Damage Control Š 2017 by Eva King
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author. Damage Control is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author. For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing. www.hottreepublishing.com Editing: Hot Tree Editing Cover Designer: Claire Smith ISBN: 978-1-925448-84-9
CONTENTS ________ DEDICATION PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE
DEDICATION ________
To Ross, Stuart, and Emily. I love you to the moon and back.
PROLOGUE ________
Anne Mitchell had run out of ideas on how to keep the twins entertained during the summer holidays. With over two weeks left before Tom and Emma went back to school, she racked her brain for possible activities. The weather didn’t help; it had rained continuously for the past five days, leaving the kids incarcerated and bored. To her relief, Tom had an invitation to spend the afternoon at a birthday party, and her next-door neighbour had asked her to babysit her son James while she went to the dentist. This meant Emma had a playmate for a couple of hours. Taking advantage of the peace and quiet as the kids played upstairs, she flicked the kettle on and prepared herself a cuppa. As she sipped her tea, she planned her afternoon, deciding which chores took priority and which could wait until the next day. The steak pie had just gone into the oven when the washing machine finished its programme. She quickly emptied it and set all the clothes to dry. Leaving the noisy
tumble dryer, she marched up the stairs, ready for her next mission. Humming to herself, she stepped on a small piece of Lego, sending a sharp pain through her bare foot. She swore under her breath and hoped the children hadn’t heard her. Slowly, she hobbled towards the master bedroom, only to overhear the children playing. She stopped outside her daughter’s room and peered through the small gap. Anne felt a pang of guilt as she spied her ten-year-old daughter dancing around. Something inside her told her she shouldn’t be spying. Emma was dressed in her favourite white dress, which had a light pink ribbon tied around the waist. Her hair was pulled back with what looked like a makeshift veil, made with a white T-shirt, and her plastic princess tiara was securely placed at the top of her head. Her hands held a bunch of frail-looking flowers as she stepped over her stuffed animal, Leo, who sat neatly behind an open book. Poor James had one of her husband’s suit jackets hanging over him. It covered his arms and legs. His index finger kept busy searching for treasure inside his nose. After a good rummage, he withdrew it and stared at his findings. A smile appeared on his lips as his eyes, behind his glasses, shone with excitement. He rolled the green goo between his fingers and flung it into the air. The goo almost landed on top of Leo the bear.
James asked, “When can we play Star Wars?” His voice sounded flat and disappointed, and his gaze was focused on his new lightsabre lying useless on the pale pink carpet. Emma ignored his question and concentrated on placing all her stuffed animals in a neat line. When she had them all facing forward, she pretended to photograph them with her toy camera. James pouted and argued, “You promised we would play Star Wars.” “We will,” Emma replied. “But you need to stop complaining or Leo won’t marry us.” Emma’s right hand was fixed tight on her hip, and her copper eyebrows knitted together in a frown. Anne couldn’t help but smile. She knew how strongwilled her daughter was. Emma was borderline bossy and, for some unknown reason, always got her way. There was very little chance James would get what he wanted. He must have known because he huffed, but stayed quiet. Emma moved beside James and held the bouquet tight, leaving the camera on top of her bed. With a deep voice, Emma pretended she was Leo and muttered, “Miss Emma Rose Mitchell, will you take James Alexander McNair’s hand in marriage, for better or for worst?”
Anne suppressed a giggle. She wanted to correct her daughter but decided against it; she didn’t want to give away her hiding place. Answering in her normal voice, Emma said, “I do.” Pretending she was Leo again, Emma then asked, “Master James Alexander McNair, will you take Emma Rose Mitchell’s hand in marriage for better or for worst?” “It’s worse, not worst,” James corrected. Emma glared and nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. Flinching, James muttered, “I do. I do.” “I announce you husband and wife,” delivered Emma. “You may kiss the bride.” Emma turned, faced James, and kissed him. Anne gasped, convinced she had just witnessed her daughter’s first kiss. She felt the heat reach her cheeks as poor James stood frozen to the spot, not knowing what to say or do. It was clear from where she was standing that the kiss embarrassed him. She decided to save him. Anne opened the door, making as much noise as possible, and shouted, “Are you kids hungry? There’re biscuits and milk downstairs.” “Okay, Mum,” Emma replied. She removed her fake veil and skipped out of the room. James, on the other hand, stood motionless, staring into space. His face glowed red. “Are you all right, James?”
