One Chance, Fancy (Bear Bottom Guardians MC 5)

I grinned and walked over to Isa, picking her up with both hands as quickly as I could. The moment she was in my arms, I put the towel back on my head.

“At least let me give you a new towel,” Pru offered.

I looked at her, giving her my full attention. “Fine. Thanks.”

Pru’s lips twitched. “Does Phoebe know that you’re hurt?”

I shrugged. “Not unless she’s somehow psychic.”

“Are you wondering where she is?” Pru asked.

“Not particularly.” I paused. “Unless she’s not where I assume she is, then maybe I’m wondering.”

“Where do you think she is?” Pru grinned as she walked away and headed for a towel.

I followed her, walking to the trash can to deposit the towel that was saturated in my blood into it.

Pru handed me a brown bath towel. “This is softer. That looks awful. You’re going to the hospital?”

I nodded. “Yes. And I think she’s at your dad’s place exercising her bird…right?”

Pru nodded. “Yes. Then she’s meeting us for dinner afterward.”

“Us?” I asked.

Pru gestured to where Hoax was still asleep in the living room.

“Us,” she said. “We do a family dinner every week. Sometimes all of us can show. Sometimes they can’t. But we keep it going. Are you coming?”

I started walking to the door and opened it before saying, “I wasn’t invited. Thank you, Pru.”

Then I was gone, not bothering to look back.Chapter 14If no one told you you’re beautiful today, keep moving. It won’t start here, little ugly.

-Phoebe to Pru

Phoebe

I arrived at the diner with a frown on my face.

“What’s with the frown?” my dad asked.

I didn’t want to talk about it.

Seeing Brielle at Bayou’s house had seriously made my mood plummet.

I’d been intending to ask him out to eat with us but seeing her there had derailed those plans.

Add into the fact that he never answered my calls on his work phone, and I just wasn’t in a good mood.

“Is it because Bayou got hurt?” Pru asked as she took the seat to my left. “It looked bad, but I doubt he had a concussion. His eye is going to be black and blue tomorrow, though.”

I slowly turned my head to face her.

“He what?”

“He got hurt at work,” Pru repeated. “He had blood all over him and a towel pressed to his face. Isa didn’t care a single bit, either. Granted, she was asleep when she was picked up, but she woke up as he was getting her into the truck.”

I felt my heart start to pound.

“How long ago was this?” I asked carefully, trying not to betray my inner worry.

“About half an hour ago?” Pru shrugged. “Not long. Literally just before we left. I almost thought I was going to have to bring Isa with us. Why didn’t you invite him?”

At this point, Dad had stopped eating his hot sauce and chips and was solely focused on us. In addition, so was my grandfather.

My grandfather’s wife had as well, and she was listening just as unabashedly as the two men.

“You didn’t invite Bayou?” Dad asked. “Why?”

I growled in frustration. “I was going to, but his sister was at his house when I went over there. I left him a message with her to call me. But…I don’t have his cell phone number.”

“That makes sense.” Pru shuddered. “I can’t stand that woman.”

“You could’ve asked me,” Hoax suggested. “I’d have given you his number.”

I stood up. “You can do that now.”

“Where are you going?” my mother asked.

Hoax had pulled out his phone and was sifting through his contacts as I answered my mother. “Bayou was hurt.”

She nodded once. “Oh. Okay.”

Swiping one last chip, I looked at my sister. “Can you order my order times two and bring it home with you? Also, don’t forget to ask for hot sauce and chips.”

“Bayou doesn’t like anything from Mexican restaurants but the carne asada. He doesn’t even eat chips and hot sauce,” Hoax said before taking a bite of a tortilla. “I’ll order for him. Oh, and I forwarded his contact to your cell.”

I gave him a thumb up. “Thank you.”

After giving my mom, dad, and grandfather a kiss on the cheek, I walked out while also sifting through the text messages I’d gotten. Pulling up the one from Hoax, I clicked on it and took even faster strides out of the room.

It rang five times before going to voicemail.

Dammit!

Knowing that he’d probably avoid the hospitals because that was just his way, I hit up the free-standing emergency rooms and clinics, one after the other, until I finally spotted the familiar red truck in the parking lot of the one closest to his—our—home.

Pulling into the open spot beside him, I got out and started inside, smiling brightly at the woman manning the front desk.

“May I help you?” she smiled.

“My fiancé is here getting stitches. He’s not answering his phone. Can you take me back to him?” I asked, trying to look convincing.