Page 45 of Quarterback Sneak

“It was marked for return, couldn’t you smell it?” Beth accused, her face going pale. As Sous Chef, it was Beth’s job to monitor the prep in the kitchen and make sure the line ran smoothly and she took her job seriously.

The prep cook glanced from Ivy to Beth, brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, I can’t smell anything. Allergies and there was nothing on the outside of the package, I swear. I can go look for it if—”

“Don’t bother, it’s not your fault, it’s mine.” Ivy clenched her hands into fists, her heart pulsing a mad beat. She’d never got the opportunity to mark the meat or move it to the case. She had run into the bus station when Beth had dropped the coffee pot.

“Did you serve any of it?” Ivy’s heart raced as she rushed to the stove. Pulling off the pot, she lugged it to the dish pit. Lovely, all she needed was to give the population of Seattle food poisoning. At the least, the restaurant would be closed and her reputation ruined. Or worse case scenario, someone could get sick, or even die.

The prep cook shook his head.

Instant relief sent Ivy rocking back on her heels.

“I did. I sent a busser over to your house with lunch for Sam. We were running low on the soup du jour so I grabbed the minestrone. I… I’m so sorry,” Beth said, brown eyes liquid with horror.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Sam. Alarm bells rang in Ivy’s ears and she sprinted out the door. Sam. She had to get to Sam. Maybe he hadn’t eaten the soup yet. Maybe a miracle had happened. She told herself this over and over again until she reached her apartment building and raced into the elevator. Winded from the run and a deep rooted dread, she bolted out the doors as soon as they opened and fumbled with the key to her apartment.

The lock slipped open and she rushed in, her gaze scanning every inch of the room. The living area was empty and the bathroom door was shut. Placing her damp palm on the knob, she slowly opened it, terrified of what she’d find. Sam lay on the floor by the toilet, his head hanging over the porcelain base. Still as death, eyes closed, and skin a chalky white. His bad knee was stretched out straight, his other knee bent, foot planted on the floor.

Oh my God, I killed Sam. “Sam are you all right?”

When he failed to respond to her question, dread turned to outright panic. She reached for her cellphone. Beth had it. Argh! Groaning, she grabbed his phone instead. She lifted his limp hand and pressed his clammy finger to the reader to unlock it.

“What are you doing?” He opened heavy lids and his eyes were dull and full of pain.

“I’m calling 9-1-1,” she said.

“No, I’ll be ok. I just need water.” His strong fingers gripped the phone as he started to get up. His eyes rolled and he fell back down, his arm draped around the toilet.

“You need a doctor. You’ve got food poisoning.” She worried her lip, certain he was near to death and she was to blame.

He licked cracked lips, his voice a mere croak. “I don’t have a fever, so I’m not in any danger. Please get me some water.”

She used the opportunity to steal the phone and rushed to the kitchen. He might be two stubborn to admit he needed help but she wasn’t, not in this instance. Sprinting across the small space, she returned with a bottle of water.

“You ate tainted meat. The prep guy couldn’t smell it was bad and I didn’t get a chance to mark it, so he didn’t know it was bad. I should have thrown it away but the meat company will replace it and I need to keep the food cost down and—” She snapped her jaw shut, babbling wasn’t helping anyone. “You’re sick and it’s my fault. You could have died.”

“I’m not dead, although I wish I were.” He lifted the water she handed him and sipped.

Determined to get him the help he needed, she stepped out of the small space and clicked through Sam’s contacts until she found Howler’s name. Ivy needed a second opinion, someone to back up her decision. She dialed the phone and waited for him to answer.

“Hey douche,” Howler picked up on the third ring and from the echo quality of his voice, he was in his car. “Traffic sucks but I’m a block from Ivy’s place. I have news.”

“It’s not Sam, it’s me, Ivy. You have to come over. I poisoned Sam and now he’s really sick.”

“Wait, hold the phone. You poisoned Sam? What the fuck did you do that for?” Howler shouted.

“I didn’t mean to, it was an accident. The soup was bad and I didn’t know, honestly, I didn’t. Now he could die and it’s my fault.” Oh God, she felt sick, her chest tight with anxiety.

“I’m not dead, nor do I intend to be anytime soon,” Sam called out.

“He needs to go to the hospital. I want to call 9-1-1 but he refuses to let me.” Ivy gripped the phone. “I should call 9-1-1, shouldn’t I?”

“No, you shouldn’t. I’m not dying, Ivy.” Sam’s voice was stronger this time, calm and in control.

Annoying, yet comforting at the same instance. Stop, you’re supposed to be convincing him to be practical. He needed help whether he wished for it or not. She whirled around and pressed the speaker icon on the phone. “You could have salmonella, or botulism, or mad cow disease. Tell him, Howler.”

“Or I could have a mild case of food poisoning and be perfectly fine in a few days. I just need to stay hydrated.”

“You look like death warmed over. Please, let me get help. Tell him, Howler.” She’d never forgive herself if anything happened to him. Not only did he own a part of her soul, she could never live with herself if she cost another human being his life.

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