Chapter Eight
Elliot
The hospital beds were better than the cots in the emergency room, but the overnight stay was unnecessary. All I saw was my money flying out of my bank account. Hundred-dollar bills just flowing out of my mouth, making me sick with worry.
Healthcare in this country was too expensive. That was all I was saying. All it took was hitting my head twice to break me. I’d be eighty years old and on my deathbed before I could pay off the bill.
What made it all worse was the reason the doctors made me stay. They were baffled. They said I should have died, and apparently, I did for a couple of minutes, according to the paramedics.
I felt fine. Better than I had in several days, actually. I was going to go back to work. This time, I would make the doctor give me a work release so Mandy couldn’t send me home, but the doctor had to release me first.
The nurse said the doctor was reviewing the results of the tests they had put me through.
If those came back all clear, I could go home.
Those tests probably cost more than my house.
I hated thinking about money when it came to my health, but Tylenol in the hospital cost fifteen dollars per pill.
I googled that shit. What else was I supposed to do while in the hospital?
I felt fine enough to go home. Hell, I could probably run five miles if something with sharp teeth and pointy claws was chasing me.
Money stress was the worst kind of stress.
When the doctor walked in, I saw dollar signs again.
Really, he was a walking billboard for how to get people to spend money they didn’t have.
They got sick and went to the doctor. The bill was so high that they stressed out to the point of making themselves ill, and then had to go see the doctor again. It was a brilliant marketing plan.
But I wasn’t planning to come back. Ever again.
The doctor took one look at me and shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s as if the injury never happened.”
“That means I can go home.” I hopped off the bed.
He nodded. “I still recommend seeing your primary care doctor.”
I didn’t have one of those. I probably should have told the ER doctor after my initial head injury, but I’d been too tired to think about it. “I need you to clear me for work. My boss won’t give me a shift otherwise.”
“I would think not. Collapsing at work would make a boss panic, I would imagine.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine, but you already know that since you ordered a bunch of expensive tests I can’t afford.”
The doctor had a solid twenty-four hours with me, and in that time, I’d done nothing but argue with him.
I wanted to go home, sure. Who didn’t when they were stuck in the hospital?
But that was only a small part of why I kept poking at him.
The main reason was that I wanted to get my money’s worth.
And he deserved it for keeping me in the hospital just because he couldn’t explain why I was healthy.
“Your bill is paid.” He smirked.
“Yeah, right.” Nothing was free when it came to someone’s health. Maybe healthcare shouldn’t be big business, but it was. Capitalism was great. I rolled my eyes and tried to get off the soapbox in my head, annoyed by the constant stream of dollars leaving my life.
“It’s true. Someone paid the bill. The nurse can review the details when he brings your discharge papers.”
Sure enough, I left without a bill at all. All the bitching I did about it was for nothing. I was still right about the cost of healthcare, though.
****
I hoped Mandy would give me a shift, even though someone might have filled in for me. I put the lit sign on top before I even went inside.
Mandy took one look at me and pointed toward the door. “No way. Go home, Elliot. I mean it.”
I smirked and handed her the release form the doctor had signed.
She took one look at it and scowled. The confusion was clear as she read it. She looked at me as if she were studying for a quiz. Or maybe she was getting ready to grill me. “I literally watched you die. It was one of the most traumatic things I’ve ever been through, by the way.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” When her chin wobbled, I hugged her.
She hugged me back. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“If it makes you feel better, the doctors can’t explain my quick recovery.” Maybe I was a walking miracle. “I feel great. Honest.”
“I gave Tommy your shift, but you know how he is.” If Tommy didn’t have to work, he wouldn’t. Pizza delivery didn’t exactly motivate him. “I’ll send him home when he gets back.”
“Thanks, Mandy.” I meant it, too. The people who worked at Gino’s were like a family. We looked out for each other. Gino was a real dick, but he wasn’t there much. It was really Mandy who ran things. She was the glue.
She handed me a pizza box with the ticket on top. “You can take this delivery.”
I read the address.
