The Viking Wants Forever (28 page)

Allen pulled on his beard. “You know I may know someone.” He reached in his pocket for his cell. “I know this kid, Cisco Salinas. Cool guy, and recently graduated from Full Sail. He comes into the store all the time. He might be interested in a collaboration.”

Like most artists, Reese didn’t want to give up control of her project, and yet having someone to bounce ideas off and take half the workload looked mighty attractive. 

“Okay, I—”

Reese glanced across SR 520. Comprised of six lanes, the main thoroughfare connected highway I-95 to the Atlantic Ocean. And on a sunny day like this, traffic was heavy with cars zipping to and from the beach. Still, the congestion didn’t prevent a blond giant from picking his way across all six lanes. Bare-chested, wearing a pair of sky blue board shorts and flip-flops, the guy had a body like a NFL defensive back.

“He’s brave.”

“Or stupid,” Allen quipped. “There’s no way I’m crossing 520 without a crossing guard.”

Reese frowned. “Is it just me or does it look like he’s headed this way?”

“Well the coffee
is
go—”

Not watching where he was going, the blond giant failed to see the candy-apple red Vespa turning east onto 520. In turn, the woman didn’t see him either because she clipped him, knocking him off his feet.

“Call 911!” Reese flung the order over her shoulder. Already in motion, she hightailed it over to the sidewalk. By the time she stood over the unconscious giant, a small crowd had formed. A late model Camaro with flashing hazard lights kept oncoming traffic in the outside lane at bay.

“Where did he come from?” Wide-eyed and indubitably stunned, the octogenarian driver sat on the curb, her helmet tucked under her arm. “I-I needed to pick up some cocoa and eggs for Texas sheet cake I’m making for my great-granddaughter’s birthday.  I was just leaving the market and he just...he just came out of nowhere.”

“He crossed all six lanes.” A gum-smacking teen with a Java the Hut cup in her hand offered. “I saw him.”

Despite the blood trickling over his brow, the guy’s masculine good looks struck her like a sucker punch. “Where’s the ambulance?” Reese asked, crouching down beside him. “They should be here by now.” Unable to help herself, she slipped her hand in his.

At her touch, the man’s eye lids flickered open. His aqua blue eyes met hers, their vibrancy almost mesmerizing. “Am I dreaming?”

“No, you’ve been plowed by Granny here on a Vespa.” The owner of the Camaro volunteered, which caused the old woman to wail.

“Blessed Freya, I am not dreaming.” He reached up and stroked Reese’s cheek. Despite the crowd milling around them, and possible life-threatening injuries, his touch made her pulse flutter. “I have finally found you,” he whispered.

“Do you know him?” the teen asked.

“N-no, I’ve never seen him in my life...” Reese stammered. Still, she couldn’t shake this feeling of familiarity. “Everything is going to be just fine.” She reassured him. “The ambulance is coming.”

Obviously confused and unaware of his condition, he frowned. “Ambulance?”

Reese nodded “They’re going to take you to the hospital.”

“Away from here. Away from you?” Anxious, he tried sitting up.

“Whoa...whoa buddy,” The Camaro owner helped Reese to restrain him, “you shouldn’t be trying to move. The ambulance should be here any second.”

The guy’s reassurance proved to be prophetic as an ambulance roared into Java the Hut’s parking lot.  

“About time.” Relieved, Reese moved to stand, but he caught her hand.

His blue gaze locked on her, he beseeched, “Don’t leave me.”

Breath lodged in her throat, temporarily at a loss for words, Reese sank back down. Rewarding her compliance, his fingers threaded with hers. The middle of the street was not the place to suddenly become aroused. Her erratic pulse had a mind of its own.

“Miss, we’re going to have to ask you to give him some air.” Reese glanced up at the two paramedics looming over them. One carried an orange EMT case, the other a spinal board. 

To her surprise, Reese hesitated. Half of her wanted to follow the EMT’s instructions, the other half demanded she stay put.

“Miss, we need you to
move
so we can treat him.” With the choice taken away from her, Reese let him go. He reached for her once more, but the EMTs moved so fast, forming a protective circle around him.

“Sir, can you tell us your name?” One of the EMT’s asked as he lifted an eyelid, flashed a penlight into her eyes, and then another.

“Eirik Sigurdsson,” he uttered, and Reese committed it to memory.

