn’t mind. I pulled the drawstring on the sweatpants tight and tied it off, so they’d stay up. The hoodie dwarfed me, but it was soft and comfortable.
He seemed to know I needed comfort right now. My heart gave a painful throb.
I nursed my hangover with the appropriate amount of aspirin—not the entire bottle—and some Sprite and sleep, napping on the couch with the blankets from last night.
My dreams were blurry, stitched-together things. Too-bright lights and medicinal scents, the sounds of shoes squeaking over waxed tile. Dr. Thompson’s low chuckle, the whir of straps being tightened, followed by,“This is going to hurt you a lot more than it’ll hurt me…”
I jerked awake, my heart in my throat, shaking all over. I lurched to my feet and staggered into the kitchen.
Adam and Fletcher were sitting at the table. Fletcher rose when he saw me. “Sky? Are you okay?” His concern was obvious. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I shook my head and pursed my lips, but joined them at the table. My heart was still doing double-time in its cage of bones, damn it all. It was just a dream. I picked at the sleeve of the borrowed hoodie, which was pilling a bit.
“Well, how about some soup?” Adam stood and went over to the stove, lifting the lid on a pot I hadn’t even realized was simmering.
Probably because I was still half-nauseous from the hangover. I didn’t really want anything, but when I shook my head, Fletcher clucked his tongue.
“You have to at least taste it,” he insisted. “Adam makes the best soup.”
I grunted in response, hunched over the table. Adam ladled out three bowls of soup and brought them over to the kitchen table. Then he fetched a loaf of what looked to be freshly baked bread, along with a plate of softened butter and a handful of spoons and knives.
He slid a bowl in front of me. I peered down into the meaty-looking soup with chunks of beef, potatoes, and carrots. The steam that rose from the bowl smelled delicious, making my inner-wolf lift his head.
Aware of Adam and Fletcher watching me, waiting for me to taste it, I picked up a spoon and dunked out a small scoop. I blew the heat off of it, then took a bite.
It was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted in my life.
My eyes flew open, flavors dancing across my tastebuds as I chewed and swallowed. Suddenly, the hunger in my belly roared to life, overriding the nausea, demanding more.
Adam chuckled. “I think he likes it.”
“Of course he does,” Fletcher replied with a wink at me. “What’s not to like?”
Their attention turned to their own dinners, leaving me to mine. I ate every bite and then mopped up the broth with a chunk of homemade bread. When I finished, my bowl looked nearly clean enough to put back in the cupboard.
I leaned back in my seat and licked my lips, my stomach actually sated.
“Good, huh?” Fletcher said.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Man, is that a family recipe or something?”
Adam’s lip quirked. “No, just something I came up with one day. I enjoy cooking.”
“It’s great.” I paused, tilting my head. “Why isn’t it on the menu at Bixby’s? This would sell like hotcakes.”
“I can’t give all my secret recipes away to the public, now can I?” Adam chuckled.
Fletcher grinned as well, but it softened into a kind smile as he looked at me. “Do you want me to show you your room? You look exhausted.”
Sleep. In a bed. That sounded wonderful. My belly was full, and I was clean, and my headache wasn’t as bad, thanks to the nap. I nodded and followed him down the hall.
