Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Her mouth twitches in what I imagine to be an argument yet is unexpectedly cut off by my phone vibrating.
Good to know the shit still works.
Haworth Enterprises flashes across the screen prompting me to swiftly lift a polite finger the direction of my date prior to answering, “Wahl.”
“Wahl, this is Yi from security.”
I know Yi.
I typically like Yi.
He’s good at his job and doesn’t allow those around him to slack at theirs.
What I don’t like is him calling.
Especially when no direct reason comes to mind.
“What can do I for you, Yi?”
“I’m calling because you’re listed as the primary emergency contact for Miss Arlette Carmichael.”
Dread doesn’t hesitate to drop to the pit of my stomach. “I am.”
“There’s been an incident.” His typically stoic voice struggles not to shake. “She’s been brought to the ER of Dalvegan Memorial Hospital.” The pause he takes to remain calm compounds the piling panic that’s stacking on my chest. “She’s currently…unconscious.”
Any further ability to breathe is robbed point blank.
“I’ve submitted her information to the best of my ability but-”
“I’m on my way, Yi.”
“Is she allergic to any medications or does she have any pre-existing medical conditions I need to inform them about?”
“Her synesthesia.”
“Her…what?”
“Synesthesia.” Knowing I don’t have time to explain it, I begin grumbling instructions while reaching for my wallet. “Just tell them she has it so if they ask sensory related questions, they can tailor them better.” Opening the object is done with so much force I almost rip the damn thing in two. “And tell the nurses to keep the door to her room closed. Too many voices all at once can get too overwhelmin’ for her, and she’ll…shutdown. Go completely silent. Even become unresponsive.”
“I’ll tell them that the minute I see them.”
“You find them now and tell them that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll be there in a few.” Ending the conversation is attached to tossing a hundred-dollar bill on the table. “I uh…I have to go.”
Earnest concern coats Lila’s voice, “Everything okay?”
“No.” Raising my unsteady frame to my feet requires every ounce of strength I can muster up. “Arley’s…um…at the ER.”
“Ohmygod!”
“She’s unconscious.”
“Ohmyg-”
“Dinner’s on me,” I interrupt, in no mood to hear anything that isn’t from a doctor or nurse or some other medical professional regarding the diagnosis of my reason for fucking living. “Order whatever you want here or to go or invite that dude that’s been eye fuckin’ you from the bar all night over to take my place.” Pushing my chair in occurs next. “I really am sorry this didn’t go well-”
“I think it went exactly the way it should’ve.” She shoots me a playful wink that I wish could ease a bit of my anxiousness. “Now, get out of here and get to your woman.”
Lila’s given the best grin I can find, a respectful nod, and then promptly left to finish the date I knew I shouldn’t have gone on all by herself.
I’m done dating.
Period.
No more fucking fancy restaurants.
No more pretending the conversations are greater than they fucking are.
No more rearranging my schedule with the love of my life to accommodate the chance to get my fucking dick touched.
All that shit is finished.
It’s never gonna happen again.
And the second Arley wakes up – and she will wake up – I plan to tell her exactly that.
Chapter 5
Arley
Throbbing pain pulses so unforgivingly against my skull that I can’t seem to hold in the low groan of discomfort it causes.
Okay.
It’s official.
T is right.
I can’t keep consuming this much tequila at thirty-five consequences free. Clearly my body is trying to communicate that with all the Travis Barker drumming going on in my skull and the current unbearable cramp in my side.
Look, I get it liver. You don’t have to try to take me down from the inside to prove your fierce doctor overlord is right.
Alcohol does damage.
Message loud and clear.
I’ll switch to something lighter.
Less…boozy.
However, no part of me believes that taking shots of sweet tea in goal celebration is gonna hit the same.
I’m just saying.
Forcing my eyes to unglue themselves from being shut ignites more groaning, yet the immediate sight of Slater sitting in a chair beside me on the phone shifts the sound from that of agony to one of relief.
I’m glad he never leaves me alone after I accidently get shitfaced.
I just hope I didn’t puke on his favorite polo this go around.
Last time he didn’t let me live that shit down for a month.
“I know.” Slater gives the side of his scruff covered face a frustrated rub. “I…I know.”
Huh.
Why are his words so…shaky?
And his blue so pale?
I’ve never seen that color come from him before.
What’s wrong?
What’s going on?!
Just as I prepare to let the questions flow out of my mouth, I realize I don’t recognize the chair he’s occupying. Or the window behind him. Or the machine beside him.
Concern crashes into confusion causing me to frantically whip my frame around to observe my surroundings, to try to figure out where I am, where we are, why we’re here – wherever here is – yet the hysterical motions amplify aches all throughout my body to the point I release a blood curdling scream.