“Can you tell us what happened?”

“I was...I was crossing the street and then I was knocked off my feet.”

“I hit him,” the old woman, still perched on the sidewalk, wailed.

Ignoring the woman’s caterwauling, the EMTs stabilized their patient. After placing a brace around his neck, they then log-rolled him onto the spinal board.

“What hospital are you taking him to?” Reese asked as they toted him to the ambulance.

“Cape Canaveral up the street,” the EMT threw over his shoulder.

Reese watched the ambulance drive away, sirens blaring. She kept looking until it disappeared over the causeway.

* * * * *

“E
arth to Reese...come in, Reese.” Cisco waved page twenty in her face. The pungent smell of a colored marker hit her olfactory glands and she recoiled.

Blinking, Reese allowed herself to be drawn back into the present. She glanced down at the half-inked page she’d been working on blushed. “I’m sorry, Cisco. I guess my mind is someplace else.”

“Someplace else? More like someone else. Eirik Sigurdsson?”

Reese stiffened. For the past two and half weeks, her mind rarely strayed from the blond giant. She hadn’t gone so far as to visit him in the hospital, but she knew he hadn’t been discharged. She’d called every other day since the accident.

“What makes you think my mind is on Eirik Sigurdsson?” she asked defensively, even though he’d hit the anvil on the head.

“Well you named your hero after him,
and
you’ve asked non-stop questions about collisions and spinal injuries.” 

“The accident traumatized me, that’s all.”

Cisco side-eyed her. “If it affected you so much then why don’t you visit the guy?”

“I can’t, we have too much to do before next month’s launch.”

Cisco sighed as if her excuse exhausted him. “Stop hedging, girl. The project is almost done. All the pages are drawn, and more than eighty percent have been inked. All that’s needed is coloring, and that’s my job.” He reached over and grabbed her change purse. “Now get out of here and go check on yo’ man.”

What would it hurt to go and see him? Reese hesitated a beat. A moment later she stood waiting for the one o’clock bus. As the afternoon sun beat down on her head, she questioned her sanity. Why had he consumed her thoughts so? A man she’d only met once and only for a brief moment. 

“The Florence Nightingale effect,” she whispered, reminded of the Joker’s seduction of Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state had to be the reason why she couldn’t shake him. It didn’t hurt either when he refused to let her go and demanded she stay near while the EMTs treated him. He’d made her feel special, wanted, and Reese yearned to see to see if that feeling transcended beyond a life or death situation.

The bus arrived on time, and a short bus ride later, Reese stepped off the bus at Cape Canaveral Hospital. Once inside, she headed for the receptionist’s desk. Eyes drawn to the hospital’s gift shop, Reese decided to make a detour.

What does one give a guy who might or might not remember you?
She turned away from the greeting cards, deeming them too personal. She eyed the embroidered blankets and reckoned those were too expensive. She walked past a row of candy bars and boxes of chocolates, reasoning he’d never put junk into his hard body. Woefully empty-handed, Reese retraced her footsteps, reevaluated every single gift and then rejected them all, again. Disgruntled, she headed for the exit.

“Can’t find what you’re looking for, Miss?” Lured by the soft-spoken voice, Reese hesitated on the threshold. “Maybe I can help,” the gift shop volunteer offered with a smile. Dressed in a candy-striper pink cardigan, he reminded Reese of Mr. Rodgers.

Embarrassed, Reese demurred.

“C’mon on, give ole’ Ari a try.” Giving her a come-hither look, he curled his finger. “I’ve been doin’ this for several years. Imma a pro.”

Lulled into a false sense of confidence in his ability and New York accent, Reese walked over.

“So who are you shoppin’ for?”

“What would you give a guy you’ve only met once?”

Ari’s watery gray eyes lit up in comprehension. “And youse want to say ‘Get Well Soon’ without comin’ off too sentimental or like a stalka?”

“Exactly.” As if visiting a complete stranger you have the hots for in the hospital wasn’t on par with a character from a Lifetime movie.

“I’d give him a Mylah balloon,” Ari suggested, pointing to the dozen or so foil balloons tacked to the wall behind him. “They’re cheap, and I can put a nice curly string on ‘em.”

Understated, yet straight to the point. “I’ll take the yellow one with the smiley face.”

