The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (40 page)

Cole glowered at Wyatt as he settled into the chair their mother had abandoned. It was the only chair in the room and sported a tilted round seat and an off-center, triangle-shaped back. Somehow, Wyatt managed to sit in it without his long legs ending up in his ears.

“What the hell is that thing?” Cole wondered.

“Our hospital’s failed attempt at becoming more ‘hip and trendy,’” Wyatt responded. “Don’t try and deflect from the fact that you ended up here with a concussion and bruised face because you were driving under the influence.”

“What about my face?” Reaching up, Cole gently prodded his cheeks. He didn’t feel anything unusual.

“The airbag nearly broke your nose,” Wyatt explained, his sandy brows drawing together. “You likely lost your grip on the steering wheel before impact or you’d probably be suffering from a broken arm or two, as well.”

Cole considered that. “I don’t feel bruised.”

“You don’t feel much of anything. You were given a hefty dose of Codeine shortly before you woke up. Mom was carrying on about how much pain you’d be in, so Dr. Rosen allowed it.”

“Remind me to kiss the doc on my way out.”

“Cole, get serious for a minute,” Wyatt said sharply. “I’ve managed to keep your intoxication out of the official records. Fortunately for you, the guy who made you swerve into that tree was conscientious enough to see if you were all right, and he happens to be a fan of yours. He kept rambling on to anyone who would listen that it was all his fault. Between that and you being my brother, no one tested your blood alcohol level.”

“Then why do you think I was—?”

“Don’t even go there, Cole. You reeked of alcohol. You still do.”

Raising his left arm, Cole gave himself a sniff test. Then he shrugged.

Wyatt pushed up from the chair and leaned over the bed. Cole knew his brother nearly matched his own six-foot, three-inch height, and his hovering position had a dominating effect.

His voice was much quieter when he said, “Cole, for God’s sake, you could have killed yourself. You could have killed someone else—a kid. What the hell were you thinking?”

The combination of Wyatt’s posture and tone made another dent in Cole’s conscience. He’d always sought his older brother’s pride, and he knew now that he had disappointed him.

“I’m sorry, Wy.”

Whatever Wyatt read in his expression must have convinced him he was sincere. Sighing, Wyatt returned to the chair-like contraption.

“What’s going on, Cole? You don’t normally drink yourself stupid when you go out with your friends.”

Cole considered blowing his brother off. He could easily say it had been a one-time slip and it wouldn’t happen again, blah, blah, blah. Then he’d go back to living his life.

But he had to tell someone.

Rubbing a hand down his face, he asked, “Can I talk to you under the doctor-patient privilege rather than brother to brother?”

“Cole...”

“Wyatt, this is important, okay?”

After a pause, Wyatt nodded.

Cole took a deep breath. “Okay. The truth is, I think I’ve blown out my pitching shoulder. I’ve been drinking and taking pills to relieve the pain.”

The quickly-issued confession didn’t make Cole feel any better. If anything, it made his non-physical pain that much keener. Still, it did help a little to share his burden. He was facing the possibility that his pitching career was over at the age of twenty-four. It had seemed more than he could bear before this moment. Now, he had hope.

He had Wyatt.

“When do you think the injury occurred?” Wyatt asked at last.

Grateful for his brother’s unshakable calm, Cole replied, “I experienced twinges several times last season when I pitched. It got worse in October. Once the season ended, I tried to work it out, but it’s been a few weeks and the pain isn’t going away. It’s getting worse.”

“Have you spoken to your team doctors or—?”

“Wy, if I tell anyone I’m having issues in my throwing arm, it’ll be all over the news. My contract comes up for renewal at the end of this coming season. I have to be in prime condition...no rumors about pain or treatment or surgery.”

Wyatt frowned. “You can’t continue on without an evaluation, Cole. You have to see what’s going on. It could be something treatable without surgery.”

“I want you to treat me,” Cole said. “I can trust that you’ll do it secretly and the press won’t find out.”

Wyatt was shaking his head before Cole finished. “If this was a heart condition, we might be having a different conversation, but—”

“Then one of the doctors you know. Get them to treat me off the record so it stays quiet.”

