Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
“What?”
“I can’t . . .” I nestle into it, huffing, my neck stiff. “It’s . . .”
Brad gets up and comes to me, easing the pillow out and punching it a few times. “So when are you back on your feet? Lift your head.” My chin hits my chest and Brad stuffs the pillow beneath. “Better?”
“Yeah.” I settle. “Tomorrow.” I’ll be up and about by tomorrow.
He laughs. “Doesn’t look like it.”
“Doc said I should be on my feet.” I’ve just got to walk off the stiffness. “Beau’s being difficult.” I expect she’s also got an ulterior motive.
“She’s known exactly where you are for four weeks, pal. That’s a luxury she’s never had. I can’t blame her.”
I laugh under my breath, fidgeting again, uncomfortable. “It’s been a fucked-up luxury for me too, knowing where she is twenty-four/seven.” But now I have every confidence that she’s never disappearing on me again. “Fuck this,” I snap, lifting my shoulders, making Brad rush to me.
“Whoa, what are you doing?” He looks between me and the bathroom, obviously terrified of Beau’s reaction. “Stay still. She’ll blame me.”
“Be a man,” I grunt, holding my breath and gritting my teeth, working my way up to sitting.
“Be a fucking man?” he mutters, holding my shoulders, therefore stopping me from falling back to the mattress. “What should I do?”
“Brad!” Beau yells, emerging from the bathroom.
He releases me, holding his hands up like Beau’s got a gun aimed at him. “It wasn’t me, for fuck’s sake. Why’d you blame everything on me?”
I land on my back on a yelp. “Fuck!” The pain. It fucking angers me, and in the midst of it, because it couldn’t get any fucking worse, I sit back up, hissing as I do. “Give me some of those painkillers, for fuck’s sake.”
Brad scrambles for the pot and tips a couple into my palm. I keep my hand out. “More?” he asks, unsure.
“More,” I demand. Another two land, and I toss them into my mouth and motion for the water. Brad holds the straw at my mouth, and I slurp it down before shuffling back until I find the headboard, slumping against it. Fuck me, I’m sweating.
The door knocks, and Pearl wanders in with a tray, bringing my daily delivery of tea and toast. She’s all smiles.
Until she sees Brad.
He quickly puts himself on the other side of the bed, grunting his hello, and Pearl quickly gathers herself. “Esther sent tea and toast.”
My eyes jump from Pearl to Brad, happy for the distraction from my ailments. “Thanks,” I murmur as Brad kicks the carpet, his hands sunken into his pockets, his eyes low.
“Welcome.” She smiles and slips it onto the nightstand. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been shot. Twice.”
She smiles awkwardly. It’s nothing to do with me. It’s Brad. Pearl and Anya have been in and out of my room for four weeks bringing tea, toast, water, whatever Esther’s sending. Both have settled in well. Both are all smiles.
“Better,” I add. “I feel better.” I eye the toast. Butter. I think I must have lost twenty pounds of muscle. “Pass me a slice,” I say.
“You’re sitting up,” Pearl says, putting a few slices on a napkin and setting it on my thighs.
“Yes, and he shouldn’t be.” Beau throws Brad another death glare, not that he notices, his attention still on his dress shoes.
“I have cake,” Anya declares, breezing in, again all smiles. Unlike Pearl, her smile remains in place regardless of Brad’s presence. “How do you say . . . Limon driz?” She waggles her eyebrows.
“Drizzle,” I finish for her, pointing to my lap. “Load me up.”
She takes the biggest wedge and places it next to my toast. “You need fat.”
“I agree,” I say, opting for the cake first, wrapping my mouth around the big slice and humming my happiness. Sugar. God, that’s good. Beau smiles, delighted to see me eating.
“You’re sitting up!” Rose shrieks, rushing to the bed and taking my cheeks in her hands, squishing the cake in my mouth. I hear Beau laugh as she continues fussing around the bed, folding blankets, fixing curtains, brushing crumbs from my lap. Rose’s eyes scan my face. “You seriously need a trim.” She tugs on a bit of my beard, and I bat her away, smiling fondly at her ever-growing belly as I chew my way through my cake.
Danny strolls in, casual, suited, hands in his pockets. I cast a look to Brad. Suit. To Danny. Suit.
Nolan walks in, all smiles.
Suit.
What’s going on? Everyone has been casual whenever they’ve stopped by. Casual and relaxed. In fact, the whole house has a different aura. It’s like the brief, fleeting moments we’ve all shared in St. Lucia, except in Miami. And for considerably longer than before. I can sense it, even half dead from my bed.
I suck the tips of my fingers as Danny settles on a chair, his smile mild. Relaxed.