Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 52643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“Mr. Donovan, please.” Her father suddenly yanks on my arm from behind, spinning me around. “I consider myself to be a gentleman, but if you don’t leave at this instant, I will—”
“What?” I snap. “What exactly will you do?”
“I will have you placed behind bars for the rest of your miserable life,” he says. “My daughter does not want to see you, and you don’t either.”
“You’re fucking wrong,” I say. “I love your daughter and I’ll be right here until she wakes up, whether you like it or not.”
“We’ll see what Brett has to say about that.”
“Brett needs to worry about his own legal issues.” I step closer. “Haven’t you heard?”
“Heard what, Mr. Donovan?”
“He’s quite a hypocrite, and he’s having to drop the charges, amongst other things,” I say. “I’m sure they’ll be hitting the papers soon.”
“You were dating a minor.”
“I broke up with her when I found out she lied to me. No questions asked.”
They stare blankly at me, but I don’t feel like holding out to see who will give in first.
I return my attention to Genevieve, caressing her hand.
The cops never arrive.
At some point, a nurse offers me a chair.
Her parents order me dinner.
Over the next few days, Genevieve doesn’t show any improvement.
“I swear to God, Genevieve…” I whisper when we’re alone. “You better not fucking leave me…”
17
GENEVIEVE
Lavender and white balloons are staring at me, saying, “Get Well Soon” and “Congratulations, it’s a Girl!”
My head is throbbing, but I can finally feel all my fingers.
Wrapped up to the knuckles, they hurt like hell.
“Yes,” a familiar, deep voice says from the corner. “You probably feel a lot better than you look right now.”
“Shouldn’t it be vice versa?” I croak. “With the word ‘worse’?”
“No.” He smiles and rolls a tray toward me. “I’ll get the nurse.”
“Wait.” I grab his hand. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember how you got here?”
“The last thing I remember is walking away from Brett at the courthouse.”
He arches a brow. “When was this?”
My shoulders are too heavy for a shrug. “I was trying to make a final Hail Mary play…To get him to drop the charges.”
He sits on the edge of the mattress and presses his palm against my wrapped head.
“Being the most dramatic woman I’ve ever met, you decided to run away from living instead of handling things.”
“I didn’t want to testify.”
“You didn’t need to die. How exactly would that have helped me?”
“No body, no case. At least, that’s what they always say on the legal TV shows.”
“That only works for homicides, and even then that’s not a guarantee.” A smile tugs at his lips. “No offense, but I hope you won’t be wasting any more of your time in law school.”
“Part of that decision was already made for me, actually.” I pause. “It’s probably for the best. I just want to write.”
He clasps my hand. “I want that for you, too.”
The soft beeps from the machine fill the room, and he slowly pulls me closer to him until my head rests against his chest.
“What’s happening with your case and Brett?”
“My case is officially nonexistent and Brett is probably getting disbarred,” he says, rubbing my back. “But if it’s alright with you, I’d rather spend your limited wake hours talking about anything other than him.”
“Where are we as a couple, then?”
“Together,” he says.
“Do my parents know?”
“They’ve been put in their place,” he says. “I’d rather not talk about them either.”
I smile. “If you could go back in time and change anything between us, would you?”
“Yes and no.”
“You have to choose one.”
“I would’ve still let you go,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “But I would’ve said ‘Goodbye’ and done my best to explain things to you.”
I nod, hating that the truth still hurts my heart.
“But I would’ve made it clear that you’ll always be mine and I’d wait for you to get through college,” he says. “I would’ve made sure you knew that I’d chosen you, but we had to wait for the right time.”
“I wanted to marry you back then,” I say. “I was planning to ask you.”
“At eighteen?” He smiles, trailing a thumb against my lips. “I take back what I said about you being mature.”
“I’m being honest,” I say. I thought you said something about feeling that way about me, too.”
“I was very serious about you, until I found out your real age, of course.”
Before I can apologize again, he presses a finger against my lips.