Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Will you please just tell me?” My voice was dipping low, hoarse, and to an alarming sound that I knew was concerning, but I was losing normal thought function as to why I should be alarmed about how I was sounding. “Doahhafdaroomstll?”
“You’re slurring your words.” Savannah pointed out.
“She’s slurring her words.” Mia was always the smartest.
A disgusted sigh from her again, “Fucking hell.”
“What are you doing?” That was Savannah again.
My eyes had closed.
I was getting so sleepy again.
I just had a long nap. I shouldn’t be so tired so soon after, right? Right?
Mia snapped in a huff, “I’m calling 911 again. This bitch’s death is not going to be on our hands.”
“Oh dear.”
I just thought this picnic table was so comfortable. Why’d I ever use a bed? That was my last, somewhat coherent thought until splendid peace.
Chapter Fourteen
The doctor was much more stern the next time.
The ambulance came again.
I was taken to the ER again.
I was treated for the same concussion as before. Again. This time I was told to make sure I stayed hydrated, and if I fell asleep, to do it indoors and out of the sun.
And Stone was called, once again.
But this time, I was being released that same night, and as he stalked into the room, murder in his eyes, he refused to say a word. The doc was doing it all for him.
“You are only being released into the care of Mr. Reeves.”
I was the petulant child, and my doctor was the aggravated second-grade teacher. He was close to his wit’s end, but not quite there. I knew the type well. And Stone, he was the pissed-off older brother who hated his little sister, but the parents were dead so…
God.
I swallowed hard. I’d just thought that, hadn’t I?
Stone would never look at me like we had a brother/sister relationship. One of us would’ve murdered the other long ago.
And yep, I was content with keeping the snarky jokes to myself. I didn’t think anyone else would appreciate my sense of comedy, though I was rolling in it myself.
“I had a job interview at the Quail.”
The awkward silence that filled the room told me something had happened. I’d done something. Then the doctor closed his mouth and I clued in. I’d completely interrupted him and that was a no-no.
Stone moved to rest his shoulder against the doorframe, his arms still folded over his chest. “That bar on your campus?”
“Yes.” Eureka. He knew what I was talking about.
The doctor and nurse shared a look over my head. I didn’t want to look. I was pretty sure it wasn’t favorable to my recovery.
“They hired me. I think.” I frowned. How would I know if I’d been hired or not? My phone. I focused on Stone. “Do you have my phone?”
He nodded, resigned to whatever was going to happen. It wasn’t a happy look of resignation, but you know, the actual definition of resignation. A reluctant acceptance of what shit show was to come. I was the shit show, and he knew it.
He added, “I have all your shit at my place.”
“My keys?”
He nodded.
“My phone?”
“You already asked that.”
The doctor moved forward, bending to peer in my eyes again. “How many fingers do you see?” He was holding up three.
I said, “Four.”
I was lying.
Instant concern filled his gaze.
A deep, aggravated sigh left Stone again. “She’s fucking with you. She used to do the same thing when she skinned her knee as a kid. Her mom played along and it drove her dad nuts.”
My dad.
I felt punched at the mention.
Stone shoved off from the doorway and strode forward, getting in front of the doctor and bent down to peer at me, face to face. “Stop fucking around. Stop hiding. Stop lying to yourself. All your shit’s at my place. I know you. We have ties. Come to my house. I will help you through this. I promise.” He wasn’t being gentle as he was saying all this. It was being delivered in a matter-of-fact way, but then he faltered, and he lightened his tone. “I never went to your mom’s funeral and I’ve always regretted it. She’d want me to help you, and I can right now. Stop fighting me.”
He didn’t get it.
I was already crumbling, though.
I felt it happening.
But I still whispered out, “I fight you, I fight them.”
He got it immediately. Understanding dawned, and he nodded. His eyes clouding a second, then he straightened, but his hand came out to touch my face. Fingertips tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and his words undid me.
“Let’s go to my house. You can yell at me all you want there.”
I was falling. Slipping. Tumbling.
The tears were coming, but my God, no. I didn’t cry in public.
He saw them, and he chided softly, almost mocking me, “Pull yourself together, Phillips.”
It worked.
I sucked them in but nodded to the doctor. “I’ll go home with Stone.”