He cleared his throat and nodded. “Do you want to go downstairs for some milk and Jammie Dodgers?� Without saying a word, James collected his lightsabre and ran towards the door, stumbling on the oversized jacket he wore.
CHAPTER ONE ________
EMMA Twelve Years Later
The lyrics of “Baby Got Back” ran through my mind, loud and clear. It was confusing. Even in my sleepy stupor, I knew it was impossible for Sir Mix-A-Lot to be dancing in my bedroom while wearing my slippers. Then I realised it was my phone ringing and vibrating beside my head. I groaned as I picked it up. I knew who was calling and the reason for the call. Forcing my eyes open, I tried to sound awake and chirpy when I cleared my throat and answered, “Morning, Amanda!” “Are you up?” Amanda asked. Her voice sounded muffled, as if she were chewing while she talked. “Yes, of course. Almost ready to leave the house now,” I lied. Instead, I snuggled deeper into the warmth of the duvet.
Amanda stopped midchew and, with a full mouth, asked, “Why didn’t you text me? You asked me to call you after eight thirty.” “Oh, I must have forgotten. Anyway, I’ll see you soon,” I replied. The sooner I could get her off the phone, the longer I could stay in bed. Or so I thought. “Emma!” “Yeah?” I replied, suppressing a yawn. “Can you turn the tap on?” I took a few seconds to try to understand her question before I gave up. “What?” I asked. “Turn the tap on,” Amanda repeated. “Like the one in the bathroom?” I asked, still unsure if my confusion was because I wasn’t completely awake. “Or the kitchen, either or. It doesn’t matter.” “Why?” I finally asked. I was never going to guess. “Because, if you were up and about, it wouldn’t be that much of a hassle,” she answered. Her voice was serious, as if it were a normal request. A massive groan slipped through my lips. “Amanda, really? Are you kidding me?” “No, I knew you weren’t awake,” Amanda replied matter-of-factly. “You have to get up or you’ll be late again. Remember, you’ve had a warning already for
lateness. Susan would love any opportunity to give you another.” That would make two warnings, I thought. The second one would be a written warning. There wasn’t such a thing as a third warning. It would be my big butt in the street. Even though I didn’t think of my job in the supermarket as a lifetime career, it still paid the bills. “All right, I’m up. I’m up,” I groaned, knowing that the safety and warmth of my bed would be gone. “Promise?” she said, her voice suddenly louder. I pushed the blankets down and reluctantly stood. Not wanting to feel the cold of the floor, I hopped to the bathroom and turned the hot water to full blast. The room filled with steam. “Yes, hear this?” I said through gritted teeth as I kicked myself for such a rookie error. I should’ve known better since Amanda could smell a lie from a mile away. “Cool, see you soon,” Amanda replied. I showered as quickly as possible, dressed at the same speed, and didn’t bother with breakfast. In less than twenty minutes, I was out the door. Getting to work wasn’t as fast as I anticipated. It was raining outside, but then again, it always rained in Edinburgh. After searching in my bag for an umbrella, I cursed under my breath, realising that it wasn’t in its usual place. I’d left it on top of the chest of drawers in my bedroom. On a brighter note, at least it wasn’t the typical
torrential rain that fell sideways and hurt your face. On those days, not even an umbrella would save you from getting wet. The quickest thing was just to pull my hood up and keep walking. The usually busy Princes Street lacked many of the tourists that visited the city every day. Only a handful of folk were sheltered under their hooded jackets as they guarded themselves from the rain. By the time I reached the bus stop, my feet swam inside my black, sensible shoes and my red curls sprouted in all directions. What a tangled crimson mess it was. ________ “Look what the cat dragged in,” Amanda quipped with a small smile on her thin lips. “So it must be true. I look like I feel,” I grumbled as I peeled off my coat and stuffed it inside my locker like a drowned rat. Amanda nodded with a chuckle and handed me a hair bobble, knowing that I would need it. I accepted it gratefully without uttering a word. “How was your weekend?” she asked. “Oh, you know, quiet,” I replied, concentrating on controlling my maddening curls. “Let me guess,” Amanda said, hand on her hip. “You stayed in and watched TV?”
