Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Juliet and I are inseparable.
Blake grabs my arm and pulls me away from the window. “It’s too soon. I’m not letting you act fucking crazy. If in twelve months you still want to do it, be my guest. You don’t ask someone to marry you after twelve fucking weeks.”
We trudge down the street. “If I want to do it, I’m doing it.”
“In twelve months,” he snaps.
“Just concentrate on not sleeping with Rebecca,” I fire back. “Stay out of my business.”
“She’s concentrating on that enough for the two of us,” he replies flatly.
“She seriously has zero interest in you,” Antony adds.
“I’m aware.” Blake sighs. “Dumb. Doesn’t she know what she’s missing out on?”
“Clearly not,” Antony mutters.
We walk into the restaurant and wait to be served. A sexy voice sounds from the left. “Blake.” We turn to see a red-hot brunette. She’s wearing a skintight dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.
“Hey, Cleo.” He smiles; he kisses her cheek. “You’re looking fucking amazing.” He holds her hand up as his eyes drop down her body so he can inspect her properly. “When are we catching up?”
“Tonight?” She smiles sexily.
“Sounds perfect.”
She saunters off, and we all stare after her.
Wow.
“Weren’t you just telling us that you want Rebecca?” I raise my eyebrow.
“I believe that’s true,” Antony replies.
Blake rolls his eyes. “A man’s not a camel. I need to feed the beast. I’m here for a good time, not a long time.”
I chuckle at his answer. Typical Blake Grayson.
2:46 a.m.
The phone buzzes on the nightstand, and half-asleep, I glance over.
Who would be calling me at this time of night?
Nursing home.
What?
I snatch it up and walk out of the room. I close the door behind me so that I don’t wake Juliet. “Hello.”
“Hello, is that you, Henley?” Her voice is calm and unwavering.
“What’s wrong?” I snap.
“Unfortunately, your father has had a fall and taken a turn for the worse. We are not sure if he had a spell first that caused him to fall out of bed or if he fell out of bed and that set off the events. He’s hit his head rather badly, and the ambulance is here. They are taking him to the emergency room.”
“Do you think he needs stitches in his head?” I ask as I walk downstairs.
“Henley, he’s unconscious.”
I stop midway on the stairs. “He didn’t wake up after he hit his head?”
“No, he didn’t.”
The world spins . . .
“I’m sorry.”
The air leaves my lungs.
“He’s headed to Memorial Hospital.”
“I’m on my way.”
I run home and get dressed as fast as I can. I pull out of my driveway at record speed.
Please, be okay.
I grip the steering wheel with white-knuckle force as I drive, my mind a clusterfuck of confusion.
It’s 3:00 a.m. How long was he lying on the floor before someone found him?
Was he calling for help and nobody came?
My stomach twists with regret. Here I was, having the best night ever, tucked safely in bed with Juliet, and he was lying on the floor in a cold nursing home.
The traffic light turns yellow, and I drive straight through. I glance up to the rearview mirror to see if a camera flashes.
I drive faster.
I’m sorry, we did all that we could.
She didn’t make it.
The road blurs, and I wipe my tears with the back of my forearm. Suddenly I’m a fifteen-year-old boy again, reliving my worst nightmare.
I’m sorry. We did all that we could.
I can hardly see the road anymore; I angrily wipe my eyes again.
I speed up.
We just need to get on with it, son. It’s just you and me now.
His words of wisdom come back to me, yet they bring me no comfort.
“Don’t leave me, Dad.” I screw up my face in tears. “Not yet. I’m not ready. You can’t leave me yet.”
After the longest drive in history, I finally pull into the hospital. I park in a spot reserved for doctors and run inside at top speed. The security guard looks me up and down.
“My father was just brought in by ambulance?”
“Head to the emergency department.” He points down the corridor. “Follow the red arrows.”
“Thank you.” I run down the corridor and up to the check-in desk. “Hello. My father was just brought in by ambulance.”
She gives me a kind smile. It’s only then I realize what I must look like.
“Hello,” she says calmly. “What was his name, dear?”
“Bernard James.”
She types his name in and then reads her computer screen and twists her lips as if not liking what she’s reading.
“What is it?” I stammer. “What’s happened?”
“Just take a seat, sweetheart,” she says softly. “Someone will be out to get you soon.”
“Is he okay?”
“I can’t see any information, only that he’s arrived. I do have a note here for me to let them know when next of kin arrives. What was your name, sir?”
I stare at her. “Henley James.”