Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 90276 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90276 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
I BLINKED, ADJUSTING my eyes to the bright fluorescent lights and the sun beaming through the window. Last night, my parents had been the first ones to see me, but my throat was so sore from the stomach tube pushed down my throat I could barely talk. They sat with me a while until the nurse came in and told them visiting hours were over. My dad smoothed my hair back like he used to do when I was home sick from school and then said they’d see me tomorrow.
As I sat up and reached for the glass on the table beside the hospital bed, I heard the slight movement on the other side of the room.
I glanced over, assuming it was a nurse, and my eyes widened and my heart started pounding, which made the stupid machine I was hooked up to beep faster. Fuck. Deck was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and looking sexy in his black cargo pants and … he was furious.
I had to get my shit together—fast.
I saw the twitch in Deck`s jaw. “Not liking getting that call, Georgie.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t pixies and sunflowers for me, either. And Vic didn’t have to call you. And you didn’t have to come.” But of course he would. Unpredictable Deck was predictable when it came to keeping his word. And no matter how much more difficult it made my life … I loved him for it.
He frowned and approached the bed. “Shit is changing.”
I avoided his eyes, which I rarely did, but right now I felt like crap and was a little nervous about what Deck knew. A lie. I was a lot nervous. “Do you know if my parents are here?” They could be my buffer with Deck.
“Your parents aren’t coming by today. They agree with me. Shit changes.” Oh, God, he talked to my parents and they liked Deck. Respected him. My dad even laughed when Deck threw me over his shoulder and threatened to spank my ass when I was drunk at Emily and Logan’s dinner at the farm. “Today.”
“I can look after myself.” Stupid ass thing to say, but my head was fogged up something good and I was floundering.
“You’re living in pixie land if you think you can.” Yeah, this was a little more than Deck being pissed. This was Deck taking control of a situation he didn’t like—my situation.
Deck sighed and it was a strange sound coming from him. Actually, it didn’t suit him at all. “Georgie, I’ve been watching and doing nothing about this for a long time. Now, I’m doing something. Don’t have a choice here.”
My breath stopped. A part of me knew exactly what he was talking about. I pushed it too far. He warned me yesterday to find a balance. I went right off the scale. Shit. I drank so much I poisoned myself. What had I been thinking chugging it back like it was grape juice? I hadn’t been thinking. I knew I had to be drunk to fit the cover story and I’d gone overboard because … well, because after the purge I wanted to drown in darkness.
Vic was supposed to find me drunk at the cemetery, take me back to my place and then I would crash for a few days.
“You drink that entire bottle of scotch?”
Oh, fuck. I didn’t remember, but I sure as hell felt like I had. I chugged it back in the car before Tanner got to the cemetery. I remember Tanner taking it from me at some point. “Deck—”
“Jesus, Georgie.” Deck turned away and I again tried to get up, but he heard me and said, “Don’t move.”
I halted, plopping back down, which made me wince because of the cuts on my back. He noticed it and looked at me over his shoulder then scowled. “Deck, it was Connor’s—” He walked over and grabbed the doctor’s chart off the door. Shit.
“I don’t give a fuck what crap was fucking with your head. I should’ve seen this coming. I did see this coming.” He flipped the page, read, then looked up at me. “You should be dead.”
“I’m not.” It was a sass reply, and I should’ve been keeping the sass toned down right about now. What I had to do was get him away from the chart. “Hey sweetpea, can you get me some ice-cream? My throat is so friggin’ raw and I’d love—” I knew the second he read the doctor’s notes concerning the cuts on my back.
He froze. I saw the tightening of his muscles, the way his hands squeezed the clipboard. Then he tossed it on the plastic chair and without a word, strode toward the bed. I grabbed the edges of the sheet and pulled it up to my chin.
With one yank, he had it out of my grip and at the foot of the bed. “Deck—”