Page 53 of Smitty

Could you send me a picture of Anslee?

I hit send before I could overthink it, then glanced around the waiting room. There was a guy sitting across from me with the glow from two computer screens reflecting off his face. His fingers never stopped moving across the keyboard. If it hadn’t been for his cut, I would’ve thought he was the hospital’s IT guy. My guess was that it was Mercy, KC’s computer guy.

Every club had one guy who could dig up information the rest of us couldn't.

According to Drifter, if you gave him a name and enough time, he'd know where you lived, what you drove, who you owed money to, and what you'd had for breakfast. I found it hard to believe that he could compare to Shep. That man was like a damn computer wizard, but from the looks of it, Mercy was going to find the answers he was looking for.

I left him be. I saw no point in bothering the man. Hell, whatever was on those screens was well above my pay grade. So, I got up and walked over to the vending machine. I grabbed a soda and a pack of crackers before heading back over to my spot in the corner.

I’d just sat down when my phone buzzed with a text. I grabbed it and eagerly opened the message.

Brooke:

I couldn’t decide which one to send.

I have entirely too many.

Two images came up. My thumb hovered over the screen for half a second before I opened it, and once I did, my heart nearly exploded in my chest. Anslee was sitting on the hardwood floor with colorful blocks scattered around her. There were a couple of tall towers behind her, and judging by the grin on her adorable face, she'd built every bit of it herself.

The second picture showed Brooke holding Anslee in her lap, and Anslee had a chocolate chip cookie in her hand and chocolate on her face.

Damn.

Anslee looked even more like her mother than I’d realized. She had her hair, her smile, and even her mouth. But those eyes were mine. They were the same shade of blue I'd stared at in the mirror every morning for as long as I could remember.

I zoomed in, noting the tiny dimple in her left cheek and the way her nose crinkled when she smiled. She looked happy. They both did, and that meant more to me than anything else.

Me:

Thank you.

Brooke:

There are so many.

I will get you some printed.

Me:

I’d appreciate that.

Is that one of your Granny cookies in her hand?

Brooke:

It is.

As you can see, she loves them.

Me:

Because they’re the best ever.

Brooke:

Aren’t they?

Me: