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)
Fuck, what the hell was that about? And why did he never hit bottom?
Panting softly, he listened to the familiar sounds in his house, remembering his mom had already left for the airport with Emerson. The thick trunk of the majestic hundred-year-old maple tree loomed in shadow against the kitchen window. He felt strangely alone, yet suddenly reassured Emerson would be returning for him.
They’d shared a filling lunch with his mom, then visited for her remaining hours before she rolled her suitcase to the door and they said their goodbyes. His mom had been tearful, and he tried to stay strong, but he nearly felt like a little kid again, wishing his mom could stay and look after him for a while longer. Emerson had given him a meaningful look as he followed his mom out the door, and promised to return for him in a couple of hours tops.
But given the time stamp on his phone, Emerson appeared to be running late. Had he forgotten about him? Of course not; he’d never do that. Rhys swallowed down the frustration, telling himself that Emerson was more reliable than that, always had been. Even if he seemed distant recently, he would never leave him in the lurch.
If there was anyone he could count on, it was Emerson. He’d been the rock in his family for years. And Rhys knew it was wearing on him, which was a discussion for a different day.
Besides, Rhys was an adult and could ultimately take care of himself if it came to that. He was just completely out of sorts since the accident. While lying in the hospital, he’d open his eyes every few hours to sometimes find the room just as empty as his living room was now. Yet something about finally being home and realizing the impact of his injuries had left him feeling raw and vulnerable.
Emerson had prepped his parents’ room for him across the street, and that might explain why Emerson looked pretty lost the past few days. He rarely stepped foot in that wing of the house since they passed, so to invite Rhys to stay there was huge. And now that unrecognizable fear bubbled inside him again, threatening to pull him under. He vaguely remembered the doctor mentioning the depression rate of patients with amnesia, but he was afraid to name any of his worries out loud. Not yet.
What if he lost other parts of his memory to the void?
Would it feel like pieces of him were unraveling and soon there’d be nothing left?
Shaking the dark thoughts away, he sat up with some effort, holding his ribs, wincing in the process. The rehab nurse told him they could take several more weeks to heal, but the piercing, acute pain was agonizing. Directly after the accident it’d hurt every time he inhaled. Once he was warned of the pneumonia risks of patients with broken ribs, he learned to breathe deeply through the pain to help filter the pockets of air through his lungs.
Jesus, developing an infection was all he needed. Back to the hospital he’d go, and he’d be laid up for even more time. He’d already missed so much work, but Martin had assured him his job would be there once he was healed. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost his health insurance.
Breathe in and hold it. Breathe out.
The exercises took a lot out of him, and now he was burning up, so he pulled his shirt off with some effort, then slumped back on the cushions and shut his eyes.
He thought he was dreaming when he felt someone touch his head, his shoulder, his cheek. He stirred in his sleep, then sighed with relief when he realized it was Emerson gently trying to prod him awake.
A fleeting longing arose inside him to ask his best friend to hug him, hold him, soothe his fears, and he had no idea where it came from except it was how he’d been feeling earlier when he’d woken up alone. Besides, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done the same for Emerson during difficult times, so he shouldn’t have been afraid to ask for some reassurance of his own. So why was he?
“Hey,” Rhys murmured in a croaky voice, his eyes slits.
“You fell asleep,” Emerson said, looking back at the television to see the movie he’d set up for Rhys was now rolling the credits.
“Yeah. You took too long,” Rhys snapped, and Emerson opened his mouth, no doubt to apologize, but Rhys beat him to the punch. “Just messing with you.”
“I picked up the kids from their cousins’ house after your mom’s flight,” Emerson explained, even though he’d already told him of his plans. “They’re excited to see you.”
“I am too.” He pushed himself up and winced at the throbbing pain. Emerson’s eyes filled with pity, and Rhys didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t want pity. He wanted…well, just about anything else.