Page 12 of Unexpected Hero

It’s a private number. Odd.

Oh no. What if it’s the paramedics? Or a reverse 911 thing or something? Stella probably called them when I didn’t answer. I have no idea how long I was almost passed out on the bathroom floor after my sponge attacked me.

Tapping the green button, I answer the call. “Hello?”

A monotone male voice greets me. “Yes, ma’am. This is the front desk. We got a complaint of yelling coming from your room. A woman screaming. Is everything okay?”

“Imph firne.”

“What? I can’t understand you. Do you need an ambulance?” He sounds a touch panicked.

I juggle the towel around to catch the drips without blocking my voice so he can understand me. “Sorry. I had a towel over my face because it’s bleeding. I said I’m fine.”

“Your face is bleeding?”

“Just my nose. Sorry. I’m okay.”

“Are you sure? I can get an ambulance there in five minutes.”

“No, no. Don’t do that. Just a bloody nose. I dropped my phone on my face. I’m a bit of a klutz. Sorry for the noise. Pass on my apologies to anyone I disturbed.”

Because they are all soooo courteous to me at all hours of the night.

“Don’t worry about it. All that matters is that you’re okay.”

“Thank you.”

I’m about to hang up when he adds, “Violet, don’t lean your head back. You should stay sitting up and let the blood flow out of your nose so it doesn’t drain down your throat.” His voice has a certain velvety dominance that draws me to instant attention. “Ice pack over the bridge of your nose for fifteen minutes. Breathe through your mouth until the bleeding stops so you don’t choke. And if you need something for the pain before the bleeding stops, take acetaminophen. Ibuprofen will make the bleeding worse. If the bleeding doesn’t stop in twenty more minutes, it’s best to go to an urgent care or a hospital. Don’t drive yourself, though.”

“Okay.” Wow. This is such an unexpected call. “Thank you. What’s your name?”

“Tom— Thomas.”

“All right. Thanks, Tom Thomas,” I joke. “I’ll be sure to put your name down on my comment card for outstanding service.”

“That’s not necessary. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thank you. Have a good day.”

“You too, Lettie.”

I disconnect and return the towel to my nose. For a second, I lay down, almost forgetting Thomas’s expert advice. But as soon as my head hits the pillow, I pop back upright. Choking on blood does not sound like a fun way to go.

Like an obedient little mouth breather, I sit with the towel gently pressed against my nose while I fire off a picture to Stella so she has proof of life.

She replies with a gif of an anime character spraying blood from their nose. And follows that up with another gif of Donald Glover from Community that reads: Your face. It’s bad.

After getting some ice from down the hall, I return to the bed and send her a series of nose-related gifs.

And because Thomas told me to, I continue to breathe through my mouth like a cretin.

Nothing says Lettie Holt like breathing through my mouth while covered in blood in a dive hotel.

I have no idea what I’m doing in Florida.

Or with my life.

Wait. Did Thomas call me Lettie?

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