Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
My mouth moves however nothing comes out.
I mean…what should come out?
Thank you for making sure they don’t fuck up?
Sorry I don’t know you better?
That I don’t remember falling in love with you or having your kid?
“In reality, the…type you have…you don’t tend to forget all of who you are…just…a fraction of time.” His burn covered hands fold together in his lap. “And that fraction of time you’ve forgotten happens to be the time you’ve been with me.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah,” Wes quietly concurs. “Tell me about it.”
“What…caused this?”
“Intensive head trauma.”
“The accident that put me in the hospital to begin with?”
“Correct.” He nervously swallows, noticeably holding something back. “The…blow…to the head from that combined with your previous concussion from a couple years ago…seems to have triggered this…episode.”
“Episode?” My eyebrows pinch tightly together. “Like this shit isn’t permanent?!”
“I can’t answer that until we have a second opinion.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
A gag of annoyance precedes me giving my unbrushed hair a ruffle. “Fuckme, Ineedadrink.” I throw my hands playfully up in the air. “Shot-o-clock?” Mischievousness meanders its way into my expression. “I won’t tell, if you won’t.”
Wes struggles to fight his instinct to smirk. “I don’t drink.”
“In hospitals?”
“At all.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
“Mmm,” contemplatively echoes around the room, “you don’t drink or won’t drink?”
“Can’t.” A small shift in his seat occurs to allow him to retrieve something from his pocket. “Sober for over three years.” The small round black and yellow chip is presented on the tips of his fingers for my viewing. “You custom ordered this to commemorate it.”
Not smiling at the familiar logo is impossible. “It’s the Bat symbol.”
“It is.”
“And I’ve got a Bat signal light right here,” I pull the blanket back to expose the tattoo, “on my inner thigh.”
The beastly growl I heard earlier threatens to make a second appearance. “You do.”
I allow him another moment to drink in my toned thigh – something he appreciates given the slow lick of his lips he takes – before flipping the covers back in place. “And our son’s middle name is Wayne after Bruce, I’m assuming?”
“Yes.”
“So…do we like have a Batman thing, Mr. Wilcox?”
“We do, Mrs. Wilcox.”
“Wow,” I airily croak, “that’s weird.”
“Is it?” Panic doesn’t hesitate to overwhelm his stare. “Would you prefer me to call you Ms. Winters for now?”
“Oh no, I meant the Batman thing.” Impishness thoroughly floods my voice. “Why wouldn’t I go for a Trekkie?”
“Thanks to you and…my best friend-”
“The dude on the phone? He’s your best friend, not your brother?”
“Only biologically speaking.” He slips the chip back into his pocket. “Between the two of you – and now his wife – I definitely dabble in the lifestyle.”
“Dabbling in it always gets you closer to dabbling me, doesn’t it?”
Redness ruthlessly rips across his cheek, yet, his opportunity to speak is abruptly severed by a large, blockheaded unexpected visitor. “Boss, we have a problem.”
“What kind of problem, Lurch?” I playfully investigate, receiving the paler male’s full glare.
“You remember me?!”
“Holyshit, is that really your name?” Disbelief darts my eyebrows down. “I was just making an Addam’s Family reference.”
The short-haired, sand color skin toned man’s expression instantly falls. “Oh.”
Curiosity has me leaning slightly forward. “Is your name actually Lurch?”
“No.” He struggles to wedge his stoic expression back into place. “It’s Hurst.” His eyes cut Wes a glance for approval before adding. “Lurch is…just what you’ve always called me, Ms. Winters.”
“Bryn.”
Hurst nods in acknowledgement but doesn’t speak it. Instead, he resumes speaking to Wes. “We need to move her.” His body angles itself to prevent me from seeing the seriousness on his face. “Now.”
“What?” Bafflement floods his voice and glare alike. “Why?”
“The threat level has become elevated, sir.”
“What threat?” My body naturally gravitates closer. “What’s threatening me? Who’s threatening me? Why am I in danger?! How much danger?!”
Wes doesn’t even bother offering me a single look. “Explain.”
A folded piece of paper is presented to him; however, I scramble to see the typed message before he can hide it from me, before more of life can be kept out of my reach without my permission.
Unfortunately for me, it’s just two words.
Two words that are probably the last thing I need to read in my fragile mental state.
I’m coming.
Chapter 7
Wes
“The only physical evidence we found on the piece of paper were fingerprints belonging to the public library staff member who opened the package of paper and one of the assistant’s who loaded it onto the tray, both of which came up clean in our standard background checks,” Park calmly explains from his position across from me in my estate’s downstairs office. “As did the delivery worker and those in receiving at the hospital.”
I tighten the grip I have on my sobriety chip.
“We’ve combed through all the footage possible from the time leading up to the incident at the playground to the incident itself to the delivery of the typed threat and discovered no useable information.”