Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“He’s the firefighter.” Raising my eyebrows, I made a rude noise.
“I know.” Jonas’s tone was as soothing as ever. “And I’m a nurse who’s seen far more motorcycle crashes than I’d care to. I know full well that riders are going to ride. I’m not here to talk you out of trying. I can see how much it means to you. You’ll get back out there if your body lets you. That’s the if. Head injuries are hard.”
His patient tone broke something loose in me. My eyes burned as I lingered somewhere between rage and tears. “Like how my vision is still fucked up. And the headaches. I fucking hate this.”
“I know.”
“How am I supposed to deal if I can’t ride?” I whispered like that might make the awful question less searing.
“I wish I had that answer for you.” Jonas reached for my hand. He’d touched me before, both in passing and in comfort, but this time, a little buzz accompanied the warmth of his palm. And not a neurological abnormality either. More like I liked his touch. A lot. And I wasn’t about to pull away even though I should. “All I can tell you is that you will deal. You’ll find a path forward. I’m not going to lie and tell you healing will be easy. It won’t. It’ll suck whether you make it back to riding or not. But you’ve got a good support system—”
“Fuck all this.” I let my head fall back, which made my ears ring and my temples throb. “And fuck my fucking head.”
“Anger is normal.” Jonas kept right on holding my hand, his big, sturdy thumb lightly massaging my palm. What was happening under my way-too-thin cotton blanket, though, was definitely not normal, and I had to wiggle my hand loose before I embarrassed myself further.
“Don’t want a pity party,” I mumbled. I was a weird mix of in pain, sleepy, turned on, and pissed off. My skin itself seemed to vibrate, nerves jangling. If I could leave this bed, I’d pace or do jumping jacks. Something to relieve this strange energy. “Just read. Please.”
“Okay. And this time, you try to sleep.” Jonas sat back in the chair. Nothing seemed to disturb the guy. Not my demands or questions or anger. He was the least reactive man I’d ever met, yet there was still something quietly commanding about him.
And I was so fucking screwed because I couldn’t go finding random friends of my dad’s intriguing, couldn’t let myself be aware of his nearness or touch. Yet, here I was, jonesing for him to hold my hand again.
I shut my eyes as he started reading, more out of self-preservation than sleepiness, but the next thing I knew, I was pulled out of a fantastic dream about a giant bed and a mountain of pillows. Voices sounded, and somehow, I already knew I wouldn’t like what I heard.
Chapter Six
Jonas
“He’s sleeping.” I glanced over at the bed where Declan had been snoozing for a little less than an hour while I handled some emails and work-related tasks on my phone.
“Thank goodness he finally got some rest.” Sean followed the neurologist and two medical students into the room. As I vacated the chair so Sean would have a place to sit, Sean motioned at the doctor and his underlings. “Maybe we should do this later? Let him sleep a little longer?”
Sean knew as well as I did that doctors never wanted to delay their rounds, but it didn’t hurt to make the request. However, before the doctor could answer, Declan groaned and stretched slightly.
“It’s okay.” His voice was rough with sleep, and that, plus his sleep-creased expression, made me unusually protective. I wanted to herd the whole group out of the room. “I’m awake.” Declan blinked his eyes open a few times, taking in the crowd. “Gee. The crew’s all here, huh?”
“It’s a crowd for sure.” I migrated to the wall closest to the door. “I’ll step outside.”
“I didn’t mean you leaving.” Declan glared at me, so I stayed right where I was.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Murphy?” The doctor was likely in his mid-sixties. He’d been the one to operate. Declan was lucky to have someone with his experience and steady hands, but the doctor’s officious bedside manner left something to be desired.
“He’s Mr. Murphy.” Declan jerked his thumb in Sean’s direction. “I’m Declan. And I’d be a hell of a lot better if I could sleep in a real bed. One without beeping monitors. And if you had a cure for the headaches.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t offer either of those things yet.” Despite his words, the doctor’s tone wasn’t particularly sympathetic. “However, we do need to discuss next steps. You’re making good progress, but you’re going to need some intensive inpatient rehabilitation—both physical and occupational therapy—before you’re able to go home. And then continued PT and OT after you’re released from the rehab unit.”