Page 22 of Bred By the Minotaur
I squeeze my eyes closed. My house. My artwork. All those college photos saved on my computer. The letters we wrote our parents that got returned to us. So many things now gone forever.
All because of me.
Nine
Phoebe
When the nurses come back, Hank quietly sits down again.
“Are you the father?” one asks, and he nods. I’m wheeled into another room and he tags along. There, a new doctor performs an ultrasound just to be sure the fetus is all right. Hank is silent by my side the whole time, watching from the chair next to the bed. His presence is immeasurably reassuring as the doctor searches.
“It’s stable,” he says at last, and both of us breathe sighs of relief. “Everything looks good.”
Finally, after hours upon hours in the ER, they’ve determined I’m well enough to leave. I should call Sandra, but I don’t have anything, not even my purse. No driver’s license, no money, no phone.
When it hits me, I start to cry all over again, thinking how much work it will be to repair everything I’ve lost. Birth certificate, gone. Social security card, gone. How will I pay my taxes?
“Hey, hey,” Hank says softly, rubbing my shoulder but not sitting too close.
“Everything is gone. The deed to the house. The title for my car.” I sob harder. “My records, my receipts...”
“Fires happen. There are procedures in place.”
As comforting as Hank’s voice is, the emptiness, the hollow spot where my life used to be, is an uncrossable void.
“I need to see my sister,” I say finally, sitting upright. I don’t even know if my car is still there or if it caught fire, too. “Could you... drive me to her place?”
I feel bad asking him for anything after turning away his kiss earlier, but Hank eagerly agrees.
“No problem. The station isn’t far—I can go get my car.”
“Don’t you have to go back to work?” I ask for what feels like the millionth time. Hank firmly shakes his head.
“I’m going to get you where you’re going safely. You’re carrying my calf, for starters. And... I want to make sure you’re all right.”
He’s so fucking sweet, it hurts.
“Don’t make me cry again,” I croak, wiping my face. That pulls a small smile out of him.
“Cry all you need. I’ll go get the car if you stay here.”
I nod, and Hank quickly hurries from the room. When he’s gone, I lie back and stare at the ceiling, already beginning to make a list of everything I’ll have to do to recover my life, beginning with a call to get new documents.
I have to remind the world that I exist, when all that’s ever proven it before is some ink on paper.
Hank
I jog the ten or twelve blocks back to the station, and I don’t even go in to check on the guys before grabbing my keys out of my locker and hopping into the car.
One more chance. I have one more chance to convince Phoebe to give me a shot.
Now I know she’s not married, and she’s probably not dating anyone, because the first person she asked to see was her sister. But she’s also just lost everything, and I can’t even imagine how that feels. I need to help her, to do whatever I can to ease the pain of what she’s gone through and what’s to come.
I can’t be thinking about those big blue eyes and that small pink mouth this way.
Then I’m on the road to the hospital, where I park out front so I can bring out Phoebe. She’s dressed in clothes that don’t quite fit her—something the nurses must have provided from the lost and found—and she’s sitting up in the hospital bed when I arrive. She smiles wanly as I enter the room.
“Hey, thanks.” She gets up, and I’m about to offer her my hand when I think twice about it, settling for holding the door open.
