Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 278(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I heard an ‘okay’ from the other side of the door, and then turned to look at Nash.
Both of his eyes were open, and he was staring hard.
“Thought you were sick, big boy?” I teased, loving the way that seeing me naked could change his entire demeanor.
Even sick as a dog, he didn’t disappoint.
“I’m still a man,” he said.
I could see that.
His cock was hard.
But his face was still ashen.
His eyes trailed down the length of my body as I reached for the soap and cleaned up first.
When I was done, I moved closer to him and did the same to him.
“This is embarrassing,” he grumbled.
“This is life,” I said softly, my heart feeling full for the first time in a very long time. Getting to take care of him felt like a dream come true after the last few weeks. “In sickness and in health, remember?”
His eyes sparkled, then he reached for my hand. “You found it?”
“I found it,” I confirmed, closing my fingers around his.
He patted his thigh, and I laughed. “I’m not sure that shower chair can take the both of us.”
He sighed. “Always ruining my fun.”
“More like, I don’t want it to collapse under our weight, and then us have to scramble to find another one when you throw up next,” I said.
His eyes went to my belly and stayed there.
I could tell he wanted to touch it, but he’d stayed away from me for the most part to give me time to become unmad at him.
I wasn’t quite sure when it happened, but over the last few days, every ounce of my anger had dissipated.
It was… freeing.
It was also my pride that kept me from admitting to him that I was over it.
I wanted him to touch me whenever he wanted to.
Even more, I wanted to lie in his arms and feel protected again.
But that would have to wait.
He was too damn sick to do anything right now. My needs would come second.
“Here,” I said as I reached for his hand. “Want to feel?”
He allowed me to pull his hand up and place it on my belly.
“Can you feel him move yet?” he asked.
“I literally just found out about ‘him’ not even a week ago, babe,” I said softly. “There’s no telling if I’m feeling anything at this point. Unless it feels like gas, because if that’s the case, maybe I am.”
His lips twitched. “You know that’s a possibility. Your sister’s a doctor.”
“You’re a doctor,” I pointed out.
“Yeah,” he paused. “In the degree’s sense of the word. But I’m not an actual doctor, doctor. I know the basics. I just haven’t practiced it.”
“Would you deliver our baby?” I asked.
His eyes widened, and he tried to shake his head, but again, he was too tired for that.
“Absolutely not,” he murmured. “I’d be much more comfortable if you were in a state-of-the-art hospital designed to take care of you if something were to go wrong.”
I rolled my eyes, then placed his hand back onto his thigh.
His cock was now soft, and he looked like he was cold, so I started to spray him down with the shower head.
“Do you want me to wash your hair again?” I asked.
I was beyond dried out from the number of showers I took, but I’d do just about anything for him, even cause my skin to flake off.
“Would you mind?” he asked. “I think some got in my hair again.”
I did, reaching for the shampoo and conditioner that I’d had to get out of his mom’s shower when we ran out last night.
Speaking of his mom, she’d gone a bit downhill in the last few days.
It was as if she’d given up in the time since he’d had his first chemo treatment.
“What has you frowning?” he asked.
I didn’t want to tell him what had me frowning, but the man was intuitive. His physical body may not be firing on all cylinders, but his mental capacity was right on.
Moving forward with the first bottle, I squirted it into his hair while also trying to hold onto the shower head. When that proved difficult, I pinned the showerhead between my crotch and his lap, allowing it to spill down over his lap, and then worked the shampoo into a lather in his hair.
He groaned and closed his eyes, making me think that maybe he’d forgotten what he’d asked.
But I should’ve known better.
It was only after I’d finished rinsing the shampoo out and then worked in the conditioner that he said, “Is it my mom?”
I looked down into his eyes that’d been studying me this entire time.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I was just thinking about her.”
He was quiet for a long moment before saying, “She’s given up.”
“She has,” I confirmed. “She looks really tired.”
“I know,” he said. “I think that maybe she thinks that if she goes now, while I’m so sick, everyone else will have something else to focus on besides her passing.”