Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“You two are conspiring?” I ask.
She grins like I’ve just given her the biggest compliment. “I said aligned. Not conspired.”
It sounds like this is what she really wants. Perhaps it’s even what she needs. I’ve always tried to protect Dylan and Eddie, but maybe there are disadvantages to being forever wrapped in a layer of cotton wool. “Maybe you’re right,” I say, trying to sound open to the possibility.
“Resilience is the most important thing I can learn.”
How can I argue with that?
“Dylan and I don’t need your help financially,” she says as if she’s summing up.
“Well, not now, but what if—”
“Then we’ll figure it out. Whatever it is. And we’ll figure it out together. We’ve got to stop acting like we’re under siege and start living life, Eira. And when I say we’ve got to start living life, I mean you. You’ve taken care of us for so long. It’s time for you to focus on yourself for once.”
She threads her fingers through mine and leans her head on my shoulder.
“I love you,” she says. “And I need you. Always. But not financially. Not anymore.”
“I love you,” I reply. “And I’ll always need you, too.” More than ever—though I don’t say so. Because if Dylan and Eddie don’t need me, I won’t know who I am and how I fit into the world.
THIRTY-ONE
Eira
Is it me or can I smell vomit? I sniff once, then twice, before a metallic taste on my tongue and a churning in my stomach takes my attention. I reach out for I don’t know what. I feel myself being pulled up, up, up. I don’t know where I am—I just know I’m about to be sick.
Someone’s holding my waist. Big hands. Strong hands. Not Eddie. Is it…? Where am I? “Eddie,” I call out. Someone bends me at my waist. More hands on my hair. I wretch, my fingers finding the cold porcelain of a sink.
Everything is white and bright, a sharp contrast to the grainy, disgusting taste in my mouth.
“It’s okay,” someone says.
But it’s not okay. I feel like my insides are on the most terrifying roller coaster ever and I’m standing, naked, having to endure a death-ride inside my own body. Everywhere hurts. Everything churns. I can’t remember ever feeling this cold.
“Water,” I reply.
Someone holds a cup to my mouth. I try to rinse the foul taste away.
And then black.
I’m vaguely aware of a bright light being turned on and then off again. I groan. This is the worst hangover of all time. Where am I? I might remember being bundled into the back of a car. Have I been kidnapped? What’s the last thing I remember?
I must be dreaming. Or maybe I fell asleep in front of the TV and this is all a weirdly vivid dream?
“I’m just taking your temperature,” a voice that sounds a lot like Dax says.
Yes, definitely dreaming.
“Dream Dax,” I say, smiling as I feel the warmth of his fingers on my face. I try to open my eyes, but they seem sealed shut. “You’re so dreamy, Dream Dax.”
I feel something in my ear. It’s cold and hard and hurts deep in my head. “Ow,” I cry out.
“Sorry, baby. Just keeping an eye on how hot you are.”
“Dax is hot,” I say. “Sooo hot. And his bum…” I sigh at the thought of Dax’s bum. “And I think he loves his daughter now. Which is…” I bring my bunched fingers to my lips and make a chef’s kiss.
Back to black.
I wake up inside an aviary. All I can hear is tweeting. Why on earth did I sleep with birds? I open my eyes and it’s bright white and I don’t know where I am. Is this a hospital? It’s not Eddie’s dorm. I start to push myself up on the bed, but arms encourage me back down.
“Just rest.”
I turn my head and scream when I come face-to-face with Dax.
He smiles at me like I just kissed him on the mouth. “Hey. She’s back.”
I glance around and realize I’m back in my room in Dax’s flat. Not in Exeter. Not in an aviary. I’m in London.
“What happened?” I shift on the mattress, trying to sit up.
“A vomiting bug?” he suggests. “The flu?” Then he shrugs, like he has no clue.
“Did you actually graduate from medical school?” I ask.
He chuckles, and I almost smile until the movement threatens to split my head in two.
“You need to drink water. You’ve been out of it for thirty-six hours, but—”
“Wait, how did I get here? I was in Exeter.”
He laughs again. “You really don’t remember any of that?”
I squint, trying to squeeze the memory from my mind.
“Eddie answered your phone when I called to check the train was on time. I was going to pick you up from the station, since Mum and Dad came over to see Guinevere and could watch her. Eddie explained you were sick. She sounded worried. Said you weren’t making sense and she was considering calling an ambulance.”