Nope.
Not in my wheelhouse!
Jumping out of my bed, I quickly showered and dressed, my mind conjuring evil thoughts of rebellion, revenge, and wondering if I could swing by and get a burger before I needed to head next door.
Gawd, I needed a fat juicy burger in the worst way.
Grabbing my backpack, I thundered down the stairs, my footsteps echoing with purpose, and a touch of desperation. The aroma of fresh coffee drifted through the hall, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from my mission. As I reached the kitchen, I found my parents already seated at the table. My father sat engrossed in his morning newspaper, barely glancing up at my dramatic entrance, while my mother greeted me with a warm, knowing smile that seemed to say she was ready for whatever mood I brought to the table.
“Good morning, Cate.”
With a disgruntled huff, I grumbled in reply, “For you, maybe.” The words barely escaped my lips, muffled by the growing weight of the morning’s drama.
My mom’s expression softened with understanding as she ventured, “I take it you saw Tracy’s post.” Her tone was gentle but laced with the kind of motherly intuition that made it impossible to hide anything from her.
Unable to contain my exasperation, I collapsed into the nearest chair, flinging myself forward until my forehead met the table. With a melodramatic wail that would rival any tear-jerking scene at the Oscars, I cried out, “WHY!”
“Darling,” my mom tried to talk reason. “Your time will come.”
“When Mom?” I whined as I banged my head on the table. “I wanted that job!”
“And there will be one better soon. I know it.”
Huffing, I looked at my mom. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I am.” My mom smirked with that annoyingI-just-know-these-thingssmile. “In the meantime, you have something to keep you busy.”
Rolling my eyes, I stood reaching for a banana. “And on that note, I better get going.” I peeled the banana absentmindedly, its sweet scent rising up to greet me, but even comfort food couldn’t dissolve the knot of disappointment in my chest. Glancing once more at my mom, I tried to muster a smile, though it wavered at the edges. At least I thought the day couldn’t get much worse... unless Tracy decided to post another update.
I should have known better than to challenge Karma. Every time I thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, the infuriating woman seemed to take it personally. It was as if the cranky bitch looked at me, grinned mischievously, and said, “Hold my beer”—because a few hours later, I learned how much worse it could get.
“MEGAN!” Dr. Lyon’s familiar baritone boomed through the sterile chaos of the New Haven Emergency Room, his entrance as dramatic as a Shakespearean soliloquy. I winced, mentally preparing for impact.
My primary concern?Would he focus on the fact his darling daughter had a freshly snapped radius, or the minor miracle that I, her designated babysitter, had actually managed to keep her alive for more than five minutes?
Megan, bless her little thrill-seeking heart, seemed utterly unbothered by my impending professional doom. She was practically vibrating with glee. This kid was clearly an ER VIP; her frequent flyer miles to the Intensive Care Unit probably rivaled a seasoned airline executive’s. The entire staff, from the stoic surgeons to the perpetually caffeinated nurses, knew her. They cooed at her, pressing colorful bandages and sugary lollipops into her uninjured hand like she was the queen of some bizarre hospital pageant.
Just as I was attempting to regain a sliver of composure, my phone buzzed with the righteous fury of a thousand social media notifications.
Tracy.
Of course.
Dread, a familiar companion these days, coiled in my stomach. I flipped the phone over, the screen glaring back with its insidious promise of more public humiliation. I didn’t even have the energy to open it. “Oh, for the love of all that is holy,” I muttered, tossing the offending device onto the nearby table. I was half-tempted to launch it out the nearest window when the curtain whooshed back, revealing Dr. Lyon in all his imposing, dagger-glaring glory.
I scrambled to my feet, a desperate, “In my defense,” escaping my lips before his hand, impossibly large and impossibly firm, shot out, silencing me mid-sentence.
Honestly, the audacity!
“Baby, are you okay?” he asked, his voice softening as he moved toward Megan. She beamed up at him, her broken arm held aloft like a trophy. “Look, Daddy, I got a pink one!” she chirped, proudly displaying her bright pink cast.
“I see that,” he said, a grin spreading across his face as he leaned down to kiss her forehead.
Then, his gaze swiveled to me.
The grin vanished, replaced by a narrow-eyed intensity that could curdle milk. He strode over, his hand clamping around my arm like a vise, and towed me out of earshot.
“What the hell happened?” he demanded, his voice a low growl.
