Worth the Chance (Watertown University #2)

13. Garrett

Chapter 13

Garrett

O ur game last night was about four hours away in Maine. We lost, four to two and it partially feels like my fault. It’s never really one person's fault when the team loses but I wasn’t on top of my game at all. I couldn’t stop thinking of a certain roommate of mine. Maybe she actually is a good luck charm, considering the difference between the first game of the season versus the second.

It’s just after noon when we finally get back to campus. When games are more than two hours away we typically stay overnight. I decline lunch with some of the guys, worry coursing through my veins since I haven’t heard from Eliza since last night. She was headed out for dinner with Mia and some other girls but she hasn’t texted. Not that we have a big texting relationship but I did text her to check in to make sure she was okay and the restaurant was good for her, but I never got a response.

I take a centering breath as I get in my truck. She’s fine. She’s not her . She’s alive, healthy and at home, maybe she didn’t check her phone and she slept in. I drive ten minutes back to the house and notice her car in the driveway. That’s good. She’s likely here then.

I unlock the front door, putting my bag at the bottom of the stairs and toeing off my sneakers. The faint sounds of the television playing her favorite show hit my ears and I breathe a sigh of relief. I move down the short hallway, pausing as I get to the end where the space opens into the living room. That sigh of relief is short lived. On the couch, in the fetal position is Eliza. Her eyes move to me and I can see they’re red rimmed and glossy.

Before I can question myself, I move to the couch, crouching down in front of her. My heart cracks slightly at the sight of her. I hate when girls cry, it reminds me of times I try to forget but I can’t leave her like this.

“El, what happened?”

“I got glutened.” She sniffles, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie.

“Glutened?”

“Yeah. It’s when I accidentally eat gluten or some sort of cross contamination happens. I thought the restaurant was safe. The server reassured me but something went wrong.” She rubs at her temples.

“Does your head hurt?” I try to keep my voice even but there’s a war raging inside me. How did the restaurant mess up? Don’t they understand that this is serious?

“Everything hurts.” She lets out a huff of a laugh and then cringes.

“How can I help?”

“Could you just get me some tylenol out of the bathroom cabinet?” I nod, bounding up the stairs to get her some medicine. I quickly bring the bottle to her with a fresh glass of water.

“Thank you.” Her smile is small but her dimples still pop slightly, the sight easing some of the worry but amplifying my anger at whoever did this to her.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

“No. I kind of just have to wait for it to pass. The next week will be a little rough but the first twenty four to forty eight hours are the worst of it for me.”

“That long?” I’m shocked at her answer. I just assumed it would be a quick thing, like something you could get rid of overnight.

“Unfortunately.”

“I’m sorry El.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I think I’m actually going to try and nap. Sleep usually helps.”

“Okay.” I nod, extending my arm to help her off the couch. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.” She grabs her glasses from the coffee table, putting them on. Those damn glasses, I’m lucky she doesn’t wear them more because they do something to me. She gives me a weak smile before heading down the hall and up the stairs.

I pace the length of the living room feeling restless and slightly out of control. A feeling I don’t like. One I never let myself feel. For some reason though when it comes to this girl and the idea of her being hurt or in pain, it sends me spiraling. After a good ten minutes of pacing and the energy inside me not subsiding, I grab my car keys from their place on the coat rack. “Fuck it.”

Less than twenty minutes later I’m inside Tortilla Grill asking the hostess to bring out a manager. She looks surprised at my request but doesn’t argue as she heads to the back. She comes back a minute later, “he’ll be right out.”

A stout, middle aged man comes around the corner after a few minutes of me sitting off to the side. He comes right up to me, hand extended, I get up offering him a stern shake in return .

“Hi I’m Bill. What can I do for ya today?”

“Why don’t you guys take allergies seriously?” I don’t yell but my voice is slightly raised and gruff causing a group of patrons to look over at us. I ignore their stares, they have a right to know that this place doesn’t seem to care about their customers' health.

“How about we discuss this in my office?” Bill asks, also noticing the eyes all pointed in our direction.

“Fine.” I nod, following him to the back of the building, down a short, dark hallway into an office that’s the size of a coat closet.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened.” Bill sits behind the desk in a rolling chair, gesturing for me to take one of the small chairs seated in front. I ignore him, staying on my feet.

“My… girlfriend.” Should I be calling her that when there’s no chance of us getting caught in our fabrication? Maybe not but it just feels right to say that at this moment. He'll take my concern more seriously this way, right? “She ate here last night and informed her server of a dietary restriction. Today, she’s sick on the couch from you poisoning her.” There is anger laced through my words but I keep my tone steady.

“I’m sorry to hear about her experience but of course we cannot guarantee anything. What is her allergy?”

“It’s not an allergy per se, she has an autoimmune disease. She can’t eat gluten. Your waiter informed her that the corn tortillas would be safe and were made separately. Did he lie?”

“He didn’t lie, those are made separately. Do you know if she had the chips and salsa by chance?”

“She did.” She didn’t tell me the specifics but I did see her post a story on her social media with the chips and dip in front of her.

“Ah. We just started frying those chips in house and they use the same fryer as some of our battered items so they would be cross contaminated. ”

“And he didn’t tell her that, why?” My voice raises on its own accord. Is he fucking kidding me right now?

“I informed all of our servers of that earlier this week so he should’ve known.” He scrubs his hands over his scalp. “I apologize. Is there anything we can do to make this right?”

“Make sure this doesn’t happen again. To anyone. This is unacceptable.” I keep my octave as normal as possible, flexing my hands. Reminding myself that I’m in control of my reactions.

“Of course.” He jots down something on the notepad in front of him. “I’m going to call for emergency training and retrain all the staff on our protocols. I’ll talk with the crew from last night too and be sure this doesn’t happen again. I can offer you a gift card for your next visit if you’re interested?” A gift card? Is this man fucking serious? I take a deep breath in and slowly let it out. There’s no need to get worked up. He's doing exactly what we need him to do.

“No, thanks man. My girl and I won’t be coming back here but I appreciate you retraining the staff. This stuff is serious and she’s going to be feeling sick for at least a week now.”

“I do apologize. We do take it seriously and will continue to do so.” Bill stands, pushing his rolling chair back to shake my hand again. I grab him in a firm shake before letting myself out of the office before he says anything further.

When I get back in my truck I feel slightly better. That went well. I didn’t really know what I expected when I came down here. I wanted to come in screaming and cursing everyone out. That’s something my dad would do. But I don’t want to be like my dad.