Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 156796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 523(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 523(@300wpm)
“I hardly chose to be held captive,” I snapped.
His eyes darkened. “But you fuckin’ chose to forget to take care of the one thing in life I give a shit about—you. You do know you almost fuckin’ died from a blood infection, Lauren? That I woke up and you weren’t there because they were treatin’ you for septicemia. Had to get it outta Bex that it wasn’t the result of your injuries, only ’cause I damn near ripped my hospital room apart with the knowledge that it was ’cause of me. And don’t worry, I still shoulder most of that blame for what happened to you.”
“Gage, this wasn’t your fault.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, the only man who could savagely say that while holding my hand as I lay in a hospital bed. “I’ve got the talking stick right now, and I’ve got a lot to say about you refusing fucking treatment for wounds that almost killed you.” His voice was flat and cold. Gage’s version of a roar. His ultimate level of mad.
But something lurked underneath.
“You scared the shit outta me, Lauren,” he said, kissing my fingertips again. “You never, never play with your life like that ’cause of me. Fucking never. Promise me that.”
“I won’t,” I said. “Because I had to see you die in my arms, Gage. I literally saw you die. I was covered in your blood, and I was too fucking scared to move, to wash it off in case that’s all I had left of you. So you can curse, demand and try to muscle your way through this, but you’re not getting your way because I’m not living through that again. I’m not dying through that again. So how about you make me a promise? Never get shot in the fucking chest again.”
His face didn’t change throughout everything I said. He flinched once, but his expression didn’t shift. Well, not till the end, at least. And then he smiled, because of course Gage was about to find some sick amusement in this.
“Only we could fight moments after mutually waking up from life-threatening comas,” he muttered.
I rolled my eyes and fought my mouth twitch. “You forgot to make your promise.”
“Will, I promise to never let anyone shoot me in the chest again,” he said solemnly.
I nodded. “Good. And I would like another one please.”
He grinned. “What now?”
“I would like you to marry me.”
The grin disappeared and he froze. “What did you just say?”
“I want you to marry me,” I repeated. “And not here in a hospital bed, because I don’t want this to be the photo sitting on our mantelpiece. But soon.”
He didn’t speak.
It should’ve made me nervous. Should’ve sent fears of rejection snaking into my mind. But this man would die for me. This man did freaking die for me. Then he came back from the dead and freaking lived for me. So I wasn’t afraid of the silence.
Though it did bring a sick amount of satisfaction to shock Gage mute.
“You want to be my wife?” he rasped.
I smiled. “I want you to be my husband.”
He continued to stare at me in wonder. “Yeah, I think I can make that happen.”
Three Months Later
“The doctors said it was a miracle that it didn’t hit your heart. They don’t even really know how it didn’t,” I whispered, tangled in Gage’s arms, as I was often in the past three months.
His hand squeezed mine. “I do. ’Cause my heart’s not in my chest.” He opened my empty palm slowly. “It’s in here.”
He laid his lips to that palm before setting it down on his bare chest again.
I traced the puckered scar with my finger, the pain radiating right to my own heart. The ink ended and began abruptly around the fresh pink skin. “Does this mean the gates to Hell are closed now?” I whispered.
His arms tightened. “No, baby. They’re never closed. Just means I don’t have a reason to care anymore. Since it’s not my front door.”
His eyes moved down to the black diamond resting on my fourth finger, the rock glittering in his gaze. He’d slipped the three-carat white gold ring on my finger the day he’d gotten out of the hospital. I’d been released before him because, although I’d had a life-threatening infection, an aggressive course of antibiotics worked quickly and efficiently. My only problem was a broken collarbone, which was not fun.
Like at all.
Though it was a pain in the ass and made it difficult to do anything, it wasn’t a reason to stay in the hospital. Getting shot in the chest required a longer stay, so a very pissed-off Gage swore and threatened doctors every single day.
And somehow, between all that, he managed to find a ring.
“Wanted to carve out a piece of my heart so you could wear it, but doctors advise against that if I wanna keep it beatin’, so this is the next best thing.”