I took a few seconds before answering, staring at myself in the mirror with the bobble between my lips. I didn’t look perfect, but it was good enough. After closing my locker, I looked at Amanda. My best friend was petite and curvy. She always struggled with new diets, but unlike me, she’d never suffered from acne. She had fabulous ivory skin. It was a shame that her hair, long and as dark as coal, had to be tied back and covered with netting. Amanda worked in the meat department. You could say she was a butcher, but she hated that word. “Yep, you’re right, Inspector Clouseau,” I said, remembering the number of times she’d tried to convince me to go out. To live a little. “I’m worried about you,” Amanda admitted. “You need to stop burying your head in the sand. It’s time to move on.” “Sounds like a good idea,” I replied. If only it were that easy. “Are you still coming over tonight?” Amanda asked, her eyes alight with excitement. I had completely forgotten her girls’ night out. She’d been looking forward to this night for days. A few of us were going to a new nightclub to dance and drink cocktails all night. But I wasn’t sure if I could bring myself to go. With a grimace, and knowing that she would be disappointed, I replied, “I’m sorry, Amanda. Really, truly sorry….”
Her porcelain face fell. “But…?” “I don’t think I can do it. I’m not ready yet.” She offered a slight smile, nodded, and said, “It’s okay. I understand, but it’s been four months since you two broke up.” I took in a big breath and replied, “I know, but I’m not sure I know how to start again.” Glancing at the mirror one last time to make sure everything was nicely in place, I suggested, “I’d better get going before you-know-who bites my head off.” “Aye, me too,” Amanda answered, waving a hand to dismiss me. Was four months enough to get over someone? To heal from a broken heart? It seemed like a very short period of time compared to the five years we were together. Moving on was something that I found almost impossible, especially when everything around me reminded me of him, of us. I headed towards the checkouts through the frozen aisle, the chill creeping over my still damp uniform. I shivered slightly and walked faster to my till, wishing I had brought a cardigan or at least a change of shirt. After getting my seat ready and logging in, I glanced at the supervisor’s booth, hoping Susan wouldn’t be in. No such luck; she was in and giving me the evil eye. Susan blatantly checked her watch and nodded. Ha! Two minutes to spare. Get that up you!
“It’s absolutely miserable outside, don’t you think?” I didn’t have to look to know who had spoken. It was Mr Wilson, a man whose mannerisms reminded me of my own granddad. Glancing up at him, I smiled and nodded. He came every Monday for the same items: a tin of cat food, a newspaper, and a bunch of pink flowers. It didn’t matter what kind they were as long as they were pink. This bunch had different shades, a mixture of roses and tulips, and I couldn’t help but take a whiff of them as soon as I passed them through the register, allowing their perfume to tickle my nose. “My wee toes are freezing in this weather.” Mr Wilson smiled as he packed his shopping. “Aye, it is very cold out there.” With one hand, he retrieved a single ten-pound note and a hard-boiled sweet from his shirt pocket. He had been doing this every Monday for the past three years. “Watch yourself. It might be wet. It’s a fresh one, you know. I made it this morning,” he said, referring to the note, just like every other Monday. I was curious as to why he always bought the same items every week. Nothing more, nothing less. I made a mental note to remember to ask him the next time I saw him. My mind drifted to the people around me. You could spot the new parents with dark circles under their eyes, the couples that knew each other’s next move from sharing a lifetime together, and young couples holding hands.
After serving dozens of customers with their shopping, I finished my eight-hour shift and was ready to leave. On my way to the lockers to gather my jacket and bag, I saw Amanda serving a middle-aged woman. Even though she smiled, she looked bored, as if she hadn’t heard a word the woman had said. Amanda nodded and handed the carefully packed meat over. She spotted me waving at her. “All right, pal, busy?” I said, watching the customer leave. “Not really, just the typical curtain-twitchers that come and tell me the newest gossip. The worst thing is, it’s from people I don’t even know,” she said. Her voice was loud enough for the woman she had just served to hear. Clearly offended, the woman muttered under her breath. “You do know she heard, right?” I told her. I found it hard to hold back a laugh. Amanda didn’t mind what people thought about her. Shrugging, Amanda replied, “Don’t care. So I was thinking, instead of going out, why don’t we stay in?” I liked the idea much better than having to stand in a crowded bar. “That sounds like a good plan.” She smiled, relieved. “So what about a film, junk food…? What do you think?” “Aye, I’m up for that,” I replied. “I’ll get a bag ready and come over afterwards.”
