blood like a fever, infecting every part of me with this deepening dread of what is to come.
My phone buzzes and I look down at it. I'd forgotten I was still holding it. It's Es, texting me.
I know ur prob exhausted but want to party for ur bday?
My finger hovers over the letters trying to think of how to respond. I decide with the truth.
Mom in hospital. It's bad. Can't leave.
Her reply is instant.
Pete & I will be right there. Xo
I don't really want company, but it's also a relief to know I won't be alone for this. I wander the hospital halls looking for a coffee machine. When I find it, I realize I have no money on me. I left the house with nothing. I lean my head against the machine, an overwhelming sense of hopelessness crashing into me. It is the final straw that breaks the composure I've been clinging to this whole time. My breath hitches, the tears are threatening my eyes, but if I start crying right now, I might not stop. I try to hold it in, but a sob escapes my body, like a punch to my gut has forced it out. My fingers grip the cold metal of the coffee machine as I fight to control my emotions.
"The coffee here really isn't that good. You can do better."
The voice behind me is male, deep and gravelly and British, and I turn, embarrassed that I've been caught in such a public display of grief. I swipe at my eyes with the cuff of my sweatshirt and suck in my pain, trying to mask it in the presence of this stranger.
The man before me is tall, with lean muscles that bulge through the black jeans and black cotton shirt he wears under his long black trench coat. His hair is slightly too long and disheveled, brown with copper highlights that accent his blue eyes. His face looks carved from rock, and even as he smiles, there's a hardness to him that makes me take a step back. He could be a Greek god, and he pulses with some kind of feral energy, like a wild animal. He looks out of place in this sterile hospital environment. Like a wolf prowling amongst the sheep.
"I apologize," he says, taking a step back. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
I try to smile, but I think it comes out as more of a grimace. "You didn't. I'm just... my mom is here and... I haven't slept in a long time. I guess I needed the coffee more than I realized." I'm babbling, and I bite my tongue to shut myself up. I move away from the machine when I realize he's probably waiting on his turn to get a cup.
He puts a paper cup into the tray, sticks some change into the money slot, then presses a button. Black java pours out. He hands the cup to me when it's full. "You need this more than I do, I think."
"Oh, I can't take your coffee."
He sticks another dollar in. "I've got change for two."
He holds out his hand. It's large and callused with a few scars. "I'm Fen," he says, waiting.
"Ari." I extend my hand and when our skin touches a shiver runs up my spine.
"What happened to your mom?"
I give him a quick version of my morning, wondering why I'm telling this stranger anything.
His face is stoic, serious, when I finish. "I'm sorry about your mother. I... " He looks hesitant to speak. "I lost my father recently. It's never easy."
While I empathize with his grief, his words prick me. "My mother isn't dead. She'll get through this. But..." I pause, realizing I sound like a jerk. "I'm sorry about your father. That's awful. Is that why you're here?"
"No. I'm here on other business."
Something about his tone makes me think there's more to his story. "Do you work here?"
"I'm an independent contractor," he says. "Personal security." He looks like he wants to say more, like he has something terrible and dark he needs to share, but he shakes his head and holds up his coffee. "Take care of yourself, Ari. And be careful. Sometimes wolves come in sheep's clothing."
He turns to walk away, and I watch until he disappears around a corner, puzzling at his odd warning. What does that even mean? And how uncanny that he brought up wolves and sheep when that's exactly what I was thinking about him. I can still feel the heat