“You’re asking me to go to my colleagues and ask them to risk their medical licenses to treat you without properly documenting it?”

That made Cole frown. He wasn’t about to put his brother in that position.

“Look, it’s only the first week of November. You’re still months away from spring training. Assuming you don’t need surgery and you start rehab now, you should be fresh and ready to go by the time you report.”

Cole rolled his eyes. “Sure. I just have to figure out a way to get the rehab I need without the public finding out about it. That means it has to be done outside of a center and not by anyone bogged down by licensure and professional ethics. How the hell am I going to get effective treatment with all of those restrictions?”

Wyatt leaned forward. “I’ll make you a deal. If you stop drinking it up at the clubs and downing pills, I’ll figure out a way to make this work.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There really wasn’t any other choice. He nodded. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

B
lack Friday brought a rush of dinner business to Prix Fixe, and Everly Wallace wasn’t about to complain. Funds were tight and she desperately needed the tips she’d earn tonight.

Even if it meant dealing with the insufferable woman at table nineteen.

The table hadn’t even gotten around to placing their orders yet and Everly had endured three complaints already. The ice in the woman’s water melted too quickly. The restaurant didn’t carry black napkins, only brown and white. Her preferred brand of gin wasn’t in stock.

Everly was sure more trouble would come. She’d just have to do what she could to head off the complaints. She’d also give Kathleen Chadwick, the restaurant’s manager, a head’s up just in case.

“I’ve got a couple of campers at twenty-seven,” a fellow server, Anne, bemoaned as she and Everly crossed paths at the servers’ stand behind the bar. “I think they’ll stay there until we turn the lights off.”

“Celebrating an anniversary?” Everly guessed as she placed filled drinks on a tray.

“Got it in one.” Anne rolled her eyes. “Everything okay in your world? I feel like I haven’t chatted with you in ages.”

She hadn’t, Everly silently agreed, and this wasn’t the time or place for such a chat, even if Everly had been the type to cozy up with work associates and share all of the details about her life.

Which she wasn’t.

“Everything’s great, thanks,” she said. “Well, outside of a hostile at table nineteen. But I’ll handle it.”

They exchanged grins and Everly lifted the tray. She carried the drinks to table twenty-one and asked about their meals. As she did so, she subconsciously tuned into everything happening in her station. Stefan was clearing table seventeen. He was excellent at his job and would have it fully turned inside a minute. She’d have to check back in a few minutes to greet her new guest or guests.

Walking past table twenty, she picked up their payment folder and thanked the couple, letting them know she’d be back in a moment after processing their credit card. She carefully collected straw wrappers and brushed crumbs off tables as she passed on her way to the back of the house, even if the tables weren’t in her station. The other servers would do the same for her. Owner Rowan Ferullo insisted on clean tabletops and smiling waitstaff in his establishment.

After using the touchscreen ordering terminal to enter dessert for table twenty-one and then processing the payment for twenty, she filled more glasses with soft drinks and had a quick word with Kathleen about table nineteen. Then she strode back to the front of the house, delivering the refills to eighteen and the payment folder to twenty. Thanking them again, she steeled herself and returned to nineteen. She registered that the hostess had already seated guests at table seventeen and silently reminded herself to greet them after taking these orders.

Everly scanned the group at nineteen. It appeared to be two couples and their mother or mother-in-law—the complainer. One couple was still discussing the menu.

Catching the eye of the female half of the couple, Everly smiled and asked, “Do you have any questions about the menu?”

“No,” the older woman said, waving a hand in Everly’s direction as though her presence displeased her. She tossed her head and her long, blonde hair fell back over her shoulder in a salon-inspired wave. “We’ve been ready to order for some time now.”

“My apologies,” Everly said. “Please let me know what you’d like from the appetizer, entrée, and dessert options and I’ll—”

“I want the Beef Tartare,” the woman interrupted, “but put the sesame vinaigrette on the side in case I don’t like it. And—aren’t you going to write this down?”

Everly kept her attentive expression and polite smile in place. “No, ma’am. I’ll remember the order.”