“Excellent choice. Not too girly,” Ari remarked. Jumping to it he reached into a cardboard box marked ‘Smiley Face’. With a practiced finesse, he inflated her balloon, tied on a white ribbon and even curled the end.

“That’ll be two bucks.”

Reese paid him, and as she took the balloon, he suddenly pulled back.

“Nevah be ashamed about seeing to another human being’s welfare, rather they be stranger or friend. Charity is one of the highest forms of love.”

“Thank you for the advice, Mr. Ari.” Mylar balloon in hand, Reese walked back out to the receptionist desk. Two more volunteers, also attired in candy-striper pink, manned the counter in a less proficient manner than Ari. With only two people in queue, they barely managed to assist Reese in less than thirty minutes.

“May I help you, young lady?” The woman asked with a warm smile, somewhat mollifying Reese with the warm greeting.

“I’m here to see Eirik Sigurdsson.”

“Can you spell that, please?”

Guessing at the correct spelling, Reese gave her the requisite letters.

“Ah...here we are.” She squinted at the computer screen. “We do...or at least there was a Mr. Sigurdsson here. He was discharged this morning.”

“He’s gone,” Reese whispered, unable to hide the dejection in her tone. 

“Not necessarily, dear. One can be discharged, but that doesn’t mean the patient has left the building. You can go up if you like. He is or was in room 733.”

“I’ll go up.” Reese looked around for the elevators.

“The elevators are around the corner,” the woman supplied. “Before you go up, I just need to check you in and give you a nametag.”

While being processed, Reese wondered if she would be walking into an awkward situation. How embarrassing would that be? Strolling in with a balloon and his girlfriend was holding post by his bedside. 

“Has he had any other visitors?”

The woman scrolled through the information on the screen. “Doesn’t look like it. I believe you’re his only one.”

“Awesome!” Reese’s smile faltered at the woman’s disapproving look. “I mean, ah...okay.” Not the least bit fooled, the volunteer’s lips remained tightly pursed. “Room 733?” The woman nodded as she handed her a visitor name tag. Hoping she wasn’t too late, Reese headed for the elevator.

“Hello! I know you may not remember me, but I held your hand after your accident.” Reese rehearsed her greeting on the way up. “I was in the neighborhood, so I decided to drop by to see how you were doing.”

All too soon, the doors opened on the seventh floor. Now that she was here, moments away from seeing him again, Reese had lost some of her moxie. In times like these, where her self-doubt crippled her, she fell back on a five-letter refrain. “No more settling for less,” she whispered, stepping off the elevator. Her personal mantra had served her well over the past month. Since adopting it, she’d left a dead end job. And with the help of her new co-creator, Cisco, their first comic book in the
Asgard Chronicles
would be released in a matter of weeks.

Her first few steps were hesitant, but she progressed to a quick clip, a sudden heat racing through her senses as the numbers descended to 733. She entered the room and her eyes went immediately to the two empty beds. Newly made, they looked as if they’d been turned over hours ago.

The bathroom door suddenly opened and Reese, in spite of the sanitized atmosphere, felt a hot sensation bubble in the pit of her stomach. Unfortunately, her reaction was wasted on a sweaty CNA toting a cleaning bottle.

“I’m here to see Eirik Sigurdsson.”

“You just missed them,” he said, giving her ‘Get Well Soon’ balloon a cursory glance.

“
Them
?” Reese walked deeper in the room in a vain attempt to see something of his left behind.
Geesh, my nose is wide open for this guy!

“Besides turning all the women in this building into fawning idiots, he and his roommate, Bo Michaelson, became fast buds. They were discharged a day apart, one waited on the other and they left together.”

I’m too late.
“Can someone else use this?” She held the balloon out.

“I’ll just add it to the welcome wagon they left behind.” He pointed to more than three dozen balloons crowding the corner along with several stuffed animals, blankets and even a lucky bamboo.

“I thought he didn’t have any visitors.”

“All that’s from the hospital staff.”

Oh.
Reese added her gift to the group, then walked out.

T
wo years later

“Excuse me, Ms. Johnson, can you autograph this for me?”

The fan boy held out the first issue of the
Asgard Chronicles
expectantly. Reese blushed. Despite selling a half million copies, she still wasn’t accustomed to her ever-growing readership.

“Who would you like it made out to?”