Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
It makes me shiver every time.
“I love you, Josephine Watts,” he whispers.
“That sucks for you too,” I mumble.
Colten deposits the lightest kiss to my cheek.
Another shiver.
“You’re mine. Not his.” He sidesteps me and makes his way to the courtroom past me without one glance back.
When I’m called in to testify, I state the facts. I’m then subjected to a slew of ridiculous what-ifs from Dylan Paine.
She ends her questioning with the most ridiculous one. “How often do you conclude an undetermined cause of death?”
“As often as the cause is unable to be determined.”
She frowns at me squashing her attempt to make me look incompetent in front of the jury.
“Would you say more often than your superiors?”
“Objection,” the DA says. “Irrelevant.”
“Sustained,” Judge Adelman says. He knows I’m extremely qualified to be on this stand and often superior to my superiors.
“Doctor Watts, were you recently injured in the line of duty?”
“Objection,” Dan, the DA, is not happy with Mrs. Paine In The Ass. “Irrelevant.”
“Sustained.”
“Is it true that you had a near-death experience, and now you see dead people?”
“Objection! Badgering the witness.”
“Sustained. Counsel, approach the bench.”
I watch both attorneys approach the bench; then I scan the jury. Dylan needs to discredit me because she’s losing her case. And I’ll hand it to the douchebag, she’s managed to sow a little doubt into their minds. I can tell from the looks on some of their faces.
The attorneys leave the bench.
“No further questions, Your Honor,” Dylan says with her back to the judge.
Dan faces me. “Doctor Watts, did you graduate at the top of your class in medical school?”
“Yes.”
“Did the chief medical examiner himself pursue you, encourage you to leave general surgery, and make the glowing recommendation for your forensic pathology fellowship?”
“Yes.”
“Have you published nearly forty peer-reviewed papers?”
“Yes.”
“Have you had hands-on teaching with medical students?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been cleared to work since you took a bullet in the line of duty?”
“Yes.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
The judge dismisses me. When I walk past Dylan’s table, I give her a wink. It’s a good luck wink. She’s going to need it.
When I exit the courtroom, Detective Mosley’s leaning against the opposing wall with his head bowed to his phone. He glances up, and much like yesterday, he says exactly what I need to hear without saying anything. Pushing off the wall, he slips his phone into his pocket with one hand while taking my hand in his other. We wordlessly make our way out of the courthouse and down the stairs where we stop, and he turns toward me.
I grab his lapels, staring at his chest while taking in a deep breath. I wasn’t expecting Dylan to cross that line. I was angry, but I didn’t show it. Still, I imagined shaving her long blond locks from her head, and that’s messed-up. So messed-up.
“Lean in,” Colten says, interrupting my thoughts.
I don’t look up at him; I tighten my grip on his lapels … and lean in, resting my forehead on his shirt over his heart. I hate feeling so unworthy of him. It’s uniquely hollowing.
I am a bad person loved by a good man.
“I believe you,” he says. “I just don’t know how to fight demons that lived in another century. And as much as I want to crawl into your head and occupy every inch of space in your brain, I can’t. I also can’t let you walk away. I trust you, Josie. You have to let that be enough.”
Tipping my chin up to look him in the eyes, I give him a sad smile. “What if I don’t trust myself?”
Colten inches his head side to side and repeats himself from earlier. “You’re mine. Not his.”
Colten’s, not Winston’s.
I can’t separate it quite like that.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I heard my parents talking about your mom,” Josie said as we were biking to the pool the summer before sixth grade.
“What were they saying?”
“That your mom is … hmm, what was the word? Struggling? Yeah, I think that was the word. They said she needs to get help.”
“Help doing what?”
“I think it’s because she cries a lot, and my mom said she’s sometimes in her robe all day. She gets the mail in her robe, and she takes you to piano lessons in her robe.”
“She’s sad because my dad’s living in a trailer.”
“If it were me, I’d be sad because my husband cheated on me. No … not sad. I’d be mad. I’d probably hurt him.”
I laughed as we locked our bikes to the rack by the pool entrance. “What would you do?”
“Blunt trauma to his testicles.”
“What?” I didn’t hear her right. Did I?
“My mom said I should never kick a boy in the testicles because it can cause serious damage. I looked it up. Pain. Swelling. Even a rupture with lots of blood in your scrotum.”
“My what?”
“Scrotum. It’s the part of you that looks like a turkey and holds your testicles, letting them hang low from your body to keep cool. If they get too warm, your sperm die.”