The woman’s face scrunched like she had inhaled something unpleasant. She sniffed audibly. “I doubt that.”

“We can absolutely prepare the Beef Tartare with the sesame vinaigrette on the side,” Everly said smoothly, not bothering to mention that it was typically served that way. “And for your entrée?”

Despite the woman’s complicated palate and multiple changes to her meal, Everly managed to guide the table through their orders. She took some comfort from the fact that the younger couples appeared upset by the older woman’s behavior. She handed their menus off to the hostess, Lexi, as she walked past. Then she turned to table seventeen.

And found her first genuine smile of the night.

“Wyatt,” she said as she approached. “So nice to see you here.”

He returned her smile. “You look as wonderful as always, Everly. How was your Thanksgiving?”

“Full of studying,” she answered, unable to keep the humor from her voice. “My Professional Practice professor’s a real hard-nose.”

“Tell him to lay off,” Wyatt said. “Only an ass would schedule finals between Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

Everly laughed. This was her second class with Dr. Wyatt Parker. Her first had been CardioPulm. During that course in the beginning of her degree program, he agreed to mentor her. Thanks to him, she received a full-time graduate assistanceship at Georgia State University. Between that and Wyatt getting her this job at Prix Fixe, she owed him more than she could ever repay.

“I’ll get right on that,” she said dryly.

She appreciated his good-humored wink. Almost as an afterthought, she looked at his dining guest to greet him. Her smile froze on her face.

“Everly, I’d like you to meet my brother, Cole,” Wyatt said.

It was Cole Parker.
The
Cole Parker. Sitting in her station.

Cole Parker was sitting right in front of her!

For the first time, she connected Wyatt’s last name with his. The name Parker was common enough that it never even occurred to her that they were related. Plus, Wyatt was thirty-seven and she didn’t think Cole was even twenty-five yet. Quite a big age span for siblings. But as she looked into Cole’s hazel eyes, she realized the shape of them mirrored Wyatt’s, as did the strong line of his jaw, which was currently covered in the dark stubble of a well-maintained chin strap beard.

“I’m sorry for carrying on like that,” she managed to say. She couldn’t believe her voice didn’t shake. Sweet Lord, Cole Parker was sitting in her station and looking right at her. Was she gawking? She prayed she wasn’t. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Everly and I’ll be your server this evening. We have a complete wine and bar menu that you can take your time and review, but can I get you started with something to drink?”

“I’ll have a Jack and Coke,” Cole said.

Wyatt lifted a brow.

“What?” Cole grumbled. “You’re driving.”

Shaking his head, Wyatt smiled at Everly and said, “Just water for me, thanks.”

“Hey, you—girl,” the woman at table nineteen barked with a snap of her fingers.

“I’ll be right back with those drinks,” Everly said, glancing between Cole and Wyatt to include them both in the statement.

Then she dug for more patience and turned back to deal with table nineteen.

*    *    *

A
lthough Wyatt’s partner, Rowan, opened Prix Fixe about nine months ago, Cole hadn’t made the time to dine there. He should have, he realized now, as it was a five-star establishment in the heart of downtown, his typical stomping grounds.

It had a great vibe, he decided once the hostess brought him and Wyatt to their table. Lots of warm and vibrant colors, polished, rich woods, creatively-used etched glass, and creamy fabrics. Within only a few minutes of sitting in the waiting area, he’d seen that the restaurant ran like a well-oiled machine. Rowan had done well here, Cole decided.

His conclusion wasn’t drawn without careful observation. He’d had plenty of time to assess his surroundings since Wyatt insisted on sitting in one particular section of the restaurant. Cole didn’t understand what was so special about this section and why they even had to wait at all. His brother lived with the owner, for God’s sake. Didn’t that warrant a VIP pass or something?

He griped and complained for thirty minutes—never denting Wyatt’s inhuman calm—before they were finally led to their table. It was a booth large enough for only two people facing each other. On his left was a high wall of dark wood, and behind his head was a decorative piece of etched glass. It offered a nice level of privacy, he supposed. Not much to scream about, though, so he didn’t understand why Wyatt had insisted on sitting in this part of the restaurant. His brother could be so weird.