“Awesome, I’ll have to get some munchies,” Amanda added. “Any requests?” “I’ll get the wine,” I replied. “You can get the nachos.” “Sounds good.” Her smile broadened.
CHAPTER TWO ________
EMMA
Before the bus reached my stop, I decided to get off it. I still had a couple of hours before I had to get to Amanda’s, and a walk with the clean, fresh air seemed like the best thing to clear my head. I needed space, something I wasn’t going to get with the amount of people piling into the already overcrowded bus. I didn’t mind that it was raining lightly. With a lot of struggle, I managed to shove my way out. As soon as I hit pavement, I took a big breath. Instantly I felt better and able to breathe. Amanda’s words repeated in my head like a broken record. It’s time to move on. But how? Who decided the right amount of time someone needed to overcome a breakup. Daniel and I had been a couple from my late teens into my twenties when all of a sudden, everything evaporated in a puff of smoke. All I’ve known since being an adult was how to be with someone. Being on my own seemed like some unachievable notion that I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
Where did that leave me? How did I find out that I was better? That I was over him? Was there a clue? A sign? After four months of acting like a robot, getting up and going to work, my life had become plain and boring. I lived a routine that kept going, no matter the day or the time. There wasn’t anything that made me happy anymore. So, what was the point of socialising, when the noise of the crowd made me uncomfortable? When all I wanted was to sit and read, or watch TV? I wasn’t even sure I could hold a conversation with another human being, let alone go for a date. I sat on a bench, not caring that it could be wet from the rain, and watched the world go by. It made me itch to hold my camera and see everything through a lens. Things always seemed different behind it, better even, as if I were capturing somebody else’s life, not my own. I had given up the idea of taking photos long ago. Hell, I didn’t even own a camera anymore. Maybe that was it? I needed my hobby back, a purpose, something that was solely about me and something I enjoyed doing. Hopefully, once I managed that, everything would fall into place. I stood up with renewed determination and walked the remaining steps towards my flat.
My home was situated at the mouth of Leith Walk, walking distance from the city centre. I loved the area, as everything I needed was close. It felt like a small community with large grey buildings surrounding it. The only thing I hated were the stairs. Three flights with no lift were always exhausting. I opened the front door, flipped on the lights, and made my way to the kitchen. Amongst the pile of dishes next to the sink, I found a cup and rinsed it out for tea. I flicked the kettle on and thought of my next move. It was fairly simple: find a bag and pack it. The problem was where to find a bag and what to pack. It had been so long since I’d left my safe haven that everything outside felt daunting. This was the first time I’d spend the night in someone else’s house since I was a teenager. After my tea and trying not to freak out, I got ready to head to Amanda’s. Sometimes it was much better to take the bull by the horns and make life happen rather than sitting idly by. I’d already let too much time rush by me. Looking around my flat, I nodded in satisfaction. It was good to be getting out. I could totally do this. I picked up a bottle of wine from the cupboard and remembered to collect my umbrella. Amanda’s place wasn’t far, just a couple minutes’ walk. Arriving at her house in what felt like seconds later, I knocked and waited.
“Hey, lovely,” she greeted, already in her pyjamas. “You’re the first one to come. Follow me.” I did as I was told and went to the kitchen. Bowls of snacks, pitchers of drink, and any edible or drinkable thing available littered the countertops. “How many people did you invite? An army?” She laughed. “Nah, just the usual crowd.” Not exactly what I had imagined when she said “a night in.” She must have sensed what I was thinking, when she said, “Honestly, Emma, you need this. You can’t lock yourself in a cupboard and hope it all goes away, because it won’t.” Handing over a glass of margarita, she ordered, “You will have fun tonight. Understood?” I nodded. “Yes, sir!” “By the way, I was wanting to ask you something.” I took a tentative sip of my drink and waited for the question. “We both make shit money, right?” I agreed, but didn’t know where she was going with this, so I kept quiet until she finished what she wanted to say. “Well, it seems like a waste of cash to spend in rent, don’t you think?” she asked. She was right, the rent was crippling me. “Why don’t you move in here? I have a spare room, and we can share the bills.” She continued, “And that way I can keep an eye on you.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine,” I promised, her words touching me nonetheless. Her gaze drifted to her feet. “Well, I’m not.” I angled my head towards her, surprised by her admission. “What do you mean?” “I can’t afford this place. I’ve been thinking of renting the spare room, and I thought of offering it to you instead of letting a complete stranger move in.” I grinned, excitement bubbling in my chest. This move, however small, could be exactly what I needed. It didn’t take me long to give her an answer. This felt right. She’d been selflessly supporting me for the last four months; it was only right to do something for her. Plus, it would give me the chance to save some cash and work out my next move. “Why not?” I said with a smile. Her eyes lit up. “Do you mean it?” I nodded and oomphed when she gave me the biggest hug ever. “Oh my God, thank you!” Once she’d detached herself from me, I picked up my glass. “To new beginnings.” This was my chance to start again. The sign I was looking for.
