Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
I found myself getting irrationally angry over the light.
When I had been married and sharing a room with Landry, I would have to set my shit out the night before and get dressed out in the living room after being very sure to not only close the door—but do it as quietly as possible.
Landry was a very light sleeper.
So light, in fact, that any number of things could wake her up in the morning.
The water running in our bathroom. A cabinet closing. The zipper of my pants. Hell, even making coffee had woken her up.
I’d tiptoed around that place when I’d gotten ready for work, all because I hated waking her.
And here she was, bright light shining in her face, and she was sleeping like a baby.
It shouldn’t have made me so angry, but it did.
I shifted my foot next to her face, bumping her lightly.
She came up with a cry of pain, tears already streaming down her face, and her bandaged hand clutched to her chest.
And that was when I realized that she’d been hurt, and I’d just kicked her.
“Fuck, Landry. I’m sorry,” I apologized, reaching out to her.
She blinked a few tears from her eyes and then focused on me for a few long seconds.
Her mouth fell open, and she stared at me in awe. “You’re awake!”
And then she was throwing herself forward.
Before I could so much as get my mouth open to demand her to tell me what was wrong, she was on me.
The minute she hit my chest, her face burying itself in the crook of my neck, her tears started coming faster. So fast that I could feel them running down my neck and curling around my shoulder blade to disappear into the sheet beneath my battered and bruised body.
A battered and bruised body that felt like it’d been run over by a log truck and every single log it had been hauling had broken free and rolled over me as well.
“I’m so glad that you’re all right,” Landry whispered. “They called me to tell me you were shot. Apparently, I’m still listed as your medical emergency contact. I raced up here, and they’d already taken you to surgery. You scared the crap out of me.”
I had hundreds of questions looming through my brain that I wanted answers to.
The first question was, why was she here, not only beside me but half on my bed? Secondly, did she still love me like I loved her? Three, was that what it took? Me getting hurt for her to talk to me other than a few civil words here and there as I helped her with the daycare?
She hadn’t held an actual conversation with me in the time that we’d been separated.
My thoughts then progressed into what should have been my first question, what had happened to me? And the last thoughts, why the hell did it feel so good to have her in my arms? Did she feel the same way when I touched her?
My mind had been thrown into turmoil with the thought that Landry was here beside me. So, finally, I settled with asking the question that was bothering me the most.
“What happened to your hand?” I rasped.
My voice didn’t sound like it usually did, and I had it answered moments later as to why.
“Don’t talk too much,” she ordered. “They just took the tube out of your throat that was helping you breathe. Are you feeling okay?”
She hadn’t answered my question, which made me nervous.
I wouldn’t be answering any of her questions until she answered mine first.
“What happened to your hand?” I repeated.
When she went to pull away, I latched onto the long hair that was laying on my shoulder, holding her in place.
I saw her eyes dilate, and I knew what she was thinking.
I fucking loved her long hair. It was one of my favorite things about her.
When she was around—when we were married of course—her hair was always touching me in some way.
If I was close enough to her, my hand was wrapped around her braid, or my fingers were sifting through her ponytail. God, I loved it. There was something about having her hair in my hand that made me feel comforted, and I couldn’t tell you why.
And it always would.
Just like I’d always love her.
“I don’t know,” she hesitated. “The doctors said not to get you riled up. I have a feeling if I told you, you may get upset.”
I growled, letting her hear my frustration.
Ignoring the pain that the act caused, I sat up and pulled her hair, forcing her to come closer while also pulling her over until she was now sitting on the bed next to my leg.
I would address the searing pain in my thigh later. I’d also try to figure out why my dick felt so goddamn funny, too.