Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Stifling a sob, I dip my cheek to his neck, needing to find a pulse. “Never have I ever . . .” Hearing his voice allows me to breathe again.
“Never have you ever what, babe? Tell me,” I cry. “Please tell me.”
The sirens blare in the background when he whispers, “Told you that you are the greatest love and loss of my life.”
35
Laird
“What’s a little internal bleeding?”
My mom’s sigh leaves her frowning, but when she wipes under her eyes again, it softens. “Don’t joke like that. I was so worried.” She’s gentle when she touches my arm. If she could make sure I’m in one piece, she would, but she’ll have to rely on the doctors this time.
“I’m okay. I promise.”
She moves beside my dad, out of sorts and clutching her purse as if she needs to busy herself. I suppose that’s what happens when the roles change because your children are grown. “Hey, Mom, one last hug?”
Her smile is worth the pain enduring. I’ll never tell, refusing to make her feel bad for caring about me. I’ll be the same with my kids—always there for them.
“Tonight was not funny, Laird,” Nikki says, holding Tulsa’s hand.
“Tough crowd. I’ll try harder next time.” She rolls her eyes under quiet laughter. It’s fun to get her going. Reminds me of when we were little. We just looked at each other across the room from our time-out corners and got time tacked on for laughing so hard. I was trouble enough, but we were twins. Good times.
My dad steps off to the side of the corridor and lowers his voice. “Paparazzi are outside.”
Tulsa looks over his shoulder and then steps behind Nikki as if he can shield her from prying eyes. “I told Johnny and Tommy not to come to the hospital, but they’d be here if it didn’t cause such a distraction.”
Nikki adds, “I told Tulsa’s brothers the same. It’s too much attention when we didn’t know what we were facing on arrival. With you, Poppy, or dealing with those jerks.” Coming closer, she holds her arms out.
“It’s for the best.” I bring her in, flinching when she tries to embrace me like usual.
“Sorry.” Her grimace is unnatural to her typically happier expression. I hate that I’m worrying everyone. “We need you healed.”
I glance at a doctor walking by. When he passes, the nurses at the station nearby duck and start looking busy. I’d heard whispers earlier and spotted them staring. I smile and receive a fit of giggles in return.
Taking my mom by the hand, my dad angles her toward the elevator. “It’s late, and we know you’re anxious to see Poppy.”
I look at the door and then to the name tag on the wall where someone put a sticker of a poppy flower. I learned to appreciate the little things years ago, but this little bright spot brings hope along with it. Like the woman inside the room.
“Love you,” my mom says after the others have walked away. “You know where to find me.”
“Love you, Mom.” Careful not to shoulder the door open like I usually would, I use the handle as intended and slip into the dark room. My eyes are quick to adjust to the low light extended by a lamp in the corner. I prefer less light existing in the space. It’s more comforting than bright fluorescent lights overhead.
Poppy’s sleeping, curled on her side. I don’t mind. It gives me a minute to do my own investigation of her injuries. Looks like all the pieces are in the right spot. Standing next to her, I sweep a few strands of hair back from her face, revealing a splattering of small cuts that look like they’re already healing.
I have the same. We’re lucky the shattered windshield didn’t do more damage to either of us. I’m still pissed at the airbags, though. It caused a fractured rib and a shoulder that needed to be popped back into place. I don’t have the rundown on Poppy’s wounds and injuries, but I’m glad she looks like she’s doing well.
A gentle tap on the door is followed by someone opening it. A nurse pokes her head in, her eyes dashing from Poppy to me standing on the other side of the bed. “Hello, is this a good time?”
“Come in.”
She moves to the machine and begins recording information on an e-pad. “Her heart rate is good, the beat steady and strong.” Glancing over at me, she adds, “She’s a fighter.”
“She is.” When she turns down the volume, I say, “I like hearing her heartbeat. Comfort is found in the rhythm of it.”
“I like that.” She moves to fill a cup of water from a pink plastic pitcher on that side of the bed. “I hear you’re a musician.”
“I play guitar.”
“Lead or bass?”
“You know your guitars.”