Page 6 of Trashed to Treasured
The fact that he didn’t ask for my name…but rather asked what he should call me, did not escape my notice.
He was clearly a boy in need of a Daddy, but he was also drunk off his ass and mourning a relationship that seemed pretty important to him.
Inside his kitchen, I found a cabinet with several cans of hearty meat-and-potato stew options, but tucked in the back were a few cans of condensed soup. It was the same kind my mom used to make me as a kid. There was a can of regular chicken noodle soup, but beside it was a can of chicken and stars…and something told me he might like that better.
If nothing else, it might bring another smile to his face. His sweet, tortured face.
I found a small pot below his counter and added some water to the soup, then set it to simmer. There was a loaf of wheat bread on the counter, but I convinced myself that all the seeds and nuts baked into the crust might be too hard on his stomach, so I cut off the crust and popped the two perfect squares into the toaster on a light setting before peeking into the family room to check on him.
Brody had both arms wrapped around a pillow and was curled tightly on the sofa with his head resting against the back cushion. I could tell he was asleep by the way his jaw hung open, but he didn’t make a sound. In fact, he seemed a little too quiet.
I rushed to his side, placing my fingertips on his neck to make sure he had a pulse.
His pulse was strong, but my touch must’ve been jarring because his eyes popped open and he jolted under my touch. “Oh, sorry. Did I fall asleep?”
My thumb grazed his cheek before I took a step back. “Yeah, sorry for waking you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
He smiled and looked at me like he had never heard those words before, and it broke my heart to know that maybe he hadn’t. “Something smells good.”
“The soup will be done in just a minute. And I’m making you some toast. We need to absorb some of that alcohol in you.”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me.” He made a face and then leaned forward to get up.
“Are you okay? Are you going to be sick again?”
He got his balance and then sucked in an accomplished breath. “No, just gotta piss.” He caught himself and then looked up at me. “Sorry, I mean, use the restroom.”
Confused, I shrugged and stepped out of the way so he could pass by me. “No need to apologize. You’re a grown-ass man. You’re allowed to say piss in your own home.”
“Oh, right.” His chin tucked down as he averted his gaze. “I’ll be right back.”
Brody was only gone for a minute before shuffling back and heading straight to the last cabinet in his kitchen. “I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me, but I appreciate it. I feel like shit.”
I nodded and lifted the lid to his trash can. “Well, if you drank all these by yourself, you’ll probably feel like shit for another day or two.”
There was quite a collection of empty hard seltzer cans, liquor bottles, and a bottle of Prosecco that made me wonder if at some point he tried to celebrate his loss before the reality hit him.
Brody poured a handful of ibuprofen into his hand and was about to toss them into his mouth before glancing at me.
I shook my head. “Three should be fine. You can have three more in 4 to 6 hours.”
His eyes locked with mine before he put the two extra tablets back into the container and set it on the counter. While he took his pills and downed an entire glass of water, I poured his soup into a bowl and put his toast on a plate. “Butter or no butter?”
“A little bit of butter, please.” He looked up at me with a mischievous grin. “I can’t do greasy right now, but I don’t think I can swallow it dry.”
“Lightly lubed it is.” I winked and pulled a tub of butter from his fridge while he sat at the counter and watched.
It was a dumb joke meant to lighten the mood, but it only seemed to crank up the tension between us a thousandfold.
Fortunately, Brody’s stomach broke the tension for us with a loud growl.
“Eat up, sweetheart.” I placed his food in front of him and watched as he dug in.
He lifted a spoonful of noodles and broth but stopped short of taking a bite. “You made me stars?”
I kept my gaze trained on his face as I nodded. “I thought they might make you feel better.”
“They already do.” Looking both thoughtful and content, he finished the whole bowl, even dipping his toast into the broth to get every last drop.