CHAPTER THREE ________
JAMES
The fourth bottle of champagne seemed too far away, further than an arm’s length, and the thought of getting up to refill my glass killed me. But it was worse to have an empty glass and nothing close to quench my thirst. The room swayed as I stood. Shit! Trying to stop the world from toppling over, I reached the table with baby steps, picked the bottle up, and tried my hardest to aim the golden liquid at the inside of the glass. It was harder than I thought, and not wanting to spill any more drink, I threw the glass aside and drank straight from the bottle. No use in wasting perfectly good champagne. After a hearty swig, I sat back down before I lost my balance. The sofa in this hotel room wasn’t very soft. It was more like the ones in the hospital’s waiting room. “Hey!” a female voice said. I looked in the direction of the voice and took another swig from the bottle in my hand. It was time to find something stronger. The champagne already tasted like water. “Hey,” she said again, trying to get my attention.
This time her dress was off and she wore nothing but her black underwear and garter belt. “Hey,” I answered. I couldn’t remember if I’d met her at the club or if she was one of the countless girls that showed up in my room every night. Whatever the case, my eyes still lingered over her body. She must have taken this as an invitation, because her next move was to take her bra off. Yes, it was time to find something stronger to drink. Before I could even muster the concentration to stand up and get to the minibar, she pushed me back against the couch. Her movements were sensual, predatory. Don’t get me wrong; I loved it when women took charge, even when they were slightly rough. I knew what she wanted, though, and it wasn’t me. She wanted money and the lifestyle, maybe even an acting career. It didn’t worry me, not in the slightest. I even took advantage of it. Just by being seen with me, she would probably get a call in the morning, either from a reporter or an agent. And I got exactly what I wanted—a bit of fun. She was pretty. I wasn’t sure if her beauty was natural or crafted, but you could see she worked out. There was nothing soft about her. My phone vibrated as she straddled me, her round plastic bosom rubbing against my shirt. “James, where are
you?” Michael, my manager, asked when I answered the phone. His gravelly smoker’s voice sounded bored. It took me a couple of seconds to answer. I knew I was in my room, but the alcohol and this chick were making everything confusing. “In my room,” I answered. “Good. Listen, Helen’s booked a flight for you first thing in the morning to London. You have an interview there.” “Awesome.” It was all I could say; the morning seemed like ages away. “Who’s Helen?” “Your new assistant. Please take care of this one.” “What happened to Alice?” I could feel myself smile as I remembered Alice’s cheeks turning red every time I complimented her. She was sweet and hard to get. “Her name was Esther and she quit after you slept with her. This is your fifth assistant this year. Please don’t fuck it up.” Really? Four? What month was it? “Anyway,” Michael continued, “you better get some sleep. Ralph’s picking you up first thing in the morning.” By this time, the unknown girl was nibbling my earlobe and swaying her hips against my crotch. “Will do. Once we’ve had a little bit of fun,” I slurred. The girl giggled against my neck. “Who’s there with you?”
