Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Brand opened his eyes, stirring drowsily to look down at him. “For what, young Master?”
Ash pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “For being everything you are.”
Brand smiled, drawing him closer and sinking down the headboard. “I’ve told you there is never any need, Ashton.”
“I know.”
And that was that, letting the silence reclaim them once more.
Yet as the night sank deeper, as Brand relaxed into the feeling of Ash’s fingers playing over his skin, Ash lifted his head, looking toward the window.
“It’s snowing,” he whispered.
Brand glanced up, watching as faint soft drifts of white fell down against the deep blue of night, wisping like feathers, like an ash cloud, like a drift of small and quiet dreams. Like whispers, little words tumbling down, sighing those things that still stood between them, delicate and soft.
“So it is,” he murmured, and pulled his young Master into a kiss.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THERE WAS SOMETHING ALMOST CRIMINAL, Ash thought, about seeing Brand looking anything other than perfectly put together and completely formidable, taking up so much space that he blocked out everything else.
He looked older, somehow, lying on a gurney in a hospital gown—the streaks of silver at his temples more prominent, the lines around his eyes settled deeper. Frailer, too, the smock seeming to shrink his bulk and turn him small and fragile.
Ash hated it.
He fucking hated it. One day wasn’t enough to be ready for this, suddenly rushing headlong into this complex procedure—and yet he wouldn’t reject the gift Brand meant to give to both him and his father, no matter how frightened he was. After seeing his father wasting away in a hospice bed…
The parallels were a little too close for Ash to endure seeing Brand this way, surrounded by the horrible smell of the hospital and too pale beneath the light of the claustrophobic little room.
“You,” Brand said quietly, “are fretting, young Master. I can practically smell it.”
“I’m worried,” Ash said, and clasped the long, thick-knuckled hand resting against the gurney. “They’re going to be taking out pints of your bone marrow. That’s…that’s a lot.”
“And I am a perfectly healthy man of not particularly advanced age, and there will not likely be complications.” Brand turned his hand to lace his fingers with Ash’s, squeezing gently. “It will be fine.”
Ash smiled weakly. “I feel like you’re not supposed to be reassuring me here.”
“But I’m not the one who’s worried.”
“Because you never worry about anything.”
Brand lifted their twined hands to his mouth and brushed his lips across Ash’s knuckles. “I worry about you.”
“I keep trying to stop giving you reasons to.”
Brand chuckled, then caught his glasses and tugged them off, deftly folding them one-handed and offering them to Ash. “Hold on to these for me, hm?”
“Yeah.” Ash curled his hand gingerly around the glasses. “Yeah, okay.”
“Try not to break them.”
“I won’t.”
“…or smudge them.”
Ash choked on a laugh that felt like he’d swallowed a spike into his throat. “Asshole.”
Brand smiled faintly. “You are not worrying now.”
“I’ll worry until you’re back on your feet and aggravating the fuck out of me.”
“Not long, then,” Brand promised softly, stroking his thumb over Ash’s knuckles.
A polite rap at the door interrupted them. “Mr. Forsythe?” A tall, lean, capable-looking woman in pale green scrubs leaned around the door with a reassuring smile. “I’m Pamela, your anesthesiologist. I wanted to give you a quick overview before we go in.”
Brand shifted to sit up a little more on the gurney. “Of course.”
With brisk movements, Pamela crossed to the foot of the gurney and retrieved Brand’s chart, flipping through it before murmuring, “Now, you understand you’ve consented to full anesthesia?”
“Yes,” Brand responded.
“What does that mean?” Ash interrupted.
Pamela glanced at him with that particular guarded look so many people had—that look that said she knew who he was, but was trying for the sake of professionalism to treat him as she would anyone else. She considered him, then explained, “It’s a long procedure to extract enough bone marrow for a transplant. Local anesthesia can wear off, not to mention it’s not effective enough to fully prevent all pain. We’ve opted to put Mr. Forsythe into an induced state so he doesn’t experience the pain of the extraction for hours at a time.”
“You’re knocking him out,” Ash realized, and clutched at Brand’s hand even harder. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
“I promise you it’s safe,” Pamela assured. “Thousands of people undergo full anesthesia every day, and they’re perfectly fine after it’s done.”
Brand squeezed his hand. “I’ll just take a brief nap, young Master. Once I wake up, the worst of it will be over.” He smiled faintly. “Don’t worry.”
“I’ll…” Ash swallowed hard. His heart felt sick and heavy—this soggy thing saturated in fear, squeezing it out in oozing drips on every slow beat. “I’ll try.”
“We’ll take good care of him,” Pamela said with a quick smile, then checked her watch. “It’s time.”