Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
I’m known to be a shark in the courtroom and a total asshole to just about all the females I know, other than my mom and sister. But I have a fucking heart, even if it is frozen at its core. I can’t seem to walk away from this woman, though. I need to know she’ll be okay.
Fuck.
I look around, disgust settling in as I see all the people surrounding her, gawking like the attack happened for their entertainment. Acting on instinct, I follow close and approach the ambulance when the paramedics load her inside. One says, “Step back, sir.”
What am I doing?
Why do I care?
She filled part of my day with irritation. Why would I sacrifice more of it to her whims?
A law professor of mine once told me I needed to forget the small-town manners I grew up with and own the life of the big-city lawyer I am now. I needed to harden up.
I’ve had no problem following his advice.
Until now . . .
Considering no one else has stepped up to claim a relationship of any kind with Tuesday, she’s obviously alone. I contemplate how I would react if my little sister, Marina, or my mom had been mugged. I know, without a doubt, that I would never leave them alone.
But why am I making this random lady my priority? What about her makes me second-guess my ability to walk the fuck away from this situation?
I stand there like a creeper, making sure she’s being taken care of when I’m shot a stern look. “I said step away from the ambulance.” The paramedic’s tone matches her glare.
“I’m her boyfriend.” What the—
“Get in.”
I don’t have time to settle on the bench across from the paramedic before the doors are closed. I hold on as soon as the vehicle veers forward into traffic with the sirens blaring. Staring at the blonde, I note her hair has fallen from its tightly twisted knot, and the ends hang down around her shoulders, some curling around the gurney. Dragging my gaze away from her face and the peaceful expression on her face, I start to wonder if she’s worse off than first suspected.
“It’s not good that she hasn’t woken up?” I ask, glancing across from me, needing an expert to weigh in.
“Her vitals are steady. That’s good.” The paramedic looks through the small back windows. “We should reach the ER in a few minutes.”
I nod, noticing blood droplets on her shirt and what looks to be dirt from the street. Her coat lies on the bench next to the paramedic but appears no worse for wear from where I’m sitting. With her hands resting across her stomach, I can’t help but notice the rings on her fingers, and a single diamond dangles from a necklace off to one side. Matching earrings pierce each ear, but nothing else gives me any indication of who she is. And I have a feeling any identification disappeared with the bag.
What am I going to tell them when they ask her name? Or her age? Her address or her insurance coverage? I need to snap the hell out of this. I’m trained to think on my feet.
I run my hand over my hair and lower to rub my neck. My eyes return to her face, and silently, I ask myself, “What am I doing?”
“Sir?”
My gaze trails up to the paramedic across the ambulance from me. “Yes?”
“I asked her name. What’s her name?”
Without hesitation, I reply, “Tuesday.”
“Last name?”
Uh . . . what do I say that won’t have them shoving me out the doors of a moving ambulance? “Westcott?”
Not the best plan I’ve ever devised . . . Lying never is.
As an attorney, I can attest that lying in most cases will indict more than vindicate. Under this circumstance, though, it got me inside her room, at least for a short time. I’m standing beside her bed, unsure of what to do.
I’m also questioning whether I have a concussion myself. Because what the hell have I gotten myself into?
A nurse peeks in and then comes in when she sees me. She’s pulled her hair into a ponytail that’s given way throughout the day and loosened at the nape. Giving me a tight smile before turning her attention toward the e-pad at the end of the bed, she says, “I’m Nurse Belinda. How is she?”
“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me.” I keep my voice low like hers. The darkened room and sleeping patient warrant it.
She starts to check her vitals on the heart machine. The steady beeps have kept me company for more than an hour. They’re quite soothing in their rhythm and had me settling in as if I belong here.
The nurse replies, “I think she’s doing well. The doctors expect her to wake any moment.” She sticks a temperature clamp on her finger and looks up at me. “I’m sure you’re anxious to talk to her, but I’d caution you to take it slow until the doctor examines her.”