Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
I finish my toast and drink my coffee while Dax and Willow argue over the best fight scene in Game of Thrones. We’re all super fans of the show, although I’ve also read the available books.
Dax is insistent it’s the Battle of the Bastards. Willow is partial to Daenerys torching the Lannister army and their wagon trail with her dragon. I’m a little bit more subtle in what appeals to me.
I think the best battle or fight scene is when Arya practices sword fighting with Breinne after she returns to Winterfell. It’s not a real battle, but in my opinion it’s completely epic. A waif of a child pretty much gracefully defeats a giantess who has battle experience. Dax and Willow think I’m completely crazy for that opinion, but whatever.
I glance at the kitchen clock, noting I need to get a move on. I push up from the table, then take my empty plate and coffee mug to the sink where I just place it in there, intent on cleaning the kitchen when I come back from my job a bit later.
Turning, I move to Dax, then lean down to place both my hands on his shoulders. This is an overt act of affection, which I’m slightly uncomfortable doing in front of Willow, but I want to give him one more reassurance.
Leaning in, I brush my lips across his cheek and put my mouth near his ear so I can whisper, “When I say I am fine, I mean I am fine in all ways.”
When I retreat, I’m rewarded with heat flashing through Dax’s eyes as he understands my meaning. I’ve just guaranteed we are going to have a nice catch-up session in bed before he leaves tomorrow for his away trip.
Straightening, I start to leave, but give a tiny, surprised yip when his hand comes out and pops my backside pretty hard. Willow snickers as I shoot a mock glare at my husband over my shoulder.
God, I really want him to be my husband. Not just in name. Not just as an excuse to have sex with someone I’m insanely attracted to. I want every bit of him, because he already has my heart.
Now if I could only figure out if he’s willing to give me his in return?
I make my way upstairs, then run through my regular routine to go to work. This means I blow dry my hair and put it into a ponytail. No makeup. After putting on scrubs, socks, and my nursing shoes, I am ready. I grab my purse and make my way downstairs, but when I’m halfway down the staircase, something catches my attention and I freeze.
It’s Willow’s voice, and she sounds pissed. “You need a damn attitude adjustment.”
My hand goes to the rail on the stairwell, and I lean forward a little to try to hear a bit clearer around the wall that separates us.
“Trust me. I know,” Dax mutters, and I can hear the frustration in his voice. “But it’s hard, Willow. The constant worry about her. I can’t fucking concentrate on anything else. Every damn text or phone call I get now, I wonder if it’s someone calling to tell me she’s sick or dead. And I’m terrified to leave tomorrow. You’re not going to be here. What if something happens to her?”
There’s a dull ache in the center of my chest, and I think it’s my heart constricting too tightly in response to Dax’s pain and worry. No one should have to feel like that.
I take a step backward, then another, not really wanting to hear more.
“When I took Regan in and got her to marry me, I felt like a fucking hero for helping her out. Got her insurance for a lifesaving drug. It was awesome. But I didn’t know then what I know now. That her life is still in danger. That this is very fucking real, and I wasn’t prepared for how terrifying it would be.”
I can’t take another moment of listening to this. Hearing Dax and his regrets for what I’ve brought to his life… It hurts to know I’ve hurt him.
I start down the stairs again, this time stomping hard enough they hear me coming. The conversation goes silent in the kitchen. I know I can’t face them, because they’ll read it on my face. They’ll see the guilt I’m now bearing.
So rather than turn their way, I head straight for the door. I strive for overly bright but incredibly rushed as I call out over my shoulder. “I’m running so late. Willow… I’ll try to be back before you leave.”
I dare not even glance behind me. After I open the door, I jet out onto the porch, only to realize once the door shuts behind me that my car is in the garage and I’ve gone out the wrong way.