Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
He nods and drops to his chair, looking at his phone when it rings and flicking it away on a dismissive snort.
Our progress to Brad’s room is slow, taking a good few minutes to make it to the staircase. “You should have stayed in bed as instructed,” Doc says as Daniel dances down the stairs, slowing down when he sees the state of Brad between us. “Uncle Brad?” he questions, the concern in his voice and on his face a good indication of how terrible Brad looks. “Is that a bullet wound?”
Fuck it. “Uncle Brad’s feeling a bit under the weather, kid,” I explain as we carry him past.
“I would too if I’d been shot,” Daniel says, chasing our heels. “You’re not gonna die, are you, Uncle Brad?”
“I feel like it, kid,” he murmurs.
“What happened?”
I look across to Ringo, who shrugs, lost too. I need to call Rose. Give her the heads-up.
“Is this mafia business?” he asks.
“The fuck?” Brad blurts, stopping from dragging his feet, forcing me and Ringo to stop too. “No, this is red paint.”
“I know you’re all mafia.” Daniel rolls his eyes. “Everyone knows.”
We all stand like plums, none of us knowing what the hell to say. “Mafia?” I laugh like a dick. “What movies have you been watching?”
“Daniel?” Esther appears at the end of the corridor, a tea towel in her hand. She’s obviously not entertaining Otto right now, because he’s nowhere in sight. Retreated? Cleaning up his wounds? “What are you doing?” she calls, eyes darting between Daniel and Brad.
“Brad’s been shot.” He says it too nonchalantly, like it’s normal. He’s not my kid, but I’m really not cool with this. Yet how the fuck do you shield him when he lives under the same roof as this?
“I’ve not been shot,” Brad argues. “Mister and I were . . . paintballing. He’s a shit shot.”
“He’s shit at poker too. Did you know that?”
“Watch your language!” Goldie snaps.
Daniel rolls his eyes. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Mister? Umm,” I stutter, seeing the bloodbath that was Danny’s face and his psycho eyes as I left. “He’s—” The office door flings open behind us and Danny steps out, his face smeared in blood. I close my eyes and exhale. Rose is going to hit the fucking roof.
“Mister?” Daniel says, anxious, moving forward. “What happened?”
Danny waves it off like it’s nothing. “Otto and I had a disagreement. I’m fine.”
“Is it because he’s in love with Grandma?”
Goldie snorts, I cringe, and Doc orders us onward.
“Come on, Daniel,” Esther says, a little high-pitched. “I need some help in the kitchen.”
His shoulders drop. “Mom said I could go out on the water when I’ve finished my studies, but the Vikings have gone shopping with them.”
“I’ll take him,” Goldie volunteers without hesitation, clearly needing a break from us idiot men.
“I’ll come too,” Esther says, lifting her nose. “I could do with some air and adult company.”
Ouch.
“Mum,” Danny murmurs, sounding sorry.
“I’ll be ready in a minute.” Dismissing him, Esther leaves, and the door behind us slams.
“Go get ready,” Goldie orders Daniel. “Meet me at the car in five.”
He nods, looking back at the office door, concerned. “He’s okay, kid,” I say, carrying on with Brad. “Go get ready.”
“And you, Uncle Brad? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, kid,” he groans. “Just a graze.” Then he curses under his breath. “If you’re lucky, I’ll whoop your ass at COD later.”
Daniel snorts, reaching Esther. “I’m unbeatable.”
We make it to Brad’s room and get him on the bed, and Doc cleans him up while I take care of a few emails. “Just a graze,” Doc says, peeking over the top of his glasses, making me raise my eyes from my mobile on a small smile. “All back together again.” He nods at his own handiwork and sniffs. “This time, when I say strict bedrest, I mean strict bedrest.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t mock me.” Doc snaps his bag shut. “Remember who supplies the pain meds around here.” He slips two pills on the nightstand.
Brad sighs, settling into the mattress and closing his eyes, and Doc wanders to the door.
I watch the old boy go. “Hey, Doc,” I call, pulling him to a stop. He looks back. “Thank you.”
He nods, short and sharp, and leaves, and I stare at the wood for a while, remembering the first time I set eyes on Doc in a hotel after I’d removed Beau from hospital. I know nothing about him, other than he came out of retirement to help me when Beau had been shot. Now, though? Now I’m wondering where he’s been, who he is, what he’s done. I return to my phone and pull up Google, typing in Doctor . . . “Fuck,” I breathe, laughing to myself. I don’t even know his name.
“What are you laughing at?” Brad asks, opening one eye to look at me.