Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Not like this.
But I also can’t look at him without wondering … what if it’s true?
38
Bennett
“I don’t like your ECG. And these numbers … this isn’t what I was hoping to see after that round of steroids.” Dr. Rathburn flicks through my chart, tongue clucking, thin lips pursed. “You’ve been taking it easy, right? No working? No pushing yourself? Minimizing stress?”
“Yes.” I speak to the doctor, but my attention is locked on Astaire. Seated in a guest chair in the corner of the room, she nibbles her nails, hardly able to look at me. In fact, I don’t think she’s said more than a handful of words since I came to.
I don’t imagine it was easy for her to come home and find me passed out by the door. Honestly, I don’t remember what I was doing when it happened, but at least I had the good sense to unlock the place so someone could find me. My cleaning lady’s the only one with a key and she comes on Fridays …
“Going to run some more tests, Bennett,” the doctor says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We’re going to figure this out. Get you back up and running. Any questions?”
“No. Thank you, Doctor.” I steal another glance at Astaire, her knee bouncing.
I’ve never seen her so … worked up.
She’s having second thoughts. Has to be. God knows her life has been nothing but tragedy after tragedy—why should she chain herself to one more?
“If you’re having second thoughts,” I say when we’re finally alone, “I won’t blame you.”
Her knee settles to a stop and her ocean eyes flick my way. “What?”
“I’m sorry if this scared you. If you don’t want to do this anymore, I’m giving you an out.”
“What? No,” she says. But her tone’s far from convincing. Whatever’s on her mind, she’s not going to bring it up now, not when she sees me in this fragile state …
“Hey, would you mind running to my place and grabbing a few things for me?” I ask. “For one, I don’t think I have my phone. Grab a charger too. A change of clothes. My dopp kit.”
Astaire shoots out of her chair, nodding. “Yeah. Of course. I’ll be back in a bit.”
She can’t get out of here fast enough.
39
Astaire
I fold his clothes and place them in the bottom of his duffel bag before grabbing his dopp kit from the en suite. My conversation with Beth has been playing on a loop in my head since this afternoon, and I couldn’t bring myself to say more than a few words to Bennett at the hospital—not that there was time to talk.
Everything happened so fast.
And he was in and out of the room for hours at a time.
It’s 11 PM and yet it’s like I blinked my eyes and the last several hours happened.
Honor is still set to come this Saturday. So far he hasn’t mentioned anything about delaying that, and I don’t even know if he could if he wanted to. Regardless of when we have our conversation, I intend to help every step of the way. I want this to be a memorable occasion for her, nothing but smiles and welcoming hugs.
I zip the duffel and haul it down the hall, stopping when I pass the open door of his study and spot his shiny black phone lying face up in the center of his desk.
The room is immaculate, outfitted leather and polished wood the color of ebony. Brass accents. Gilded antique sconces. Sweeping views of the city that rival the ones in his living room. His personal library spans the length and width of two walls, and I take a quick moment to scan the selections—mostly non-fiction, an abundance of ancient Greek philosophy. You can tell a lot about a man by what they read, and his collection paints a vivid picture of a man obsessed with contemplations.
When I’m finished, I grab his phone, which rests on top of a binder-clipped stack of what appear to be printouts of text messages.
I don’t mean to read the first line, but my eyes accidentally scan it before I even realize what I’m looking at, and it’s so appalling I can’t help but read the next one … and the next … and the next.
My breath hitches. My stomach drops to the floor. Heart in my throat, I flip through the top few pages, my self-control hijacked by the disgusting swirl of sordid curiosity in my belly.
Each page is worse than the one before.
Vile. Dirty. Disgusting messages.
Abusive, controlling language.
Textbook harassment.
Graphic, compromising pictures that send heat to my cheeks.
And then the pregnancy.
Followed by blackmail.
Threats.
Silence.
I place the stack back where I found it, fighting a wave of nausea, not that there’s anything left in my stomach anyway.
If these messages are between Bennett and Larissa … then everything Beth said was true.