Page 44 of Exposing Adonis

Everyone else was allowed to see him. Everyone except for me, his … mistress? His fling? I might as well have been a Tinder date.

I touched the metal of the Rolex I still wore on my bicep. Did this mean something? Or was I reading too much into it?

I touched the metal links and ran my fingers over the small knobs. The metal was so different, and yet similar to my butterfly knife. It grounded me in the moment, and pulled me from my spiraling thoughts.

My brain was a scary place to be when I was in a mood like this. I could get very stabby.

The low hum of the television floated over our heads. I looked at the faces of worried family members, of doctors with creased brows, and nurses that were relieved to be off their feet. If nothing else, I could feel at home in a place like this. It was familiar. Safe. A routine that happened 24/7 in every hospital cafeteria around the world.

On the screen was Callisandra Davenport, right outside this hospital. Her hand-held microphone depicting the NEWS logo. She thrust it under Alexander Baas’ face as he sheepishly shrugged, fidgeting with the watch on his wrist, turning dials and fixing the clasp.

“They say that you were a part of the rescue operation. Is that true?” Her normally authoritative voice was friendlier, higher pitched. She stared at him with doe eyes. “You flew a helicopter?”

“Aw, well,” Alex let out a slight laugh, rubbing his finger over his lips as he took a polite, and subtle step away from her. “You see, I’ve been taking flying lessons and I just knew that I needed to be a part of this effort. They needed a pilot, you see? And Chloe is my friend, my employee, and I feel responsible, so when the opportunity came to help, I … guess I just needed to.”

Callisandra gave him a rare, genuine smile as she leaned toward him, eating up his every word. That incredible magnetism was at play again. “That’s so impressive.”

“But the real job was done by the fantastic guys at Caledonia Security.” He smiled down at her, his dimples on show. He was everything humble. The boy next door billionaire. “Truly, amazing work. They’re the real heroes.”

Did that accolade extend to me too? I wasn’t so sure. It sent a pang through my chest that I was in the periphery, and never in the circle. That was a choice I had made. Or maybe it was made for me. I couldn’t remember which.

As the camera panned away, I saw a hint of Jason Rhodes on the corner of the screen, his face turned away from the camera, the white scar on his head seemed brighter in the camera’s saturation.

Callisandra sent the news back to the studio where the anchors smiled, nodding in admiration at Alex Baas’ heroism. America loved the heroic rescue of a damsel. It spoke to a certain need for heroes to exist in this world. It was the story everyone wanted.

The news moved on to other, duller things, and I speared the strange approximation of chicken fried steak that was on my plate. Hospital food was always bland, even out here. I recognized this brand, though. Microwave meals that were supplied by Baas Medical, served on a plate to give it a restaurant look while tasting like regurgitated dog food. But it had the right combination of vitamins and minerals, and could apparently speed the healing process. The latter hadn’t been supported by the meta analysis, and peer reviewed journals, but everyone was sure there’d be data to support that.

Still, it was considered one of Baas Medical Tech’s less-than-successful endeavors that limped along, barely making a profit and only reaching out to the neediest hospitals who were barely skirting the black. It was cheap, and tasted like Soylent Green. Just another way to cut costs.

I stretched my legs out in front of me. Callum’s watch was heavy on my arm, a reminder of what we were and what we weren’t. I should have relinquished it to someone else for safe-keeping. Fuck, I should have given it to Pippa Fox when I saw that engagement ring, and knew that things weren’t over.

Even if that wasn’t the case, I had no business with these people. I had asked Callum for help because of my brother. The task was done, the damsel rescued. Time to go our separate ways.

I should go home. I should pull myself out of Callum’s intoxicating orbit before I crashed like an unfortunate meteor. Before I burned into his atmosphere, like all the other space junk, until I shriveled into nothing. He’d forget me, and I’d be destroyed.

He was my Adonis. The sun rose and set by him. He was too beautiful, and too perfect, and too fucking magnetic, and I was just me. Simple. Mortal. He was a Lord with a library of priceless books. I didn’t even have a public library card.

I placed my face in my hands, resting my elbows on the table. The movement pushed my fork from the table, and it clanked loudly to the floor. I looked down at the offending utensil.

What I would give to be home, cooking with Mama.

I would stay as long as it took for my brother to get better, then I would take us both home. Back to our life. Back to where we belonged. That’s what I told myself. Over, and over, and over again.

I could go visit my brother, but he was arguing with Dr. Laurent. They bickered and argued about everything. Yesterday, it was about staying off his feet. Today, it was about Television rotting his brain, and how he needed to read books.

He had cursed her in several languages, some she had responded to in kind.

I’d never seen him lose his cool like that before. Especially not with a woman.

Maybe Alastair would help me get access to Callum. We had good rapport. But like my brother, I didn’t really want to deal with Dr. Laurent’s wrath.

Anyway, the Caledonia guys were busy. They scurried here and there, taking care of the after-mission logistics. Returning the L-100 to it’s rightful owner, for example, and piecing apart radios, weapons, accounting for expended rounds if needed, and something that Hugo begrudgingly called “Fucking expense reports.”

I was useless. And hungry. But not for this regurgitated, congealed mess.

I leaned down to pick up the dropped fork, looking at my stretched reflection in the shining metal. I tossed it violently onto the table and it clattered loudly, bouncing several times, the high-pitched ringing pulling the attention of people around me. They looked at me with impatience.

“Sorry,” I said, raising my hands in apology. I put the fork on my plate, then wiped my face with the napkin. I rubbed my eyes, trying to ward off the sudden sinking feeling of doom. There was static in static in the air that made the hair on the back of my arms stand up.

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