Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Her head rolls like she’s nothing but hollowed-out bone.
That’s when I notice the crap coming out of her mouth, something foamy, unnatural.
Oh my God.
I don’t know what a drug overdose looks like, but I have an awful feeling I might be staring at one now.
Dad hits the floor again, banging his knees loudly for the second time.
He throws himself back into another round of chest compressions, blinded by his tears, shaking her tiny body as he pounds her chest again and again.
I’m so busy gawking at the despair in front of me that I don’t see Chris until he’s a blur in front of me.
His footsteps hammer the floor as he runs in, pushing Dad aside without a word.
He takes over where my father left off, working with precision to save a woman he despises, eerie lines of calm engraved on his face.
Dad stumbles back and stares, his jaw clenched so hard it looks like his teeth might break as he staggers back.
“Hey, Dad, stay here. Let him help,” I whisper, holding his hand, trying to keep him away from crowding Chris while he plays hero.
Out of everyone here, he’s easily the most qualified to fix this.
“You sure you know what you’re doing, son?” Dad growls, his brow pulled low. “Where the hell are those paramedics?”
“Pulling up now, sir!” Thompson yells back, swinging the front door open.
Dad looks at me helplessly.
I give him my best sympathetic smile, trying to stay positive. I hate that I have to pray Evie hangs on for a love with my father I’ll never understand.
But I actually have no clue what happens next and it’s terrifying.
Chris doesn’t say a word.
He just works on his mother in stony silence, shirtless and brave. He’s more like a force of nature than a son who’s trying his damnedest to save his emotionally estranged mother.
Evie’s face is a white mask as the EMTs roll in, but she’s breathing.
I think.
I hope.
I swallow thickly.
Honestly, she’s downright ghostly, and her ankles look oddly swollen too.
If she lives, will she even be the same? How long can a person go without oxygen before it gets really dire?
“Dad? Why don’t you come with me. Let Chris talk to them,” I venture.
I try to guide him away, but his grip is so limp, so far gone, and his bulk is too heavy.
He’s not even angry or scared anymore.
He looks...like he’s a million miles away.
A haunted man watching his wife die in front of him.
Anger stabs through me, fiery and unexpected. It’s too early to judge, but if I find out this was some kind of overdose, I swear to God.
Dad doesn’t deserve this.
And she hasn’t deserved him since the day they met.
He won’t move away from the grisly scene as we stand there, watching the medics as they load her onto a stretcher.
Chris stands in the corner, talking to the police officer who just showed up. The muscles on his back ripple like a mountain face catching light, masculine and powerful and conflicted.
If anyone saved her tonight, it’s definitely the son she’s treated like absolute crap.
Irony of ironies, I think bitterly.
And just before they wheel her to the ambulance, Evie lurches up so suddenly I almost go through the ceiling.
Dad rushes forward while she’s coughing.
“Oh, Evie. Oh, thank Christ! You’re going to be okay, honey. Remember, deep, slow breaths.” Dad follows them to the ambulance, holding her hand so tenderly it makes me sad and angry all over again.
He cares so flipping much—and I have an ugly feeling she almost killed herself with barely a second thought.
I sigh, wondering what the lab reports will say.
I turn to talk to Chris, but he’s backing away alone. He keeps his distance, his green eyes guarded.
I want to call out to him, but I can’t find the words.
And before I do, he’s walking up the stairs with heavy, plodding steps that kick at my heart until it spins.
* * *
Sleep? What’s that?
I can’t remember the last time I felt rested.
Sometime before Vegas for sure.
Hell, maybe before Mr. Badass Enigma walked into my life, dragging his psycho mother behind him.
It’s a grey summer morning with fog fading over the ocean, and I’m already exhausted.
Dad texted me a couple hours after they arrived at the hospital. Evie was pretty well stabilized by the time the medics hauled her away.
I know a big part of that is thanks to Chris.
I can’t even imagine what state he’s in.
After dragging through the kitchen, I take my breakfast by the pool and nod off. But I wake up about half an hour later to find him dozing in the chair next to me.
I sit up, gently brushing my fingers against his.
“Chris? Everything okay?” I hold my breath until he stirs.
He looks at me once before he says, “Over here, Delia.”
There’s no mistaking the way he pats his lap, gesturing.