Page 3 of The Sidekick

I’m too happy all the time. I’m weird, and my jokes aren’t funny. My taste in music is horrible. My voice is too high-pitched. I don’t talk bad about people, and that’s weird. I don’t curse, and everyone swears. I’m oblivious to everything around me and live in my own little happy world. The list goes on and on. Someone even told me that my addiction to coffee was basic and ridiculous.

So, everything I do is annoying, and none of them ever bothered to tell me.

I asked everyone but Trevor, my sweet boss, and Max, the surly busboy, because I was terrified they would tell me more of the same. I didn’t think I could handle their answers if they were bad, considering I’m in love with both of them, and they have no idea. It’s definitely one-sided, no matter which one I gaze longingly at.

Max doesn’t ever talk to me, and he glares a lot. He’s the dark-haired, tall, dreamy, hazel-eyed, grumpy hero. I’m assuming he doesn’t like me based on his closed-off expression when I talk to him. I’ve said hi and tried to talk to him a million times with no response except scowls. He also walks away from me in the middle of a story. I’ve stopped trying to get him to speak and started watching him from afar. It’s safer for my heart that way. I can look as long as I don’t talk.

Trevor is a nice guy. A warm, comforting, and steady presence with dirty blond hair, a wicked grin, and gray eyes you can lose yourself in. He would tell me I was perfect. I can’t picture him hating anyone, but I have seen him cringe when I get excited about something, bouncing around because I can’t contain myself. So, I’m even annoying to my sexy boss. I can’t take a lie from him, even if it was covered in chocolate sauce, and survive with my heart and backbone intact.

I wince as I shift in the uncomfortable seat. I want to leave. I want to go home and sleep for a few years. I could emerge from a cocoon like a butterfly to flit away. South doesn’t have a problem with anything I do.

No, I’m not leaving.

I owe it to Joe. He’s the only one outside of my coworkers to whom I asked my question, and he chewed me out about not loving myself. The only person genuinely happy when I walk into a room is a seventy-year-old alcoholic who’s currently in surgery, and I’m not sure if he will make it.

I feel like I’m standing in the dark with a flickering candle as my only light source, and it’s a windy night.

“Miss Evans?” An exhausted voice beckons me from my wandering thoughts.

I spring out of my seat and rush to the middle-aged man wearing green scrubs. I can’t wait to never see that pale shade again. I don’t let the grim look on his face stop my hopes from rising. He has to be grim, right? It’s his job, and he’s obviously tired. Everything is fine. Joe is fine.

“Yes?” I manage to squeak out, lips trembling up in a hopeful smile. My voice is a little choked from all the crying.

He sighs and shakes his head slightly, “Did you find any relation to Mr. Douglas?”

“No, he always told me it was just him. I didn’t want to leave here and ransack his place to find out anything just in case he needed me.”

I probably shouldn’t have said that.

His hand drops heavily on my shoulder, and my body reacts instinctively, tears welling and tension stealing up my spine. My stomach and heart drop at the same time, and my brain flatlines.

“Mr. Douglas didn’t make it out of surgery. As he has no relatives present, I’m hoping you can identify him and give us any information you might have about him.”

“I-I filled out the paperwork,” I stutter dumbly as the realization that Joe didn’t make it washes my brain into a numb state.

“Yes, miss. But we’ll need you to fill out more.”

“Of course,” the words come out faintly as my brain drifts without settling on a single thought.

A nurse leads me towards their desk, and I hear a familiar voice call my name in a shocked shriek.

I turn sluggishly to see Andi and all five of her bodyguards hustling toward me.

I have no idea what the rush is. He’s dead. It isn’t like he’s going anywhere.

Oh, gosh. I choke back the hysterical laughter that wants to escape me, distantly shocked at my lack of sensitivity.

“Jesus,” she slides to a stop, gaping at me as she stares at my uniform in horror. “I didn’t know… Are you hurt?”

I look down and realize I’m covered in blood. It’s splattered on my white shirt and denim skirt. Even my waitress apron is dotted with red and a handprint where Joe held on to me. I bet this will finally convince Trevor that white is a stupid color for them. From the knees down, it looks like I was wading in reddish brown paint, my white sneakers ready for the trash. It’s even coating my hands and under my nails. I must look horrible. No wonder no one wanted to talk to me.

“Tera, are you ok?” Andi reaches hesitantly towards me as if she’s afraid to get dirty.

That thought annoys me, bringing my bitterness back to the forefront of my mind. What is she even doing here? I wanted that a second ago and now I regret it. I don’t want to deal with her drama right now. I have my own for once.

“Miss?” A gentle voice interrupts my thoughts, and I turn back towards the nurse, grateful that I don’t have to answer Andi’s questions. The nurse has a kind, gently rounded face and the softest, sympathetic blue eyes that match her scrubs perfectly. I’m so thankful that they aren’t green.

“I know you’re upset, but we need you to fill out these forms before you leave.”

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