Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
“There’s a happily ever after, though.”
“Is there?”
“The boy made sure he showered every day after that,” I state somewhat comically. She doesn’t laugh so much as roll her eyes and make an effort at a tiny smile.
“That’s the happily ever after?”
“I told you, I’m not the best at stories.” The blanket falls from her shoulder as she shifts so I pull it up around her again. “The boy would have done whatever that girl told him to,” I tell her and I don’t know why. Maybe that sounds like more of a happy ending. It isn’t, though, because I hardly saw her again. Let alone spoke to her.
“He didn’t tell the girl that,” she whispers and then her hand comes up in a balled fist as she coughs.
“He didn’t tell anyone very much at all,” I say, testing her forehead again. She’s burning up.
“Do you want more tea?” I ask her as she rubs her throat. I could get it for her, but I’d rather she sleep, unless it’s hurting her and keeping her up.
“Don’t leave me,” she answers. “Please.”
“Awful bossy, my little pet, and that doesn’t answer my question.” I smooth the hair back from her face as she breathes in easily and shakes her head. “No, thank you.”
“Go to sleep or I’ll be forced to tell you another horrible story,” I tell her half-heartedly joking and she laughs. The sweet sound tugs my lips up into a weak smile.
I lean in for another kiss but she pulls away slightly with a frown. “I really don’t want you to get sick.”
“If I do, I do,” I tell her and kiss her again. “Leave the worrying to me, my little pet.” I kiss her once more and when I open my eyes, hers are still closed.
I leave a gentle kiss on her forehead again and whisper, “Sleep well.” The heat from her fever lingers as she drifts off. It’s worrisome that she’s been sick all day and seemingly getting worse.
It’s only once she’s asleep that I text the doctor and he’s quick to reply, asking for her symptoms.
Declan: She’s not hungry, she’s tired all day and night. She started coughing today. She’s worse than this morning. I think it’s only a cold but events occurred and I want to be sure.
Doc: Is it possible to bring her in? Or for me to come to her?
A thought wriggles its way into my mind and I answer him: We’ll come to you.
BRAELYNN
I’ve never liked hospitals. My mother doesn’t like them either. They don’t hold good memories and it seems absurd to go see a doctor when all I have is a fever.
The dull white noise of the engine purring and the wheels turning isn’t comforting.
A nagging thought won’t quit … one that whispers we aren’t going to the hospital. That he doesn’t believe me or he doesn’t want me. His frustration and distrust seem to come and go. I don’t know what they told him, but I can’t help but feel like he doesn’t believe me.
From the corner of my eye, I watch him as we sit at a red light. As if his expression could tell me anything. I’m a fool to think I know him.
A voice in the back of my head warns that I’m even more of a fool to think he’ll keep me safe. Or that he would choose me over his brothers. I have to look away and stare out the window at passing cars to keep my thoughts from becoming obsessive.
When Declan places his hand on my thigh, I nearly jump out of my skin.
“You feeling okay?” he questions, his voice soothing and deep. He’s so calming, so caring, I’m suddenly feeling riddled with guilt with where my thoughts have led me.
“Mm-hmm,” I answer, pulling the sweater tighter. I hope he can’t hear how unsteady I am in my voice. I don’t want to be. More than anything, I don’t want to feel this way. I’m in borrowed pajamas, albeit extremely nice pajamas and a sweater that probably costs more than my rent.
“We’ll be there soon,” he tells me and lifts my hand in his so he can kiss each knuckle as he drives. His hand doesn’t leave mine as he lowers it back to my lap. My tortured heart can’t take it.
Even if I am a fool, I’d let him lie to me right now. I’d happily accept it so I can stop going back and forth, so I can stop thinking about it all like he told me. I wish I could pluck every morbid thought and memory from my mind. It feels as if I’m going crazy in a way. I’m spiraling but desperately trying to hold on to him. As if he can make everything okay when it’s so obviously not.
“Are we okay?” The question tumbles out of me and I can’t believe it did.