Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“Hey, guess what? You’re not my dad or my doctor.” There’s no way in hell I’m admitting to Remy that the doctor I saw advised I take it easy for eight weeks. Not even light training or cardio for at least a month, he’d said.
“How dumb do you think I am?” He scowls at me. “As you pointed out, this is what we do. Of course I know how much recovery time you need, dipshit.”
“We can argue about it another day.” I swipe a paper towel over my mouth and push my plate away. “Right now, I just want to go back to bed.”
He stares a hole through my face. “All right. I’ll be back before I open the bar to check on you.”
“Juliet said she’d stop by in the morning, so you’re off the hook.”
“I’ll still check in.”
“Great.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not a little kid.”
“Griff,” he says in a dead-serious tone. “You look two steps away from death.”
“You should know by now that I’m stronger than I look.”
“You are.” His gentle, pity-filled voice would irritate me if I had the strength for it. The desire to throttle him—just a little—twitches my fingers. My aching knuckles diffuse the urge. Lucky for Remy.
“I’m all right.” Who am I trying to convince? Remy or myself? “I just need more sleep. Maybe an ice bath.” Or ten.
“I can bring you ice in the morning to fill the tub.” He stands and collects my plate and silverware. “I’ll take care of this. Go on.”
Emotion chokes the words from my throat. What the fuck is wrong with me? One minute I want to kill Remy, the next I’m ready to blubber all over him like a baby. Maybe one of those fists to the skull really did scramble my brain.
Slowly, I pull myself out of the chair and onto my feet. “Thanks, Remy. I…” What else can I say?
He turns and leans against my counter. “Figured you wouldn’t have any food.” He tilts his head toward my fridge. “There’s hard boiled eggs and yogurt in the fridge. And I’ll wrap up the rest of the chicken so if you’re hungry in the middle of the night, you’ve got something here.”
I swallow a lump of emotion. Food delivery options around here are pretty limited, especially at night. Remy’s a lifesaver. “Appreciate that.”
“You’d do the same for me.”
Of course I would. Tired of the pity and talking about myself, I ask, “How’s the bar? Everything okay there?”
“It’s been fine. We can talk about it later.”
“All right.”
That’s only one of many things we need to discuss.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Griff
Every day, someone’s at my apartment to check on me, bringing food and light doses of verbal abuse.
Wednesday, Remy shows up early to take me to my doctor’s appointment.
“Let’s go, princess,” he shouts.
“I can’t wait until we can get in the ring and do some sparring,” I mutter, hobbling to my front door. I grab a sweatshirt off the hook on the wall and slowly ease my arms into it. Remy stands and watches with a grave expression I want to punch right off his face. “Thanks, I got it.”
He flicks his serious blue eyes up. “You need me to zip it up for you like you’re headed to kindergarten?”
“No, jackass.” Gripping the tiny zipper with my still-sore fingers takes a few tries but I finally get it done. Biggest accomplishment of the morning.
At the top of the stairs I stop and reconsider my plan to leave the building.
“Just take it slow,” Remy says, holding out his arm.
Shame prickles over me. I shouldn’t still be this fucked up almost a week later. But at least Remy doesn’t crack any jokes as I grip the railing and ease myself down the stairs, keeping as much weight as I can off my fucked-up knee.
“I know this visit is for your kidneys, but you might need to see someone about that knee,” Remy says when I finally land on the first floor.
“They x-rayed it down there. It’s fine.” Fifty-fifty chance it doesn’t need surgery.
Black Beauty’s sitting in the first parking spot, gleaming like Remy ran her through the car wash before picking me up. “I figured you might not want to climb into the Bronco.” He holds out the keys to me. “You can drop me off at the house when we’re done.”
I wave them away. “You better drive.” I ease into the passenger side and run my hand over the dash. “How’s my baby?”
Remy slams the driver’s side shut and snorts. “Fine. I’ve been taking her out once a week or so. Otherwise, keeping it in the garage out back.”
“Thanks. I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened to it if I left it sitting here.” I gesture to the apartment building’s small parking lot as Remy fires up the engine.