“Huh?” Something about the address seemed familiar, even though I knew I had never delivered there before. Hollowbrook was a small town. I knew every road.
The address was on the north side of town, near the lake.
I’d delivered all over, so I knew the neighborhood well.
The houses were spaced farther apart, and they were mansions.
Million-dollar homes with million-dollar yards.
Swimming pools and internet that wasn’t glitchy.
Plus, they had a lake the size of an ocean within walking distance.
To say I was envious was an understatement, but I really didn’t want a bigger house.
I was satisfied with the farmhouse my mother had left me.
I just closed off the rooms I never used.
That saved on the heating bill. I had forty acres.
Most of it was wooded. I also had a garage, which my mom had turned into a kick-ass woodworking shop right before she died—she loved carpentry, too.
It was her passion. So no. I might not want to live anywhere else but on the farm, but I would like the comfort money could buy.
The name on the order sounded fake. Maybe the person had a reason for using a name like that on their order.
“Grymley Reaper. Seriously.” I had to hand it to the person. It didn’t get much more original than that. “As someone who almost died, should I take this as a sign that I’m at the final destination? Like that movie.”
Mandy chuckled. “That’s not funny, Elliot.”
I smiled at her. “So why did you laugh?”
“He spelled out his first name for me. I would have gotten it wrong if he hadn’t.”
“If this is his actual name, then I bet most people must get it wrong.” I knew a little something about people misspelling names, but it was my last name that they always messed up.
Coyne with a y and an e at the end, not like the money.
That was usually how I explained it. Sometimes I just let them spell it however they wanted because correcting them was too much work.
I headed out. Grymley Reaper deserved a hot pizza.
It took ten minutes to get to that part of town because the traffic lights on Main Street hated me.
I found the house and parked in the driveway.
I reread the address on the ticket to make sure I had the correct house number.
It never hurt to double-check before leaving the car.
The walk to the front door was pleasant. The smell of lavender from the garden beds met me halfway up the driveway. There was a pretty pink flower whose name I didn’t know, but I liked its look. It reminded me of a poppy.
I knocked on the door before I saw the bell. Should I press the button? Wasn’t that overkill? I might seem desperate, as if I wanted to unload his pizza in a hurry. I definitely didn’t want to give that impression, so I stood there, hoping the occupants heard my wimpy knock in such a big house.
The familiarity didn’t make sense. I couldn’t put my finger on what made it feel as if I belonged there. The place felt so comfortable. I felt connected to it somehow.
When no one answered the door, I pressed the bell.
The sound was faint, but it wasn’t a standard doorbell chime.
It played a song. For the life of me, I couldn’t place where I’d heard it.
The melody stuck in my head. It would drive me crazy for my entire shift, but at least it would give me something else to think about besides the good Samaritan who’d paid my hospital bill.
Was I obsessed with money? Yes. But only because I didn’t have any despite working like a million jobs. I’d become good at spinning my wheels day after day without getting anywhere. It was frustrating.
When a big man wearing a tight t-shirt that stretched across his muscled chest opened the door, I discovered I could forget all my obsessions at once because I suddenly had a new one.
His smile widened when he saw me, as if he knew who I was.
His dark hair was wet, as if he’d just gotten out of the shower. Of course, I immediately pictured him naked, water cascading down his body.
Did I lick my lips? I wasn’t sure, but he focused on them just before he smiled knowingly. “How much do I owe you?”
His voice was deep, and he had a slight accent whenever he said a word with an o sound.
I couldn’t place where he’d gotten it, but he definitely hadn’t been born in America.
He sounded familiar, too. It wasn’t just the house I somehow recognized.
It was him, too. But I knew we’d never met before. I would’ve remembered him. Right?
I cleared my throat. I knew the second I spoke that something stupidly inappropriate would come out of my mouth.
I wanted to avoid that, but the only way was to give myself a little pep talk to shut the fuck up about anything besides the guy’s order.
“Um...” I had to look at the ticket. “Eighteen seventy-four.”
He grabbed a wallet off the table behind him.
The first thing I noticed was that there was only one wallet and no purse.
