15. Reaper
15
Reaper
“ W hy couldn’t she own a cool business like a tattoo shop or something?”
Grump has been complaining since I got back to the clubhouse last night. Apparently, he thinks that working at the diner is going to be boring. Maybe for him it will be, but for me, it’s going to be anything but.
Tempting, torturous, agonizing, arousing… those are words I’d use to describe any time I’ll be spending around Kyra.
Boring? Never.
“Think of it as a way to meet chicks,” I tell him. “There’s bound to be more than a few female customers.”
“If you say so,” he grumbles.
One thing I’ve learned about Grump since he arrived at Valhalla is that the road name he was given as a human fits him perfectly. He’s grumpy as all get out.
“We don’t get to choose our assignments,” Viking adds as we walk to the entrance of Night and Day. “If you don’t like it, take it up with Odin.”
The look on Grump’s face is a comical mixture of fear and resignation. “No, thanks. Dude scares me.”
“He’s a god,” I remind him. “He scares everyone.”
When we step inside, the scent of greasy breakfast food wafts up my nostrils, and my stomach growls with hunger. It’s odd feeling things I haven’t felt in years. Being dead and all tends to strip away the most basic of human needs like food and sleep.
We’re still technically dead, but in the human world, we have to be able to blend in, so those needs hit us all.
“You came,” Kyra says, drying her hands on a towel.
“You didn’t think we would?” I ask.
“No, I…” She shakes her head. “Never mind. Can you flip the ‘open’ sign on, please?”
While Viking does that, I step around the counter. “You’ve got me all day and Acid and Demo will swap out with Viking and Grump after lunch.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing all this.”
“Neither can I.”
I glance over my shoulder to see the cook glaring at me. “It’s Barry, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Not wanting to step on any toes here, man,” I tell him. “The kitchen is your domain, and we understand that. But Kyra needs help out here, and I intend to see that she gets it.”
He stares at me, assessing. “I don’t like it.”
“Then you’re in good company because Kyra doesn’t either.”
Barry slides his gaze to his boss. “You sure you’re good with this?”
“Don’t have much of a choice, Barry. All the waitresses quit, and unless you want to serve customers and cook, we need them.”
“We don’t need anyone,” he challenges.
Most people would be annoyed at his arrogance, at his blatant and unwarranted hatred. It’s a good thing I’m not most people and am able to see his attitude for what it is: protective. As far as I’m concerned, he’s only wanting to make sure Kyra isn’t taken advantage of or hurt by anyone. That makes him an ally in my book.
“Barry, please,” she pleads. “Don’t make this harder than it is.”
He opens his mouth to protest but closes it quickly. His eyes drift from her to me and back again. “Okay. But do I have to be happy about it?”
Kyra laughs lightly. “No, you don’t. Just be nice. For me? I don’t know how much more stress and negativity I can take before I break.”
That statement seems to do the trick. Barry’s gruff demeanor softens. “I’ll play nice if they do. And remember, I’m here for you, too.”
“I know. Thank you.”
Customers begin to trickle in which gives me an opportunity to see Kyra in her element. She’s incredible. The way she talks to them, waits on them… you’d never know she was stressed to her limit. She greets each person with a smile, and her kindness is next level.
The day goes by in a blur. Not because Night and Day is super busy though. No, it’s barely hanging on. The blur is due to my proximity to Kyra. Viking and Grump seem oblivious, going about their duties like men on a mission. But me? I can’t focus on anything but her and the bulge in my pants.
“I need to go pick up the kids from school,” she says hours later. “Not only did my staff quit, but I don’t have a babysitter either.”
I’m about to offer to go get them myself when Barry steps out of the kitchen and hangs his apron by the swinging door. “I’ll go get ‘em,” he says and then looks at me. “Any of you know how to cook?”
I survived on take-out after my divorce, so I’m out, and Viking was alive when cooking was done over an open fire. That leaves Grump or Kyra, although something tells me she’d rather stay in the dining area where the customers are.
“We’ll handle it,” I tell him.
Barry nods. “Okay. Kyra, what do you think about putting me down as a contact at the school, so I don’t have to go through the third degree any time I pick them up? They’ve got that place buttoned up like Fort Knox.”
“I can do that. I’ll go call them now.”
Thirty minutes later, Barry strolls in with Heidi and Hunter. They remind me so much of my Paul and Erica, bouncing off the walls with more energy than sense. Although Hunter's exuberance dies down quickly.
“Reaper!” Heidi exclaims, running toward me with her arms stretched wide and leaving me with no option but to catch her when she jumps. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to help your mom,” I explain. “Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah.” She scrambles to her feet and steps back. “I made you a picture at school, but I wasn’t sure if I’d see you again.”
“You did?”
Heidi and I talk for a few more minutes, and I’m keenly aware of Kyra standing to the side and watching me like a hawk. If she’s looking for a reason to send me packing, she won’t find one.
“Can you help me with my homework?” Heidi finally asks. “Me and Hunter have to work on our numbers.”
I glance at Hunter, who’s been quiet this whole time. “You need help too, bud?”
“Yeah.”
“How about this? You two go sit in that booth over there,” I say, pointing to the one closest to the hallway. “I’ll get you some milkshakes and a snack and then come help you both.”
They both look to Kyra. “It’s okay with me,” she tells them. “But don’t spoil your dinner.”
Heidi runs to the booth while Hunter follows at a slower pace. Worry creeps in because he’s acting differently than he was last night, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of me.
“You don’t have to do this,” Kyra says as I make my way to the milkshake machine.
“I know. I’ve missed this, though.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I want to reach out and snatch them from the air.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
I guess there’s no turning back now. Not exactly something I can lie my way out of.
“I had two kids,” I admit quietly. “Paul and Erica. And please don’t ask me about them,” I rush to add. “It’s too hard to talk about.”
Kyra’s expression softens, and there’s sympathy in her eyes. I don’t want her sympathy though. I know she’s probably thinking something bad happened to them, and I can’t explain that they’re just fine as far as I know. Because to do that would be a violation of the Warrior Code of Conduct.
Besides, how do you even begin to tell someone that you died years ago and were sent back to the human world by Odin, a god whom most humans believe is a myth?