His Lovable Klutz (Completed)

Segment Thirty.

♥ Hello? ♥

      Coby lay sprawled out on her bed, fully immersed in the thrilling world of The Ultimate Stander. The novel had her hooked, and she couldn't put it down. Her eyes danced over the words, absorbing every twist and turn with rapt attention. But then, an unexpected thirst crept up on her, pulling her out of the story's grip. Reluctantly, she slipped a bookmark between the pages, marking her place in the novel, and set it aside on her nightstand.

      She stretched out a bit before sliding off the bed and padding downstairs, her steps soft on the stairs. The kitchen was dimly lit, with only the soft glow from the under-cabinet lights illuminating the space. Coby grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it with cold water from the refrigerator, and took a long, refreshing sip.

      Just as she was setting the glass down, she heard a sudden, loud thud coming from the direction of the front door. The sound echoed through the quiet house, making her jump and nearly drop the glass.

      "Hello? Who's there?" Coby called out, her voice trembling slightly. There was no answer. She frowned, her heart beginning to race. "Mr. Reynolds? Todd?"

      The silence that followed only heightened her anxiety. She quietly placed the glass on the counter, her mind racing through the possibilities. What if someone had broken in? Her imagination started running wild. Eyes wide with fear, she quickly grabbed the nearest object for protection—a large, heavy frying pan.

      Coby's grip tightened around the handle as she tiptoed toward the front door. Each step felt like it took an eternity, her heart thumping louder with every inch she covered. Her face was a combination of determination and sheer terror, her eyes wide as saucers, her lips pressed into a tight line. She kept glancing around nervously, half expecting someone or something to jump out at her from the shadows.

      As she neared the door, her breath caught in her throat. She slowly leaned forward, holding the frying pan out in front of her like a weapon.

      Taking a deep breath, she peered down, and what she saw made her yelp in surprise. Lying crumpled on the floor by the door was Stefan, completely passed out. His body was sprawled awkwardly, his clothes disheveled, and his face showing signs of exhaustion and stress.

      Coby gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, nearly dropping the frying pan in the process. She blinked rapidly, trying to process what she was seeing.

      "Oh my god, Stefan!" she exclaimed, her voice both of relief and shock.

      She knelt beside him, her earlier fear replaced with concern and a touch of disbelief. The frying pan clattered to the floor as she reached out to shake him gently, her mind racing with questions. How had he ended up like this? And why was he passed out on the floor of all places?

      Coby pressed a cold, damp dish towel against Stefan's forehead as he lay unconscious on the couch. His breathing was shallow, and a faint feverish sheen covered his skin. As she continued to press the towel to his forehead, she couldn't help but wonder what had happened to him. What could have driven him to come home in such a state—drunk, feverish, and clearly troubled?

      She dipped the towel back into the bowl of cold water on the coffee table, wrung it out, and pressed it gently to Stefan's brow again. The furrow in his brow softened slightly, and she sighed, relieved that it seemed to be helping, even if just a little.

      Just then, the quiet room was interrupted by the shrill ring of Stefan's phone. The sound startled her, and she glanced toward his pants pocket where the ringing was coming from. For a moment, she hesitated, biting her lip. Should she answer it?

      After a brief internal debate, she reached into Stefan's pocket, her fingers brushing against the fabric as she pulled out his phone. The name Amanda flashed on the screen, and Coby frowned, curiosity piqued.

      "Amanda?" she muttered to herself, staring at the name. "Who's Amanda?"

      Not wanting to pry too much, she set the phone on the coffee table, letting it ring out. The sound eventually faded, and the silence returned. Coby resumed her work, pressing the towel against Stefan's forehead again, trying to ease his discomfort.

      But then, the phone rang again, the same name flashing across the screen: Amanda. Coby glanced down at Stefan's face, his expression tense even in sleep. Her fingers hovered over the phone, indecision gripping her. Finally, she picked up the phone and answered the call.

      "Hello?" Coby said, her voice soft and uncertain.

      "Stefan?" came the response, the voice on the other end sounding worried.

      Coby cleared her throat. "Um, no, this isn't Mr. Reynolds. He's, uh, unable to take the call right now."

      There was a brief pause, then Amanda's voice came again, sharper this time. "Where is he? Is he okay?"

      Coby hesitated. "Who are you?" she asked, her tone cautious.

      "I'm his mother," Amanda replied, her voice filled with concern.

      Coby blinked, taken aback. "Oh, uh, well... he's not in a good state right now. He came home... feverish. I've been trying to get his fever down."

      The scene shifted to Amanda's perspective. She was standing by the large window in her elegantly furnished living room, staring out into the night. The room around her was a picture of refined taste, with plush furniture, expensive art on the walls, and soft lighting casting a warm glow. But Amanda's expression was far from serene. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her fingers gripped the edge of the curtain tightly.

      She felt a knot of worry tighten in her chest as she processed what Coby had said. "You're not Tessa. Who are you?" Amanda asked, her voice betraying the anxiety she was trying to suppress.

      Before Coby could respond, the phone was snatched from her hand. Startled, she looked up to see Stefan, awake and glaring at her with anger and exhaustion. He disconnected the call, tossing the phone onto the couch as he shot her an accusing look.

      "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Stefan snapped, his voice hoarse but laced with fury. "Why did you answer my phone?"

      Coby stammered, taken aback by the sudden outburst. "I—I was just trying to help! You were passed out, and it kept ringing…"

      "I don't care!" Stefan interrupted, his voice rising. "Don't you ever pick up my calls again. Do you understand?"

      Coby's heart sank at his harsh tone. She had only been trying to help, but now she felt as if she had done something terribly wrong. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

      "Just don't," Stefan cut her off, his voice quieter but still filled with anger. He swung his legs off the couch, trying to stand, but his legs wobbled beneath him. He stumbled, and Coby instinctively reached out to steady him.

      "Let me help—"

      "I don't need your help!" Stefan snapped, brushing her aside. He staggered toward the stairs, each step unsteady as he tried to make his way to his room. Coby watched helplessly, her heart aching as she saw him struggle, but she knew better than to try and help him again.

      As Stefan finally made it to the stairs, Coby could only stand there, feeling both sadness and guilt. She had only wanted to help, but now she felt like she had done more harm than good. The weight of his anger hung heavy in the air, and she wished she could take back the last few minutes, to undo whatever it was that had upset him so much.

      But there was nothing she could do now. All she could do was watch as he slowly climbed the stairs, leaving her alone in the dimly lit room with only the cold dish towel and the echo of his harsh words hovering in the air.