Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Ronan was there for me when I needed him. And as distant and strained as our relations are right now that’s not going to stop me from being there for him too.
He has a cut just above his eyebrow that’s been packed with some sort of salve, but there’s still blood trickling out of the wound. I wipe away what I can and then check his head and neck.
“The doctor will be here soon,” Conor offers in another effort to get me to stop.
I ignore him and sit down beside Ronan on the sofa while we wait, watching his chest rise and fall in an even and steady rhythm. It reassures me, at least a little, that he’s going to be okay. When the doctor finally does come, he tends to Lachlan first, which only serves to irritate me further.
By the time he comes out to check on Ronan, it’s been over an hour since they brought him here. An hour of putting his health on the line, and for what? Another surge of anger moves through me, and I only have one place to direct it. I wait to see what the doctor does with Ronan, which isn’t much, but he does manage to rouse him for a few moments. Just hearing his voice, no matter how briefly, calms me. He’s going to be okay, the doc says. He’s going to be just fine.
But that’s not true. Because how can anyone be just fine when they’ve been beaten to a pulp like that. I’m pissed off. And all I can think about is how this happened. Why this happened. Once the doctor’s done and out the front door, I walk down the hall to Lachlan’s room to find Mack sitting on the bed. He’s passed out too, and in about as good of shape as Ronan.
Mack looks up at me, and there are tears in her eyes. I don’t care.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I demand.
She blinks at me in confusion. I’ve never yelled at her before. I like Mack. I respect her. And I’m grateful for what she’s done for me. But that doesn’t stop me from being angry at her right now too.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t know they were going to do it until it was happening.”
“But you let it happen anyway, didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t stop it,” she says. “I’m sorry, Sash.”
Her voice is sincere. She’s genuinely as sick as I am over what happened, but right now I don’t care. I want to lash out at her. And it isn’t until the words are out of my mouth that I even understand why.
“He did this for you,” I snarl. “Ronan did this for you.”
Mack stands up and reaches out towards me tentatively. “That isn’t true, Sash. He did it for Lachlan.”
“No,” I argue. “He talks to you. Why? Why can he talk to you, but not me?”
Again, Mack stares at me in confusion. “He doesn’t talk to you?”
“No,” I bite out. “He never says one fucking word to me. But you come in here, and he has no problem talking to you. Or fighting for you…”
My words drift off as Mack pulls me in for an unexpected hug. I know she doesn’t like to hug. But she’s hugging me now. And it turns out to be the thing I needed because I break down in her arms.
I don’t know why. I’m just emotional with everything that’s happening. With my mom and Ronan and all of the unknown changes I’m facing in the future. That’s what I tell myself.
“You should just try to talk to him, Sasha,” Mack says as she pulls away. “Believe me when I say Ronan never talks to me by choice. I usually just annoy the hell out of him until I get him to talk.”
I smile through bleary eyes and wipe my tears away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “I would yell at me too.”
“I should go sit with him.”
She nods, but then gives my arm a little squeeze. “Hey, Sash, for what it’s worth, I talked to Lachlan.”
“Oh.” I swallow. “And?”
“And he said you can go. He’d even help you out if you need him to. He just wants to talk to you about it first.”
I should be happy with that. But I’m not and I can’t figure out why. So I just give Mack a weak smile and a nod. “Thank you.”
Chapter Eight
Sasha
When I walk back out into the parlor, Conor is passed out in the recliner, so I sit down on the sofa beside Ronan. He’s sleeping, and at peace right now, even with his bruised and beaten face.
His glasses are missing, and he’s wearing a tee shirt. I didn’t notice it before, but I am now. I’ve never seen him in a tee shirt. It makes him look younger. More like his age. At twenty-nine, he’s only six years older than me. But he doesn’t carry himself that way.