Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 75193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75193 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“My brother was my greatest friend. He hated seeing anything happen to me, but he was also three years ahead of me. Not much he can do at a different campus,” I explained. “He was able to help me out his senior year when I was only a freshman, though. That was my best year at school as far as I can remember.”
“He probably put the word out that you weren’t to be touched,” he said. “I would’ve done the same for my sister. Hell, I did do the same.”
I smiled.
“Has your sister always had those seizures?” I asked him, wanting to change the subject.
Anything would be better than talking about those years.
They’d been pure hell, and no one that’d never been bullied would ever understand just what kind of hell it was.
“Yeah,” he nodded his head, lifting his shirt slightly to have easier access to an itch on his belly before continuing.
My eyes were drawn to his tight abdominal muscles that clearly showed a couple small glimpses of abs before he dropped his shirt back down into position.
My eyes went to his, and I saw awareness of what I’d just done there, but he didn’t stop his explanation.
“My sister has…had…a lesser form of epilepsy since as long as I can remember,” he explained. “I was eight and she was six when the first episode I remember her ever having happened.” He shook his head. “We were sharing a room with my parents at Disneyland.”
I winced.
“She’d just gone to sleep and was lying in the bed next to me when she started jumping around like one of those Mexican jumping beans.” He frowned. “I turned over to yell at her to stop when I saw the way she was staring at nothing. Ran and got my parents, and they took her to the ER while my grandmother waited back at the hotel with my brother and me. It was terrifying.”
“Does she have them often?” I asked softly.
He looked at me, wondering, I guess, what he should divulge, then shrugged.
“Here and there,” he admitted. “Nothing as much as lately, though. Once she had the baby it was like night and day. While she was pregnant the episodes amped up to nearly terrifying. Then she had Emily. Though the episodes were still present once she had the baby, they were nowhere near as bad as they’d been before. Ever since the latest car wreck that I met you on…well it got worse again.”
I swallowed.
I’d heard him explain that to the doctor.
She’d been struck in the head with a car seat from the backseat, and ever since then, her seizures had become more and more sporadic.
“Were y’all able to control it before then? While she was pregnant?” I asked, my nurse training kicking in.
He pursed his lips in thought, then nodded his head at the same time he shrugged.
“She had multiple seizures throughout her entire pregnancy,” he admitted. “But she has triggers for the one she did have. If she’s tired and forgets to take her medication on time that day, it might cause a seizure. Sometimes it’s extreme emotion. She’s been seeing a specialist in Dallas since she was a small child, but they’ve only gotten worse over the last year.”
“Oh,” I whispered softly. “That’s terrible.”
It was, too.
She would forever have to live with the fact that she’d played a part in killing my brother, and nearly killing herself and her baby. Not directly, no, but indirectly. If she hadn’t needed to get to Dallas, my brother wouldn’t have been in that car.
Not that I held it against her.
I never would.
I knew his sister wouldn’t be seeing it that way, though.
“Your sister…is she okay?” I asked softly. “How’s she doing with all this?”
He rubbed his face with his forehead, stopping to scratch his beard roughly before replying.
“She’s not good. Well, she’s better now since Apple got his head out of his ass,” he amended.
“Apple?” I asked, confused.
“Her man, Apple Drew. He was the one who came in with the baby in the hospital while we were there,” he explained.
“Ohhh,” I remembered. “Gotcha.”
He reached up to scratch his beard again, and I looked at him, studying the way his hands seemed to be restless, and the only thing they seemed to want to do was play with his beard.
“You don’t like the beard?” I asked.
“I like the beard,” he pursed his lips. “It’s nice not to have to shave every day,” he admitted. “But it itches like a mother fucker.”
I giggled, causing a smile to break out over his face.
“I like the beard, too,” I admitted. “I liked the goatee, but the beard makes you look…rougher. Manlier.”
He snorted.
“So you like the unkempt look, do you?” His voice had changed, become darker and …sexier.
But before I could respond, what sounded like a solid thunk hit the door to our room, and chairs all of a sudden started screeching as they were moved back in a hurry.