The second was the exceptional craftsmanship.
I could tell it was custom even from a distance.
I wanted to ask about it, but I said the first thing that came to mind.
Like an idiot. “Do you live in this big house all alone?”
Shit. Did I just ask a paying customer about his living situation? Worse, I said it all breathy, like I was Marilyn Monroe singing Happy Birthday to the president.
He smirked. “Do pizza delivery drivers usually ask that?”
Only when they wanted to climb the customer like a tree. That was what I was thinking, but what came out of my mouth was, “Only for guys named Grymley Reaper.”
The guy chuckled and handed me two twenties. “Keep the change.”
That was a generous tip. “Thank you.”
I took the pizza out of the warming bag and handed him the box. “Can I ask you one more question?”
“I suppose I can’t stop you.” He smiled with his eyes. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen anyone do that before, especially not someone whose dark gaze saw right into my soul.
I’d seen that dark gaze before. Somewhere in my mind, a memory stirred, and I knew, in fact, that I had met him before. I just couldn’t put my finger on where.
“Would you think it was weird if your delivery driver texted the phone number you provided on your order?”
“Yes, considering that’s a landline. Hang on.” He set the pizza on the entryway table and grabbed a pen and paper. He wrote on it, then handed it to me. When I looked at it, it had his name, Grym, and a phone number. “That’s my cell.”
“Seriously?” Someone as hot as Mr. Death Angel couldn’t possibly be into someone like me.
Could he? I worked at a pizza joint and ate more than I should, and it showed.
I’d been told I was cute and had a nice smile, but I wasn’t sure whether people were trying to spare my feelings or if it was actually true.
“I look forward to hearing from you.” There went the smiling-with-his-eyes thing again. His eyes had been sad the last time I saw him. The sparkle was missing. But when had that been?
“Okay. Well, enjoy your pizza.” I waved, then thought about his entryway table and how I’d like to make something like it. The design possibilities floated through my head.
“Stay safe, Elliot Coyne.”
I was a little disappointed our time together was so brief. There was something about being in his presence that soothed me. I felt safe. Not that I felt unsafe anywhere he wasn’t, but he’d given me a sense of security I hadn’t felt since my mom passed away. It was odd that he would.
Wait. Did he just call me by name? I turned, but he was already closing the door.
The door clicked shut.
With the empty warming bag under my arm, I took out my phone and texted the number he’d given me. It could be fake.
I put him in my phone as Mr. Death Angel.
I have another question.
Of course you do. He ended with a winky face emoji.
I grinned and fist-pumped because he answered so quickly. Then I remembered I was still in his driveway. He could probably see me if he looked out a window, which would be so embarrassing. Just to make sure, I turned and searched every window. I saw him at the door, which had fancy colored glass.
I winced, but I still waved.
He waved back, and I could tell I’d amused him. He looked down at his phone.
My phone pinged a second later. Ask your question.
Is your name really Grym Reaper?
Yes.
If I asked you out, what would you say? That was the question I’d wanted to ask him when I texted him. I also wanted to know how we’d met and why I’d forgotten the finer details. Why did it come back to me in flashes?
How’s Friday at seven? I know an Italian place.
I sucked in a breath. Holy shit. Does that mean I’m dating Death? Shit. Was that rude? It was rude to make fun of his name, right? Forget I said that.
LOL. Does death scare you? Was that a serious question? Probably not, considering he LOLed right before.
If by death you mean you, then no. I’d almost died last night, but I came out better than I had been before. Death had done my body good, not that I wanted to do it again. One more question?
He answered with a smiling face emoji.
Can I call you sometime? Before Friday, I mean.
Sure. As long as I can call you after your shift ends.
I get off late, after midnight.
I’ll talk to you then. I’d expected him to say it was too late and that he’d talk to me tomorrow or something.
Grymley Reaper was an endless surprise. It probably said a lot about my self-esteem that I questioned his sincerity, but I was willing to take the chance. He might be full of shit, and maybe he just wanted to fuck. A guy like Grymley didn’t go on dates with the pizza delivery guy. Did they?