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Kalen
Something must have happened with that woman I saw leaving. I muse over it as I watch Everly leave. She seems upset. Turning back to Valarian and little Casey, it seems like both are in a mood.
“Papa, can you get us a drink?” Valarian asks, and I smile. He looks so much like Valen when he was Valarian’s age; his big amber eyes looking back at me remind me of his father, though Valen has grown out of his dimples.
“Of course. What would you like?” I ask.
“Banana milkshake!” Casey squeals, and I smile before looking at Valarian, though I have a funny feeling I know what he’ll ask for, especially if he is, indeed, like his father.
“Vanilla, please.”
I nod, happy I am right, before looking around for the servers. Not seeing any, I look at the bar, which only has a small line.
“Okay, wait here; I will be right back. I am just going over there,” I point out the bar, which is only a couple of feet away, before stepping through the playground's safety gate.
I am excited for the day I planned out to distract the kids. It kind of reminds me of when I used to take Valen out. Every Sunday was our day. Every Sunday was an adventure when he was a small boy, always hunting for unknown places to take him.
I place the kids’ milkshake orders and add on some subs to take with us too, before turning to look back at them. I wave to them, then freeze.
They are gone.
Two minutes, if that! I had turned around for only a few moments, and they just disappeared. Racing back to the playground, I search the tunnels, climb into the cubbyholes at the top, and check the slides. They are gone. My stomach drops, my heart racing like a drum at the thought of losing them.
“Hey! The kids, the kids who were in here, did you see where they went?” I ask, grabbing a security guard's arm. He looks behind me at the playground and shrugs.
“I didn't see any kids, Alpha Kalen.”
“I want all hotel security looking for a boy and girl. The girl is in a pink dress with, um, um, what is the name?” I try to think of the name of that show she likes, the one Valen complained about. “’Trolls’! It's a pink ‘Trolls’ dress; the boy is in a light blue, button-up shirt and navy slacks.”
The guard starts rattling off their descriptions across his radio before turning to me.
“Their names?”
“Casey and Valarian,” I tell him, scanning the wine gardens for any trace of them. How could I lose them, and why would they leave?
“And whose kids are they?”
“My grandkids! Just fucking find them!” I snap, darting off and yanking my phone from my pocket. My hands shake as I punch in the numbers. I have to dial my son's number again, missing a couple of numbers the first time in my haste as I run through the lobby, looking for any sign of them. I manage to dial the correct numbers a few seconds later, still walking as fast as I can and scanning the place while I wait for my son to answer.
“What's up?”
My stomach sinks at the thought of what I’m about to tell him. I feel sick, like I am about to throw up. He and Everly will never trust me again. My heart thuds painfully against my ribs, so hard I am certain I am at serious risk of a heart attack. Do these kids not realize I am old? I can’t get a fright like this.
“I lost them. I lost the kids.”
“What do you mean, you lost them?” Valen snaps, his voice slightly hysterical.
“They were right there, then I went to get them a milkshake, and when I turned around again, they were gone,” I panic, racing through the restaurants and bars, looking for them.
“They couldn’t have gone far; I’m on my way,” Valen replies.
“Okay. I will call Everly,” I tell him, dreading that call.
“No, let's see if we can find them first. They couldn't have left the hotel,” Valen says, hanging up.
I have every member of available staff looking for them, the entirety of our security personnel searching, and even a few police have shown up to help me search the damn place when a call comes over the radio.
“Found them. They were in the kitchens, hiding,” a chef calls over the radio. The immense relief I feel as I make my way to their location cannot be explained. Pulling my phone out, I call my son back to let him know, and he tells me he is nearly here—no doubt to scold the kids for hiding on me. Walking into the kitchens, I find both kids sitting on milk crates, the chef standing over them with his arms folded, not looking impressed.
