Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Something resembling a smile touches her lips. And I wonder what she remembers from the past. If she knows who I am. Does she know her doctors don’t think she’ll leave here alive?
“They’re fixing you. Then I want you to see my son.” I grin. “Can you believe I have a son? I uh … didn’t exactly get him the way I ever imagined I’d have a child, but he’s mine. He has our eyes. And he’s strong, just like you. So yeah, you need to fight this. Okay?” I bring up a picture of Ben on my phone and show it to Annie.
She looks at it and then at me. I think she can see it with her good eye.
Everything inside my chest falls to pieces. I don’t want to completely lose my shit in front of her, but god … it’s hard.
For the next hour, I sit beside her bed, holding her hand, and I reminisce about our childhood, the happy times. There were a few. I’m not ready to talk about the day our lives took a plot twist into a horror story. We’ll discuss that when she gets better.
As her eyes drift shut, I squeeze her hand. “I’m gonna let you sleep, but I’ll be back tomorrow and the next day and every day until you’re better. Okay?”
Annie opens her eyes, and they blink heavily.
I kiss her hand and then head toward the door.
“M-Mi-lo.”
I turn. Wiping my eyes as fast as possible but fuck if I can keep up with the tears. She said my name. My fucking name.
“L-lov-love y-you.”
My face scrunches. I can barely speak. “Love you too … so much.”
I leave my contact information with the nurse, so I get the updates before Fletcher. If she lives, I can’t be apart from her again. I’ve done the work. Put in my time. Fletcher owes me this.
The elevator dings, the door slides open, and a running bouquet heads in my direction. “Hold the elevator, please.” It’s a strained, high-pitched voice, a little out of breath. The running bouquet rushes past me and straight into the elevator while I try to hold open the doors. The bouquet turns, and familiar eyes peek out from the stems of tall flowers just as the doors shut. “Milo—”
And as quickly as she ran into the elevator, she disappears.
My finger pounds the button repeatedly, but it’s too late. The elevator stops on the second floor, third floor, fourth floor …
“Fuck,” I whisper, smacking my hand against the doors.
Pacing the lobby, I gaze at the elevator every time it chimes.
Not her.
Not her again.
Again … not her.
Maybe I dreamed it. After all, I didn’t sleep well last night or any night since we’ve had Benjamin. I’m three months sleep-deprived.
Ding.
The doors open again, and she steps out, eyes scanning the lobby. She nervously bites her thumbnail for a few seconds before her gaze locks with mine.
I don’t move, and neither does she. I’m scared out of my fucking mind to so much as blink.
“How do you know if someone loves you?”
“A look. A touch. Sometimes it’s just a feeling.”
Then it happens, and I can’t stop it. I grin.
It’s by far the biggest grin since Benjamin’s eyes met mine for the first time.
Her bangs are long again. All of her hair is longer. She flips it behind her shoulders and makes her way to me. She’s beautiful.
As I take a step toward her, she stops, head shaking over and over while her hand cups her mouth and tears fill her eyes.
“Indie …” I take another step, but she retreats a step and holds up her finger, signaling that she needs a minute.
There’s nothing I want more than to open my arms and let her walk into them like she’s done so many times before. But a lot has happened in four years.
Wiping her eyes, she draws in a shaky breath and releases it while finding a smile for me. “It’s really you,” she whispers.
Fuck. This hurts.
Indie shoves her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, taking yet another step backward.
It hits me hard. I feel every day and hour of the four years we’ve been apart. Our divergent lives.
I’m married to another woman.
I have a child.
I have no idea where she’s been for four years or what she’s been doing. She could be married with a child of her own.
Yet … everything inside of me comes to life like nothing has changed. I love her as much as I did the last time we were together.
More.
I love her more.
I return an easy nod. “It’s really me. What are you … where have you … I …” My head shakes. “God, I’m fumbling my words. It’s been an exhausting day. I’m bone-tired … every day. Now I’m just … shit. Tell me to shut up.”