Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92668 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92668 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“No, tell Noah to be useful and call Granny to bring us some real tea and coffee, not this piss they serve here,” she argued. “If he’s not allowed in here, he should at least fetch tea.”
“You do know he’s on duty, don’t you?”
“That sounds like a him problem,” Ash said, taking my line from me and making me smile.
Jamie laughed, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “All right. Lottie, just let me know when you’re ready to talk tomorrow.”
“I don’t want Noah to interview me,” I said quietly. “Can it be someone else?”
He hesitated, then nodded his head. “Yeah, don’t worry.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.
Ash looked at me. “What happened with you and Noah? The last thing I knew, you were going over to his house to tell him you thought it was Stephanie, right before you went on your little crusade of justice.”
I sighed. “It went badly. We fought, and Kayla came out. She yelled at me, told me I had no business being there and that Noah didn’t care about me. She told me I was horrid and desperate, and I needed to leave their family alone.”
“I’m gonna kill her,” Ash ground out. “Wait, what does she mean? Their family?”
“She said she’s pregnant,” I whispered, staring at the plain, white walls. “So if you’re going to kill her, I’m pretty sure that’s considered a double homicide.”
“Oh, Lottie.” She wrapped her fingers around mine.
I averted my gaze. “I want to try and sleep. I’m tired.”
“Are you—”
“I just need some quiet time, Ash.”
She stood up with a sigh, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
I didn’t reply, and she silently left, pausing at the door to look back at me for a moment. I kept my gaze trained on the same spot on the bed, and the second the door closed, the tears I’d been keeping back spilled out of my eyes.
They trailed down my cheeks and onto the pillow beneath my head. I didn’t know what I cried for—the pain I was in, the trauma of what I’d been through, or the fact that that teeny tiny glimmer of hope I’d held onto for so long where Noah was concerned was now well and truly shredded.
Maybe it was a mix of all those things.
Whatever it was, it hurt like hell.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Knock knock.”
I smiled at Gwen when she poked her head through the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Bringing supplies,” she said, bumping the door open with her hip and hauling in two cooler bags. “I’ve been unfortunate enough to spend time in this place, and the food sucks. You’ll never get better and go home eating their shite.”
“Oh, Gwen, you’re just exaggerating,” my nurse, Sophie, said as she held the door for her. “Goodness, what have you brought? Your entire kitchen?”
“I would if I could,” Gwen grumbled. “Are you spying on me?”
Sophie smiled as she walked over to me. “I’m not. It’s just time to check her vitals. You won’t even know I’m here.”
“I doubt that.” Gwen sniffed and put the bags down close to my bed, then sat on the visitor’s chair and unzipped the smaller cooler bag. “Here, before this gets cold.”
I stared at the foil tray she put on the tray table over my bed. “What is it?”
With a smile, she leant over and pulled off the little cardboard top, revealing a steaming pile of mashed potato. “My famous cottage pie.”
Of course, it was.
What else would she bring me?
“It smells amazing,” I said. “But what am I supposed to eat it with?”
Gwen paused. “Oh, shite. I forgot the cutlery.”
Sophie burst out laughing, noting something on my chart. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll bring you some from the nurse’s office.”
“I knew I liked you, Sophie,” Gwen said, switching coolers.
Sophie finished checking me over then put my chart back in the pocket on the end of my bed, winked, and disappeared.
“What else have you got stashed in there?”
“A couple more cottage pies. They’ll heat it up for you,” Gwen answered. “They’re only small portions. I gave your parents the rest. And this other one is general snacks. Not those grapes people always bring when you’re in the hospital. Real snacks.”
She unzipped the bag and put it on the bed next to me, and she wasn’t kidding. There were custard creams, an airtight tub full of little cakes and one of freshly baked cookies, twenty different packets of crisps, little sandwiches—it was basically a to-go bag for a sleepover party.
“That’s much better than grapes,” I said, nodding gently.
“I thought so.” She zipped it back up and set it on the floor. “How are you doing, Blondie?”
“Better,” I answered, smiling at Sophie when she slipped a set of cutlery onto my table. “Thank you,” I said as she left us alone, closing the door behind her again.