Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I nearly cried out in denial. “No.”
“Yeah,” he said. “She said something yesterday when she was in my room with me on the bed. She kept running her fingers through my hair. You were in the shower, and she said, ‘I’m just so glad that you have someone here who’ll help when I’m gone.’ When I asked her if she expected to make it to the end of your pregnancy, she smiled this weird smile before saying, ‘I wouldn’t count on it, baby. I might not even make it to the end of the week.’”
I cursed. “Shit.”
“Shit,” he agreed, looking broken. “Dad is beside himself. He doesn’t know who to take care of. But she’s glad that you’re here, because she feels like it’ll give my dad some more time with her with you here to help.”
“I’ll give him every bit of time he needs,” I said. “I’ll stay up tonight. I can’t believe I allowed him to talk me into taking the night shift.”
We’d found out rather quickly that Nash needed to be in a different room than me. Every groan, moan, shift of his body, or someone coming into his room to check on him woke me up. Which was hilarious because before this, I was the most sound sleeper there was.
It was almost as if I was staying half awake, aware while sleeping, so I didn’t miss anything when it came to Nash. As if he’d disappear again if I gave him half the chance.
So I’d been holding on.
But two days after his chemo, it was decided that I would sleep in Aracelli’s old room.
Mostly for my own sanity and wellbeing.
“He wants to.” Nash patted my hand.
“Lean your head back and let’s rinse this conditioner out,” I instructed.
He did, allowing his head to fall all the way back.
His hair was getting long, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it or not.
I’d always known him to have shorter hair.
Whereas, this longer hair made his messy locks look more appealing, it also meant that he was too sick to get his regular cut done.
“Do you want me to cut your hair for you?” I asked.
“Have you ever cut hair before?” he wondered.
I grinned wickedly as I turned around and reached for the soap.
“Not once,” I admitted.
“Then no.” He snorted. “It’ll probably fall out anyway. Dad’s did.”
I hoped not.
Not because I wouldn’t like him bald, but because that was just one other thing he’d have to be dealing with.
“We’ll wait until then,” I suggested. “When we get out for the doctor’s appointment next week. We’ll go then.”
He nodded, his head still tilted back to rest against the shower wall.
I allowed my hands to wander over Nash’s body, using the excuse of cleaning him to spend overly long on his thighs and biceps.
“I feel like this is the cleanest I’ve ever been,” he teased, his head now tilted toward me.
I smiled at him sheepishly. “I just felt like maybe you needed to be extra clean this time.”
He scoffed, then reached for my hand when I got to his collar bones, then pulled it up to his lips to place a kiss on the back of my non-soapy hand.
I melted just a little bit further, then felt the fresh sting of tears start to assault my eyes.
I tried to blink them away, but dammit, they fell anyway.
I ducked my chin against my chest and tried not to make eye contact, but the man caught my move and said, “Baby, what’s wrong?”
I sniffled. “I cry all the time.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But usually, it’s because I make you cry.”
I smiled at him. “You’re not making me cry anymore.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, looking really concerned. “Because baby, when I say that I’m done with that, I mean it. If you want to clean up my puke and yell at me all you want, I’ll sit down and shut up. I won’t run away again.”
I flashed him my soapy ring finger and said, “I figured that with the proposal and all.”
His face gentled. “Then what has you crying?”
I swallowed hard, finished up the rest of his throat, neck, and ears, and then reached for the showerhead before answering, “I’m just… stupidly happy. I hate that you’re going through this. I hate that your mom is on the verge of dying. But I’m happy. And that sounds really bad. I know. But sometimes,” I shrugged and swiped at my tears, only managing to get soap in my eyes as I did. “Ouch!”
He chuckled. “Spray your face off, honey.”
I did, then blinked my eyes at him as they continued to burn. “Now I’m crying because I just violated my eyes with Dove.”
His grin was breathtaking.
But just as quickly as it was there, it was gone.
“You ready to get out?” I asked.
“Ready,” he replied.
I hung the showerhead up after rinsing myself off completely, then got out and went to the expensive towel warmer that had shown up a few days ago.