IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(70)
Finally, just this morning they’d agreed to take her. It probably helped that I’d pledged several of the millions she’d made from the Grange BioMed deal to fund future studies. I was ecstatic until I learned the only weekend they could admit her was the same weekend as ICECon in Minneapolis. It was a no-brainer which obligation I would choose, but it had meant scrambling to try and find someone to cover for me at the con as best they could. ICECon was supposed to be the big launch of my game piece printing business in the gaming community. I’d invested thousands of dollars in premium booth placement, advertising, swag, and even a speaking opportunity.
To give that up wasn’t easy.
Thank god for James and his love of all things nerd and geek. When I’d called him in a panic, he’d immediately agreed to stand in for me at the con. That man never could turn down an opportunity to cosplay.
I left the shop that afternoon to swing by the house only long enough to grab some things for my mom before joining her at the hospital for dinner. When I stopped for gas, I considered asking the attendant behind the register what the best energy drink was for someone who’d basically gotten no sleep in days and had no expectation of sleep anytime soon. Every minute I wasn’t at the game shop, I was at the hospital. And every moment I was at the shop, I was balancing a tightrope between covering for my shitty-ass manager who’d up and quit while I was in New York, and trying to prepare a huge game piece order that had come in right before my trip.
But instead of asking about the energy drink, I just grabbed my usual bottle of Mountain Dew and a protein bar. Hopefully that would tide me over until I could find something semi-edible at the hospital cafeteria for dinner later.
As I pulled into my mom’s driveway, my only thought was of grabbing the fleece pajamas she’d asked for and racing back out the door. Instead, I was greeted by a cherry-red Subaru with a white cross logo and the words LIFE SUPPORT! printed across the side. My heart began pounding, and by the time I parked and stumbled out of the car, I was almost in tears.
“What happened?” I croaked.
A woman with a similarly branded red shirt waited for me on my front porch. She stood and smiled as I approached. “Are you Conor Newell?”
“Yes, just tell me. Did something happen? Is she okay? Did she—” I couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Her expression morphed to confusion.
“Aren’t you here about my mom?” I waved at the bright red car. “From the hospital?”
She slapped her palm against her forehead. “Oh goodness no. I’m here to fix your problems.”
I blinked, completely unable to follow what she was saying. “Huh?”
She resumed her original perky smile. “I’m from Life Support! Our job is to be your number one support system.”
She was way too perky to be bearing bad news. My heart rate slowed, but my confusion remained. “I don’t understand.”
“My job is to help you. I’m Karen, by the way.” She held out a hand. “I’m your new life manager.”
I stood silent a moment. Clearly my lack of sleep was playing games with my brain. “Life manager?”
“Yep, anything you need, one of my colleagues or I can take care of it. Well, within reason of course. Obviously nothing illegal.” She winked. “Think of us like your extra pair of hands. You can have us clean your house, run errands, organize clutter, cook. We also have specialists on staff who can help with bills, finances, taxes, anything accounting related.”
I shook my head. “As wonderful as all of that sounds, you must have the wrong person. I’m pretty sure I’d remember if I’d hired you.”
She continued her overly friendly smile. “Our services are a gift from a friend. He said you had a lot on your plate and sounded concerned about you.”
There was only one person that came to mind. My jaw tightened, but my heart also stutter-stepped. “Was it Wells Grange?” It was just like him to try to use money to buy his way back into my life. I wasn’t about to give him that chance. I didn’t want anything to do with the man.
“He… ah… preferred to remain anonymous,” she said, the perky smile fading.
That surprised me. But it didn’t change things. “As wonderful as your service sounds, I’m sorry, I can’t accept this.”
She hesitated. “Mr. Newell—”
“Conor,” I corrected.
“I know it’s none of my business, Conor, but sometimes it’s the people who don’t ask for help who need it the most.” She gave my arm a brief squeeze. “If it helps, the man who hired us said you’d probably refuse, and if so he’d pay us to sit in your driveway for eight hours a day, seven days a week for the next two months. Which frankly sounds boring as heck.” She grinned. “Since we’re going to be here anyway, you might as well use us.”
I shook my head. Fucking Wells Grange. I hated to let him win, but Karen was right. It was time I admitted that I needed help. I unlocked the front door and held it open for her as the adrenaline spike left me feeling even more exhausted than I’d been before. “Welcome to Chez Newell. Sorry it’s a wreck; I haven’t really been here.”
Her smile widened. “Then that’s what I’ll start on first.”
“By the way, you should really rethink the name of your company,” I muttered, stepping over the threshold. “Or at least carry a set of defibrillator paddles just in case.”