Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“I’m Dr. Novack,” he tells me, opening his bag and putting on latex gloves. He grabs a pillow and puts my foot up on it. “You need stitches,” he confirms, “but first, I have to make sure all the glass shards are out.” He looks over at Sylvia. “I’ll need a towel.” She nods and goes into the bathroom, coming back with a towel. He pours something over the cuts, and I lay my head back and hiss.
I close my eyes when he takes out a needle and numbs the area. By the time he leaves, I have twenty stitches in both feet. “He needs to stay off his feet for at least a week,” he tells Sylvia. “I have to see him before then.”
He takes off his gloves and tosses them in the trash near the bed. “A full week?” Sylvia asks. “What if he uses crutches or a wheelchair?”
“He needs the skin to heal correctly, or it’ll be worse in the long run.” She just nods at him, and he walks out.
“Jesus fuck,” she says, taking out her phone and calling someone. “He’s out minimum a week,” she tells the person. “I would make all the arrangements to film everyone else but him.” She listens as the person talks. “Yeah, fine.” She ends the call and looks up at the ceiling. “Why? Why me?”
“I don’t have the answers for you,” I tell her. “I’ve been asking myself that since I was eight years old.” I tell her, closing my eyes and just letting the darkness take over.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Erin
“You don’t have to go anywhere, honey,” my father says to me when I tell him that it’s time I go back to my own place. “This is your home, too.”
“Dad, it’s been two weeks,” I tell him, cutting up the chicken that he just made for us. He’s been home all week, and I know for a fact he’s canceled three business trips. “Besides, you need to get back to work.” I point my fork at him.
“I am working.” He tries to hide his smile. It’s been different at the office ever since they found out that I am his daughter, something that I didn’t want anyone to know until I proved myself. He told Sylvia without me, but when he told Carter, I knew the cat would be out of the bag, so he announced and introduced me. Everyone was surprised, to say the least, but none have treated me differently.
“You canceled three trips east,” I tell him. “You have to visit the set in New York, and you haven’t.”
“That’s because I have everything under control from here.” He tries to lie, but I know that the only reason he’s been so successful is because he’s the front man of his company, and everyone knows it. He doesn’t just stay in his office. He goes to the sets, talks to the crew, feels everything out, and people can talk to him.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “Tomorrow, I’m going home.”
“But it’s Saturday. Why don’t you stay until Monday and then go home?” He tries to change my mind, but I know he needs to be in Atlanta on Sunday.
“I want to sleep in my bed and do my own laundry and just chill out,” I tell him, and he frowns at me. “Dad.”
“Fine.” He puts his hands up, and I smile at him. “But I just don’t want you to feel like you’re alone.”
I nod my head at him. “I know I’m never alone,” I tell him the truth. If anything, they have been around me now more than ever. My mother FaceTimes me twice a day, and then my father is there for breakfast. He orders my lunch and then makes sure he’s home to make me dinner. The pain is there; it’s always there lingering. It’s like a piece of my heart is missing, and I don’t know how to fill it. I don’t know if I will ever be able to fill it. I’ve been in love before; hell, we all have. I thought my boyfriend from high school was going to be the one I would marry and have kids with, but this is so different.
“I know how much you love him,” my father says softly, and it doesn’t slip past me that he used the present tense of the word, “and I can honestly say that he feels the same way.”
“Don’t,” I say loudly, dropping my fork onto the plate. My stomach feeling queasy again. “I don’t want to hear it.” My father told me about the conversation he had with him. Not so much a conversation but nonetheless, he said that regardless of what he did, he loves me.
“Erin,” he says quietly, and I shake my head and get up, going to the sink.