“Oh, you know…,” I started. I found it hard to concentrate. Between the fogginess of the booze and the rush of blood to my southern regions, it was almost impossible to put thoughts together. “Actually, I don’t know,” I eventually said. “Well, you’d better ask her. Don’t you think?” His voice grew louder, impatient. I looked down at her, her bleached blonde hair shimmering against the darkness of my shirt. I didn’t even know where she’d come from. “What’s your name, gorgeous?” I asked. Her eyes snapped up, and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You’re kidding, right?” she asked. I shook my head in denial. An amused drunken smile appeared on my lips as I clutched the phone tight against my ear. “Bullshit!” she shouted, getting off my lap. “Oh, come on, don’t be like that. Stay for a bit longer.” “You wish!” she spat. Really? Would it not be the other way around? I couldn’t help but notice how her breasts didn’t move as she sprinted across the room, gathering her things. She came back to collect the shoe that lay beside me. “You’ve had a boob job,” I blurted, thinking out loud. My hand instantly moved towards one, wanting to cup it to make sure my facts were right.
Definitely crafted beauty, and kudos to her surgeon. She slapped my hand away, her eyes seething with anger. “Asshole!” she shouted as she left the room, still naked. “It looks like I’ll be going to sleep early then. Still not sure why she got so offended, I only asked a question.” I stood up, almost losing my balance and dropping my phone. Michael chuckled. “I’m not sure, James. You seem to have a way with words.” Without saying goodnight, I stumbled clumsily to the bed and fell into a deep sleep, still wearing the same suit I’d had on the night before. ________ A splash of frosty water hit my face like a ton of bricks, waking me up in a sudden and alarming way. I sat up and looked around, concentrating on the figure standing in front of me. A few seconds later, I realised it was Ralph. “What the fuck was that?” I asked. “Morning, sunshine,” he said, towering over me with a snide smile on his lips. “Do you need to wake me up like that? That’s evil, man,” I grumped, rubbing my face, trying to wake myself up.
“I suppose at night-time you’ll want me to tuck you in and kiss you goodnight. Stop being a girl. Get up and shower. You smell like death.” “I feel like death too. What time is it?” I stood up and felt the world tilt to one side. A sudden wave of sickness made me weak. I was glad Ralph was no longer looking in my direction. “Five. Did Michael not tell you that I was coming in?” he asked, his eyes glued to the TV screen. “I have a vague recollection of him mentioning something like that a couple of hours ago,” I replied. I tried once again. This time the dizziness dissipated, and I made my way to the bathroom as slowly as possible so I wouldn’t throw up everywhere. My body relaxed as the hot water dissolved the knots in my back muscles, but the pounding in my head persisted, hammering every neuron into submission. Just by looking at my reflection in the steamed-up mirror, I could see the results of my lifestyle. My cheekbones protruded against my ghostly grey skin. My eyes never shone, and my lips were cracked with dehydration. The worst thing about this morning, and any other morning for that matter, was damage control. Listening or reading about my adventures or scandals from the night before and seeing my picture plastered all over social media usually required
some sort of response from my team. As far as I was concerned, the night before had been fairly uneventful. Ralph sat on the unmade bed, still channel hopping on the big flat screen. His aviator sunglasses lit up with the reflection of the TV. “How bad is it?” I asked, towelling my hair dry, cringing at the thought of what he might find. “Nothing to worry about. I think Michael already dealt with it,” Ralph replied, as he turned the TV off and set the remote control down. After lifting his specs, he asked, “Feeling better, sugar?” There’s one thing to know about Ralph Mathews. He’s my only mate, and I wasn’t trying to sound like a girl, but it was depressing to think that the only person around that you could trust was paid by you. I knew he would trade his life for me, but it still made me wonder if it was because of me as a person or if it was part of his job description. I didn’t bother to answer his question. The truth was that I wasn’t. I only felt slightly more human than before. Instead, I just nodded. He tutted. “God, you still look like shit.” My hand still held the damp towel. Without hesitation, I dropped it on the bed and picked up a bottle of water. Once I downed the whole thing, I wiped my mouth. “Thanks, man, you know how to make me feel better,” I replied.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get you one of those miraculous smoothies that will make you feel instantly better,” Ralph declared. “I think I need a Bloody Mary, not a smoothie,” I retorted. Ralph was one of those who avoided fat and anything unhealthy. For him, a gourmet meal was steamed vegetables, boiled potatoes, and chicken breast. No sauce, no gravy. Nothing to give it moisture or taste. Then again, he’s never suffered from a cold, and he was ten years older than me. If you’ve enjoyed this sample, please checkout the full novel. All purchase links can be found at www.hottreepublishing.com/Damage-Control