Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“I’m following the ambulance. Have you called Pauline?”
“Not yet. I’ve been with him waiting for the ambulance.”
I jog to my truck. “Call Pauline!”
Morning traffic poses a big challenge for the ambulance. They should have life-flighted him. Hell, they should have taken his copter. When I park and make it to the ER, I’m told to wait for news from the doctor.
I text Jolene instead of calling her, knowing she won’t pick up her phone if she’s in court, but she might glance at a message, or her assistant might see it.
It takes hours for an update.
When the doctor finally emerges, Pauline jumps out of her chair. “Oh my god, how is he? What’s taking so long?”
“He’s in surgery,” the doctor says.
“Why?” Pauline rests her hand on her throat.
“He had an aneurysm rupture.”
“Oh my god. Is he going to be okay?”
“We’ll know more when he comes out of surgery. The bigger issue is his spine. It fractured from his fall. But I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything new.”
I back away … feeling conflicted, like a terrible person. Fletcher was Archer’s best friend. He helped keep me out of prison, and he ensured Annie got the best care money could buy. But all of it has come with a considerable price. And as long as Fletcher’s alive, my life will not be mine. Not completely.
A dark voice speaks a truth I will never share—I don’t want Fletcher to come out of this surgery alive.
“Jolene should be here soon. She couldn’t leave in the middle of court.” Pauline hugs me like I need to be consoled, and she’s willing to take on the job until “my wife” gets to the hospital.
If she only knew …
29
WHO’S YOUR DADDY
INDIE
It’s been two weeks since I had dinner with Milo. It didn’t feel like closure. I don’t know if closure with Milo Odell is possible in this lifetime. He still carries so much baggage.
Baggage he’s not willing to share with me.
Maybe I should be grateful. I’m in a better place, physically and mentally.
“These Dahlias are stunning,” a customer says of the arrangement on the counter that’s a special order.
“They are.” I smile.
“Is Lincoln in today?” she asks.
“He should be within the hour. Can I help you with anything?”
Before she can answer, the door chimes. I glance around the bouquet, and Milo’s gaze locks with mine.
“I’m supposed to talk to him about my wedding in the spring.”
“Oh … uh …” I force my attention back to the customer. “Did you make an appointment to talk with him?”
“Well, no. He said just to stop by anytime.”
I choose a friendly smile instead of rolling my eyes at what I’m sure was Lincoln’s casual reply to the woman. His mom would scold him for not insisting the lady make a proper appointment.
“I’ll call him, but I’m not sure he can get here any earlier. Or I can have him call you to schedule an appointment?”
“What if I grab a cup of coffee and come back in an hour?”
“Yeah. Sure. That works too.” I watch Milo browse around the shop, stealing a glance here and there in my direction.
“Okay. Well, I’ll be back.”
“Sounds good.”
Milo makes his way to the counter.
“Hi.” I do my very best to rein in my grin.
“Hey. How are you?”
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Why do you think something’s wrong?”
“Because I can read you.”
He hesitates for a second before relinquishing a single nod. “It’s Fletcher.”
“What about him?” I cross my arms. I don’t want to hear anything about him.
“He had an aneurysm rupture and a subsequent stroke.”
“Is he dead?”
Milo flinches. I’m not sure if it’s because Fletcher is, in fact, dead or if it’s my emotionless question.
“He’s in a wheelchair. And rehab. He fell down the stairs as a result of the aneurysm. He’s paralyzed from the waist down.”
Ruthie would be in a panic. But I’m not. I don’t feel anything right now. It’s just a regular old Tuesday.
“It happened two weeks ago. The day after we had dinner. I didn’t have your number, or I would have called you. And I grappled with the decision to say anything at all since I highly doubted you would—”
“Give a shit?”
Milo frowns.
“I don’t. And if that makes me an awful person, so be it. He’s not my father. He’s not family. He’s been dead to me for years. Him dying won’t affect my life. So as you can imagine, his incapacitated state doesn’t interest me.”
Milo rubs his lips together and returns a half dozen quick nods.
I sigh. “Listen, I appreciate you thinking about me, but don’t. I’m not an Ellington. I’ve never been one. Beyond Ruthie dying, I don’t care about that family. They are not, nor have they ever really been, my family. So …”
Using his middle two fingers, he massages small circles on his forehead. “What if …”