Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 72822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
There were signs of his family everywhere.
On the mantle. On the walls. In the bathroom with the pretty pink towels.
So, I wasn’t sure what to do.
I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries that I couldn’t see. Which meant that I literally sat on the couch, or on the bed he’d ordered me to sleep in, and I hadn’t ventured anywhere.
Dante left at seven in the morning. He got home at five in the evening. I never once moved but to go to the bathroom.
Hell, I hadn’t even eaten.
I was scared to.
My stomach was practically eating itself, and I was on the verge of crying because I was told not to take pain medication on an empty stomach.
I’d already planned on weaning myself off of the good drugs, but I hadn’t meant to get off of them that early.
Dante walked in the door with a box of chicken hanging off of one finger by the little paper handle, a gallon of sweet tea off of another finger, and Mary’s diaper bag hooked on another.
Mary was on his hip, and the moment that they both got inside, I smiled.
It was a tired smile.
One that clearly relayed how much pain I was in, causing Dante to immediately zero his eyes in on me.
“You in pain?”
Couldn’t hide anything from him, I supposed.
“A little,” I lied.
I was in a whole fuckin’ lot of pain.
Hence not bothering to get up and move over the last two hours.
Hell, I’d been stuck watching old reruns of Roseanne for the last two hours because the remote had dropped on the floor when I’d sat down after going to the bathroom.
“You need to eat,” he growled.
I wanted to eat. But the act of chewing made my chest hurt—at least at this point.
How? Why? I had no fuckin’ clue, but it did.
“Okay,” I murmured.
He walked away without another word, and I looked over at Mary as she steadily fed a handful of mashed potatoes into her mouth.
“Good?” I asked her.
“Goo!” she agreed.
Or at least I thought she agreed.
“Here.”
I looked up to find Dante heading back toward me, a white pain pill in one hand and a cup of sweet tea in the other.
I reached up to take the pill from him, but the act of lifting my arm caused everything to scream at me not to do it.
My hand dropped back to the table.
He looked at me, eyes hard and angry, and brought the pill up to my lips using two fingers.
I opened my mouth, tried to swallow the pill, and nearly choked when it got hung in the back of my throat.
He gave an exasperated sound, brought the cup up to my lips, and tilted it.
I swallowed greedily, then pulled away when I was finished.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Dante’s lips twitched. “Welcome.”
Day 17 Post Surgery
I took my pain pills today.
I also ordered pizza around lunchtime when I started to get hungry.
And by ordering it, I meant that I texted Hannah—who’d given me her phone number if I ever needed anything—and begged her to bring me something to eat.
She did, but not without asking questions.
“I know that you are hungry, but I remember Dante’s mother grocery shopping. She filled her cart nearly all the way up. There’s no way you don’t have enough food here.”
I looked down at my feet.
“A few days ago, I tried to eat ice cream. He saw me eating the ice cream in the bowl and then smashed the bowl to smithereens, I assume it belonged to his wife. A few days before that, I covered up with his quilt made out of his children’s baby clothes. Mary threw up on it. He threw it away.”
Hannah’s eyes looked understanding.
Day 18 Post Surgery
“Oreos shouldn’t be anything but the original,” he said, staring with dawning horror at the screen, which showed the newest Oreo trend. “That’s goddamned disgusting.”
I agreed, but I never gave up the chance to play devil’s advocate.
My grandfather had taught me that arguing was good. It showed that you had a vested interest in what you were speaking about. That you were passionate. Quick-witted.
God, I missed him.
“They don’t look too bad,” I said. “And pumpkin spice is the trend in the fall.”
He looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. “You’re honestly going to tell me that you think Pumpkin Spice Oreos are going to be any good?”
I kept my smile hidden. “I’ll let you know when I try them. They have potential.”
He gagged. “Gross.”
“Let me guess,” I drawled. “You probably only like the original ones. The ones that have the normal layer of cream on them.”
He raised his brows at me. “Is that a bad thing?”
“More cream is always better,” I found myself saying.
I didn’t agree with that. In fact, I loved the thin ones. The ones that had a very minimal layer of cream. My favorite part was the cookie itself.