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)
How many? Where?
“Someone help!” I scream as he drops to his shoulder and rolls to his back, struggling to breathe. “Someone help me!”
I hear screeching tires, sirens, screams.
Danny and Otto are sprinting toward us.
I hate their expressions.
Hate the crippling grief taking hold.
It’s beyond excruciating, more powerful than any grief I’ve ever felt before.
A loss I will never get over.
44
JAMES
It has to be said, the light was blinding. And it was really fucking tempting to walk toward it. But . . .
Beau.
I could hear her need.
Feel her love.
The light on this occasion can fuck off. I didn’t go through the past few months to let death take me so pathetically.
“Stop moving,” she orders, flapping around the bed, pulling at the covers, throwing me filthy looks left and right.
“I’m stiff.” And not in the best way.
“Doc said strict bedrest for four weeks.” She gently pushes me back down, and I sigh, exhausted, unwilling, and unable to fight her.
“It’s been three weeks and six days.”
“Yes, and look at you,” she breathes, exasperated, waving her hands up and down my broken body. “You need at least another four weeks. I’ll go get Doc.” She pivots, and I just catch her wrist, stopping her. I won’t lie, it’s fucking agony straining even that much. I grit my teeth and tug her back.
“Just lie with me for a while.” I need her close. To have her near and know there is literally nothing in this world that can tear us apart.
Only each other.
She settles, though hesitantly, and I feel her slight body soften beautifully against me. “Are you okay?” I ask quietly.
She’s quiet for a few moments, her hands stroking gently over the dressing on the side of my stomach. “I’m okay,” she whispers.
I smile. Okay. It’s ironic. Twenty years’ worth of therapy shouldn’t cure the kind of shit we’ve experienced, both together and alone. It probably couldn’t. But I have Beau, and Beau has me.
So we’re going to be okay . . . once this pain has fucked off and I’ve healed. I nod to myself, letting my broken body meld into the mattress, let my eyes close and know nothing will take her from me while I’m asleep.
“I love you, Beau.”
“I won’t ever question that.”
I dose off, knowing it to be true. Peace. I’ve thought I’ve had it. When I met Beau, it teased the peripheral of my existence, tormented me, because it would never truly be mine until I’d fixed her.
I accept now, she will never be fixed. But she is most definitely mine. All mine. Her hate, her love, every broken piece of her, and that makes her as fixed as she’ll ever be.
My dreams are light. My heart is so fucking heavy with love.
Peace.
Even amid the excruciating pain.
A stab of pain gets me, and I grunt, curling my body in protectively to stem it. “Fuck.”
“Sorry!”
I open my eyes, groaning, not knowing whether to clench my stomach or my shoulder.
“God dammit, Brad!” Beau yells, slipping off the bed with as little disruption to me as possible.
“Do you two ever stop?” he asks, appearing at the end of the bed, looking me up and down with a scowl. “Even crippled you’re insatiable.”
I fucking wish. I return his scowl and try to sit up some more. And fail.
“Be still,” Beau warns, her stern words making me go limp again. She takes some water from the nightstand and holds the straw at my lips. I’m in no position to contest her help. This is hideous. I latch on and slurp, noticing Brad’s sling has gone.
“Fighting fit,” he declares, obviously noticing I’ve noticed, gingerly lowering to the end of the bed. “Jerking off’s still off the menu though.”
I cough, and water shoots out of my nose, spraying my chest. “Fuck!” I yelp, as a tidal wave of pain rolls through me. Beau glares at Brad, who raises his hands in surrender.
“No jerking off? No jokes?” He pouts. “What kind of life is this?”
I hold on to my laughter—the pain just isn’t worth the lightness. “She’ll kill you,” I say seriously, making him smirk at Beau as she holds him in place with a look of pure filth.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Or is that a stupid question?”
“It’s a stupid question,” Beau says, collecting the bowl of water and wash cloth off the nightstand and heading to the bathroom. “But you’re stupid so it figures.”
I smile at her back as Brad rolls his eyes, keeping his attention pointing my way. “What—”
“If you’re here to talk about work you can leave,” she calls.
Brad drops his chin to his chest, exasperated. “I’m—”
“Or I’ll happily walk you out.”
He hitches a brow. “I should probably just leave, right?”
I nod. “Probably.”
He doesn’t move, the daredevil. “So, how are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been shot.” I grimace as I shift a fraction. “Twice.” I huff, my neck hurting. “Can you just . . .” I lift my head, trying to find a firmer part of the pillow.