Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Their transition towards the corner of the room leaves me the opportunity to quietly explain, “The abundance of band aids are merely a deal he brokered-”
“Naturally.”
“However,” my hands find their way back to my pants pockets, “some of the scrapes on his legs are from the incident as are any bruises you may spot on his arms. They’ve administered Tylenol and may advise you to give him another dose before bed. Can you handle that?”
“A lot easier than I could the commission negotiations to broker Nae a custom piece from her favorite artist who specializes in graffiti designs.”
The corner of my lip threatens to kick upward. “Problems in paradise already, Nightwing?”
“You just focus on Catwoman and leave my relationship with Babs to me.”
“Is she Babs or is she Starfire?”
“She is whichever one he ends up with forever,” my best friend impishly jabs. “Now, go get us an update on Mrs. Wayne and I’ll text you when your little hero has been cleared for duty.”
I nod, give him a firm pat of gratitude, and motion for Clark to follow me. Expectedly, Holmes begins to exit with us forcing me to lift an open palm at the same time I instruct. “Stay here.”
“But-”
“I’ll be fine. Park and Hill are both on the premises.”
“But-”
“Farzad and Rauch don’t report for duty until tomorrow. They were given off for the duration of J.T.’s honeymoon, remember?”
“Yes, but-”
“My son’s safety is your top priority.”
“Wes-”
“Him. First.” The firmness in my tone leaves no room for a rebuttal. “Do your job, Holmes.” Genuine desperation for him to understand, to read what it is I’m saying increases exponentially. “I’m counting on you.” A small glance to where the women are throwing their head back in laughter while my little man simply smiles is given prior to meeting his gaze again. “We all are.”
Chapter 4
Wes
I give the back of my neck another squeeze, the haunting words I heard fucking hours ago somehow getting louder instead of quieter as they continuously repeat like an old television show suddenly in syndication.
Inconclusive.
Neurologist.
Uncertain.
Unlike our last surprise stretch at a hospital, she’s not conscious.
Not awake to bite my head off for being overprotective.
Not awake to give the doctor doing their best to handle her a snarky nickname.
No.
She’s still not awake.
Unresponsive to the mere notion of waking.
The rest of her body?
Operating better than expected.
Her heartbeat is regular.
Her temperature is normal.
Even the gashes are already beginning their healing process.
Yet her mind?
Her beautiful, brilliant, brain that always seems to fathom new ways to drive me insane?
Won’t wake up.
Or can’t.
And right now, no one seems to know the difference.
Opening my eyes occurs courtesy of my vibrating cell I’m surprised I haven’t crushed into dust by the way I’ve been death gripping it.
J.T.: Nephew has been up for about an hr and is now helping Lucky make banana nut pancakes in the main kitchen. He ended up sleeping with us all night. No complaints in regard to his injuries. No potty issues either. Asking for mom though. Any changes?
God, I wish there were.
I wish I could text him back and tell him Uhura has been cleared by Bones and will be reporting for duty within the hour.
I wish I could make that reference.
To him.
To her.
To them.
That we were all at the estate sipping orange juice and laughing at the sight of my little hero doing his best to get nuts in the bowl instead of his mouth.
The lump of tears that seems to have taken up a permanent residence in my throat violently expands when a photo of Wy covered in flour suddenly pops onto my screen.
Fuck.
What am I supposed to tell my son?
How am I supposed to explain why mom hasn’t come home yet?
Isn’t coming home yet?
Can’t come home?
How am I supposed to tell him that there’s a very real possibility she may never come home again?
You’re never “old enough” to lose a parent.
It’s going to hurt.
Regardless of their age.
Or yours.
I don’t want my son to experience that agony yet.
He deserves more.
More time with her.
More time with us.
More family moments and less with me working.
Fuckme, I could really use a shot of whiskey.
Just. One.
One to takes the fucking edge off.
“Water?” Hamilton unexpectedly offers me a bottle as he drops down into the seat beside me. “You need to stay hydrated.”
I exchange texting J.T. back for taking the beverage in wordlessness.
“As Bryn’s primary physician I’ve been granted access to review her charts and unfortunately-”
“Not a word I want to hear, Hamilton.”
“Unfortunately, upon further reviewing, there still doesn’t appear to be any clear indication for why she hasn’t become conscious or when she will be.”
“Is there at least one that she certainly will? That I won’t have tell my son his mother’s not going to wake up ever again?”
“It’s not that simple, Wilcox.”
“I need it to be, Hamilton.”
His mouth twitches open as if preparing to say something else yet shuts.