Sweet Soul (Sweet Home #5)(12)

Too pale.

Concern overcame my shyness, and I asked, “Are you sick?”

As if answering my question, the girl bent forward and coughed like her lungs were failing. She coughed and she coughed until the sound of her cough was both hoarse and wheezy.

I clenched my fist, resisting the urge to put my hand on her arm. She was so thin and frail, bundled up in wet blankets, vainly trying to keep warm. Her clothes were ripped to pieces and completely worn out. As I stared at her, she wrapped her arm around her waist as if to keep herself upright. I tipped my head up to look at the torrential rain. I felt the increasing cold wind bluster in the narrow alley. I knew I couldn’t leave her here, not like this.

She needed help and she needed it fast.

Shifting myself around until I was directly in front of her, I dipped my head until I could see her eyes under the hood of her sweatshirt. A threadbare black scarf was pulled half way up her face; only her dull blue eyes were visible. As her harsh cough faded out into a deep graveled wheeze, I said, “Please listen to me.”

But her eyes never lifted at my request. They stayed large and dazed, pupils dilated, focused on the ground beneath our feet.

My concern deepened.

Inching further forward, I waved my hand in front of her face. The girl jumped again, but her eyelids fluttered at the movement until, finally, her attention was focused on me.

Making sure she could hear me, I explained, “I’m going to help you.” I immediately thought of Lexi, and knew she would come to the girl’s aid. We could get her to Kind. We could get her a doctor, a place that she could stay.

I reached into my pocket for my cell, but when I pressed the screen it was dead. I sighed in frustration.

The girl’s eyes watched my lips. “I’m going to call for help.” As I told her those words, her face fell and she shook her head. Using her hands on the soaking wet ground, she pushed herself further back against the wall.

“It’s okay,” I said and held up my hands. “Calm down.” I watched her close in on herself, her body contorting like she was a small child: terrified and afraid. As she did her scarf fell, revealing her face. Something in my heart broke and cracked in two.

She looked like she could be pretty. But her face was sunken, dark circles shadowed like coal smudges around her eyes. Her hands were joined over her chest in a rigid vise. When I slowly moved the blanket covering them, I noticed they were trembling. She was either terrified or freezing. As I looked up at her haunted ashen face, I thought it could be both.

Her gaze never wavered from mine. “Please. Let me help you. You’re not well and y’all need help.” I watched her slowly shake her head in refusal. But as she did, I saw the tears build in her eyes and her bottom lip quiver.

I looked away, frustration mounting in my chest. “Please,” I whispered, feeling helpless. When I faced the girl again, her glazed eyes were back to looking at the ground, and her wheezing had become worse. Her head had flopped to the side and she had pulled the wet blanket up to her chin, searching for warmth.

The rain came down heavier.

Realizing that it would take more from me than to simply offer help, I got to my feet. The girl didn’t even flinch. I glanced down the alley, it was clear. Turning back to the girl, I said, “I’ll be back in two minutes. I’m getting you some food and a coffee.”

I waited for a response, but none came; her head stayed firmly down.

Without hesitating, I jogged to the end of the alley and walked quickly through the Starbucks entrance. I threw back my hood and shook off the rain. I approached the barista, instantly seeing a young brunette, about my age. She smiled as I approached the counter.

“Two venti dark roasts with room,” I ordered, then searched the pastry cabinet. I grabbed a few bottles of water and a bunch of sandwiches. I put them on the counter. “These too. And a few of those chocolate cookies.”

I reached into my pocket to pull out some cash. When I looked up, the brunette was smiling at me. Her eyebrow was raised in a way I’d come to recognize. She wanted to talk to me. She liked me. The minute she giggled, I could feel my cheeks flood with heat.

“You hungry or something?” she asked in a playful voice, pointing to all the food.

She waited for me to reply. Instead I ran my hand through my hair, kept my attention on the counter and shook my head.

I shifted on my feet as she ran the sandwiches through the register. The brunette leaned forward. “You want these sandwiches warmed up?” I nodded my head.

I heard another flirty laugh come from the barista’s mouth, then my stomach rolled when she leaned down to rest her elbows on the countertop. She peeked up at me and, this time, I had no choice but to meet her eyes. She smiled again. “What’s your name?” I cleared my throat. The barista lifted up the cups and added, “For your order.”

“Levi,” I answered quietly and handed over a fifty. The girl took it. Before she could talk again, I muttered, “Keep the change.”

As I turned away to wait at the end of the counter, I caught sight of her face falling at my obvious rejection, but my guilt was short-lived as I thought of the girl in the alley. I thought back to her clothes, to her sodden and thinning blankets. The ache was back in my chest at how she was living. That this existence was her life.

Inhaling a deep breath, I stared out of the window, and immediately saw the light of a cheap Seahawks store open across the road. Turning to the barista, I laid my hand on the countertop. “I’ll be back in five minutes.” She frowned, but shrugged.