Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
“You were running a high fever and were also severely dehydrated, so I started an IV and pushed some antibiotics—”
“Pushed antibiotics?” I asked in confusion. “What does that mean?”
“I administered the antibiotics through the IV. Having you take them orally would have taken too long.”
I glanced at the IV bag that was hanging from the kind of pole I’d seen in hospitals.
“How are you feeling?”
Lincoln’s question made me jump. It felt like it was taking forever for my mind to process every word that was coming out of his mouth.
“Confused,” I admitted.
“Any head or neck pain?”
I took stock of how those parts of my body were feeling. Surprisingly, the stabbing pain in my head had turned into a dull ache and nothing more.
“No,” I said just seconds before Lincoln held out a thermometer. I dutifully opened my mouth before I could even consider telling the man to fuck off.
The thermometer beeped within a matter of seconds but when Lincoln removed it, he only briefly glanced at it before setting it on the nightstand. “Well?” I was forced to ask as Lincoln continued to bandage my left hand.
When he didn’t answer me, I made a move to reach across my body with my right hand to check the thing myself. Fire instantly shot up my arm, stealing my breath. The sharp reminder of what had landed me in the gorgeous nurse’s bed in the first place left me reeling. I stared stupidly at the snowy white bandaging that was wrapped around my arm as I held it protectively against my naked chest.
I jerked my eyes up even as my brain tried to command my mouth to scream in denial. But the second my eyes met Lincoln’s, I knew it wouldn’t matter.
He knew.
He knew and that meant one thing and one thing only.
I was fucked.
Truly and royally fucked.
CHAPTER THREE
LINCOLN
I didn’t try to stop him when he jerked his hand free of mine and tried to climb out of the opposite side of the bed. I’d been expecting the move and had spent the better part of the time I’d watched Theo sleep after I’d treated his badly infected arm trying to decide what approach to take with him. I couldn’t say I was exactly proud of what I was about to do, but none of this was about me.
Even if learning the truth had gutted me.
I had my nursing cap on because that was what Theo needed whether he liked it or not.
“Your bag is in here,” I calmly said as I began cleaning up the little bit of blood that had spurted onto the comforter and me when Theo had inadvertently pulled out his IV.
As expected, Theo stilled. He’d managed to swing his legs over the bed but based on the way his head was hung, I doubted he’d even try to stand. Based on his earlier bout of retching, his stomach wasn’t about to give in to his brain’s demand to escape. Still, I found myself slowly getting to my feet so I could reach the other side of the bed to catch him if his legs did actually process the command to move.
I fully expected Theo to demand I get the bag for him, but he surprised me by staying perfectly still.
And silent.
That worried me… it worried me a hell of a lot more than him trying to escape the room and, likely, the house.
“What do you want?” the young man finally asked.
I settled myself into an easy chair that was only a dozen feet from the bed.
Close enough that I could reach him if I had to but far away enough to give him the space he obviously needed.
“The truth,” I responded.
Theo let out a rough-sounding laugh that had nothing to do with humor. He shook his head, but I doubted the move was meant in response to my request.
He went silent for a long time. The room felt warm, but I wished I could get another blanket around him because I knew how cold he felt inside. Secrets had a way of doing that to you.
Guilt too.
Lincoln, please…
I forced the all-too-familiar plea back into the shadows of my mind and focused on Theo.
“It was an accident,” he finally said. “I’m not a suicide risk.”
I sighed because that one answer told me so fucking much.
For starters, his response meant he’d seen medical professionals, likely ER and mental health staff, for the same thing I was still coming to accept as fact, even after seeing the proof on his arm for myself.
Secondly, it meant this wasn’t his first accident. It wasn’t the first time he’d cut his own skin too deeply.
And third, he’d already lumped me in with all the other health care providers who’d likely fed him the standard lines that they were required to up until the point he declined treatment and then he’d just been… forgotten.