Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 64910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
She closed her eyes. “Today, right now, I think you’re no better than Amon.”
She couldn’t have said anything more excruciating.
CHAPTER 13
Unlike men, a margarita hits the spot every time.
-Dory to Bram
DORY
“Getting onto a motorcycle with a man that you’re trying to hate is the worst form of transportation when you’re holding a grudge against the driver,” I grumbled darkly.
“Did you say something?”
I looked over at Bram, then looked back at the bike that I was being forced to get on.
Why had I ended up in this situation again?
Oh, that’s right. Because I didn’t have a single emergency contact to put down in the case of something shitty happening. Like passing out while you were at work.
The worst was, I’d arrived at the hospital unconscious, and had woken up with a very angry Bram standing directly over me.
And the doctor was telling him why I couldn’t hold anything down.
Hyperemesis. It’s where you throw up and can’t stop.
I was pregnant with Bram’s child, and it was trying to punish me. Just like Bram tried to punish me for the entirety of our marriage.
In the last week that Bram had been helping me pack up my things and get back home, I’d started experiencing the worst vomiting I’d had to date.
As in, I was throwing up nearly twenty-four seven to the point where I was dry heaving half the day.
Which led to Bram calling his brother, and Tide recommending I go see his father-in-law, who of course is all the way back in Texas.
Which led to now, me standing next to Bram’s bike, with the diagnosis of hyperemesis for my troubles.
“Cupcakes sound good,” I said softly.
The doc, Daniel Proctor, Sabrina’s dad and Tide’s soon-to-be father-in-law, had given me a Zofran in the office. And for the first time in a week, I wanted something to eat.
A cupcake.
“I can take you to Jeremiah’s place. We can get you a cupcake.” He sounded excited even.
And that was likely due to him freaking out to the point where he was all but force feeding me food and drinks over the last week to make me better.
Which, I guessed, wasn’t going to happen.
At least, not for a while, according to Dr. Proctor.
“Let’s go get you that cupcake,” he urged. “And seriously, this is the very last time we’re going on this motorcycle. So not even your puppy dog eyes are going to convince me to allow it again.”
That caused me to smile.
Our trip back from Florida went a little funky.
Mostly because, after purchasing me a brand-new vehicle—yes, brand new, with the top-of-the-line everything—he hitched up his bike to a trailer and drove us home.
Only, the entire time I’d dreamed of moving back to the bike.
The open air helped with the nausea, and though I knew riding while being pregnant was dangerous, it was dangerous any time.
Bikers were clearly the lower class when it came to the road.
People in cars just didn’t see them.
Which sucked, because Bram would never give the bike up.
Anyway, after having to stop half a million times on the way home due to motion sickness—or so I’d thought—we’d gotten home and I’d convinced him every time we needed to go somewhere that I wanted to do it on his bike.
But when Dr. Proctor saw us riding up on Bram’s bike, he’d promptly discouraged that mode of transportation until I was no longer pregnant.
“We’ll see,” I grumbled as I fitted myself to his back.
And there, I wouldn’t admit to liking being pressed against his back.
To him actually wanting me wrapped around him.
When we rode, I could pretend.
Pretend that everything was okay when we both knew it wasn’t.
“Do you remember when I first got on your bike?” She snickered. “That day was… something.”
“That day was a total and complete fuck up,” he agreed, his laughter causing his chest to rumble. “And we really shouldn’t be laughing about that day, but shit. On top of everything else that had happened, I’d forced you to go on a ride. You were scared to death to be on my bike, too.”
“It scared me,” she admitted. “The way that we got so close to the road when you turned. The wind in my face. Your shoulders being so broad I couldn’t see over them to watch where we were going. It was a combination of things. But when we got where we were going, it felt like part of my soul had been let free.”
Why was I telling him this?
Because I didn’t want him to stop giving me rides on the back of his bike.
If I only had a few months left, I was damn well going to get everything out of it I could. One more ride on his bike. One more memory to tuck away for when I needed to relive it the most.
Just one more of everything, please.