Page 105 of Carver’s Craving

His eyes opened. “Baxter.”

“Yep.” I handed him his coffee and gestured to the back seat. “Cruller, Timbits, and a vanilla dip for me.”

“Okay.” He took the coffee, cracked the lid, inhaled deeply, and took a sip. “Perfect.”

“Great.” I grabbed my own coffee and slipped out.

As soon as Styx was beside me with the food, I set the alarm. Together we walked to the emergency entrance. He stood beside me as I paid a shit ton of money for parking. I bought the twelve-hour option. I’d have to head home for the dogs before that, but I might wind up coming back.

We stepped inside and immediately headed to the triage desk.

A uniformed woman gestured for us to sit.

“I’m Styx Smith. Sorry, Steven Smith. My friend Baxter Maxwell was just brought in?” He pressed his fingers to his lips.

I put my arm around his waist and drew him close.

He leaned into the embrace.

“You need to wait.” The woman pointed to the chairs. “I’ll let his nurse know you’re here.”

“Thank you.” I offered her a smile. Frankly, that was more than I expected. We weren’t family. Not in the blood sense, anyway.

I guided Styx to the chairs. After we sat down, I pointed to the food.

He handed me the vanilla dip donut and the box of Timbits. Finally, he poked his nose into the bag with the cruller.

“Eat it, sweetheart.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“You?” I might’ve scoffed that. “You’re a bottomless pit.” Seriously, I’d never met anyone with his metabolism. Will he be like that twenty years from now? God, or longer than still? ’Til death did we part. Forever. I pressed myself against him. “Do what you can.”

“Yeah.” He hesitated—then devoured the thing in three inelegant bites.

I relaxed a fraction.

A moment later, a different woman in scrubs appeared. “Styx?”

We rose.

Styx gestured with the hand holding his coffee cup.

“You can come with me.”

He hesitated. “This is my boyfriend. Carver. He knows Baxter. He—” He swallowed. “I need him.”

After a moment, she nodded. “For now. Follow me.”

So we did. She swiped her badge and led us through to the back. She gestured for us to sit in a small room with a chair for someone seeing an eye doctor.

I shrugged and did as she suggested.

Styx didn’t sit. He paced.

I rescued the box of Timbits. But I didn’t ask him to stop.

“Why here?” he muttered in my general direction. “Why can’t I see Baxter?”