Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
He did a double take when his gaze landed on his living-room furniture. Wait a minute…
“Did I get a new couch?” he asked with a frown as he stared at the tan sectional. He remembered his online search for it last year, but his mom couldn’t have known which one he’d hoped to purchase to replace her plaid-patterned one with the frayed cushions from his childhood. So it must’ve been his doing. Another thing he couldn’t remember. Fucking hell.
His mom looked at him with those sad eyes she’d been using when she didn’t think he was paying attention. “Yes, honey. You got it on sale after the holidays. You really love it.”
He hobbled over to the piece of furniture that seemed slightly too large for the small space, with his mom following close behind in case he fell on his ass—which was entirely possible, unfortunately—and ran his hand along the arm of the couch.
“It’s nice,” he commented, as if it didn’t belong to him. It certainly didn’t feel like it did. But the afghan his mom had knitted when he was a baby hung on the back of the couch like it had on the older version. It offered a connection he needed right then.
“Let’s get you comfortable,” she suggested, reaching for his elbow.
“Okay.” He hated to rely on anybody but needed to swallow his pride on this occasion. She bolstered his shoulder, helping to ease him down. Rhys gritted his teeth as pain lanced through his side like it always did now when he did anything remotely different than freaking breathe. Once he got his panting under control, he was able to get situated with his legs propped on the cushion.
“It is comfortable,” he mused. His mom removed the pain meds from the pharmacy bag and placed them on the coffee table within reach.
“Let me get you some water,” she said, walking to the kitchen and returning with a full glass.
He glanced out the window to reacclimate himself with the neighborhood he knew like the back of his hand. The Roses’ house looked the same, with its faded yellow paint and blue door that always drew his eye. He certainly didn’t recognize the row of sunflowers Mrs. Fischer had planted in her front yard, but everything else looked pretty much the same, and that helped him relax.
The occupational therapist helped him with sensory-stimulating activities that were supposed to help boost his brain health. Code word for memory loss, most likely. As if his brain were filled with sludge—and that was certainly what it felt like.
He watched his mom stifle a yawn while unloading the dishwasher. She and Carl had stayed here while he was laid up in the hospital, and Carl had already returned to Florida. Her flight was that evening, and Emerson would be driving her to the airport. He knew she was bummed about leaving and likely exhausted, but she was never one to sit idle for long, which was probably where he’d inherited his energy and drive.
Except, now he felt completed depleted. It hurt too much to move. These past several days he found he didn’t even miss some of the activities he’d previously gotten an adrenaline rush from.
He pushed down the emotion that kept bubbling in the back of his brain. If he identified it, he’d have to face it, and he wasn’t ready for that. He’d never been one to shy away from a challenge. But he’d also never smacked his head so hard that he lost parts of his memory. He shivered at the thought of it happening again, praying the doctor was right in saying he’d be back to normal before he knew it. Wishful thinking.
When he observed his mother grip the counter and shut her eyes momentarily, he grew alarmed. “Mom, are you okay?”
She straightened immediately. “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
“You look tired.” Distracted as well. She was rarely forthcoming when it came to her health. But he also knew she had been going nonstop since she arrived, and it had no doubt been wearing on her. He also wondered if the disagreement he’d overheard between her and Carl in the hospital one night when they thought he was asleep was contributing. Carl argued that he needed to get back to work and that she should too. She said she was right where she belonged, and Carl had grumbled about her hating the Florida heat. Well, that much had to be true. She’d always loved spring and fall, and he remembered her complaints about missing the seasons in Maine.
Carl had always been blunt in his criticisms and had hurt her feelings on more than one occasion. It made Rhys protective of her, but he also knew she could handle herself. Still, she’d grown quiet after that, and he knew she was upset. Guilt churned in his gut that he’d kept his mom in town too long. “You don’t have to try so hard to—”