Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
“Okay,” I say to the closed door and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. When I close my eyes, all I can see is Chase sitting me on the toilet seat while he dried my feet off. I was in a daze, if that is even a good name for it. My eyes were open and I saw everything he did, but I wasn’t really here.
I open my eyes now and wash my face, walking out and looking on the bed where I see black pants and a white shirt. I just look at the closed bedroom door. “He really is a catch,” I say to the empty room. “He’s going to make one girl really happy someday.”
I get dressed, and when I walk out of the room and meet him in the kitchen, I stop in my tracks. He’s wearing blue chino pants, which aren’t supposed to be sexy at all, with a white and blue button-down shirt he rolled up to his elbows. His silver Rolex on his wrist, his hair falls to the front reaching his chin, but with soft curls, and it just makes my hand itch to touch and see if it’s as silky as it looks. If he was any other guy, I would definitely be making him my friend with benefits. “Hey,” I greet and he looks at me.
“I just called the hospital,” he says and the smile fades from my face. “She is still under. She woke up for a minute and then went right back to sleep.”
I nod at him, not sure I can say anything over the lump in my throat, so all I do is nod my head. We walk out and go to the car. I am so nervous my whole body feels like my skin is going to come off it. I get in the car and my index finger taps the door. “You okay?” Chase asks from beside me, and for the first time I don’t pretend to be okay.
“Not even a little,” I admit as I look out the window. He doesn’t press me for more, he just leaves me with my thoughts. When we get to the hospital, I get out of the car and wait for him.
“Did you even have to come in today?” I look over at him and he takes his cell phone and puts it in his back pocket. His dress shirt pulls against his chest.
“No,” he replies, not even trying to lie to me. “I did my shift for the week,” he tells me as we walk across the parking lot and into the hospital.
“Well then, I guess I really owe you,” I say, looking around and seeing that there is no one here. It’s only when I look at the clock on the wall do I see it’s a little after seven.
I fold my arms as I follow him back to where Penelope is. When the doors open to the ICU, all I hear are the sounds of the machines beeping. My eyes roam the room and I see Emmanuelle getting up from the desk.
“Well, well, I was just about to call you,” she says to Chase and I gasp out loud. “She’s fine.” She takes her glasses off and they hang around her neck on a silver chain. “She woke up about thirty minutes ago.”
My feet walk to the room where she is at and I see Abigail, Chase’s cousin and Dylan’s little sister, sitting beside Penelope. “What are you doing here?” I ask her.
“I showed up to volunteer.” She smiles at us. “I got in a little earlier than expected”—she looks down at Penelope—“and they asked if the baby whisperer could come down. So I came down and we had some Jell-O and some apple juice.” She smiles at me and then looks back at Penelope as she leans down and kisses her head. She is in her last year of high school and she is in some program that allows her to spend time volunteering in the hospital. Her goal is to become either a nurse or a doctor. If you ask me, she’s going to be amazing in whatever she decides.
“Hi,” I coo to Penelope when I get close enough and she looks at me.
“Mama,” she says, pointing her finger to the door and I can’t help the tear that escapes and runs down my cheek. I don’t have a chance to say anything to her when I hear a commotion going on outside.
“Where is she?” A woman raises her voice. “You tell us right now where she is or so help us…”
“You need to calm down,” I hear Emmanuelle start to say and my feet move to the entrance of the door.
I look over at the woman who is standing there in yoga pants and a tight shirt, her bleached-blond hair pinned on top of her head, but you can see the growth under it. She must sense me watching her so she turns around. The short balding man stands beside her, I take three steps toward them. “Hi,” I greet and neither of them looks like they remember me. “I’m Julia.” My eyes go from hers to his to see if saying my name might ring a bell, but neither of them say anything. “I’m Monica’s social worker.”