Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“I’m fine,” Alex grumbles. “It’s been days.”
“Did you pack your medical license and bring it with you?” I ask, a small smile on my face because I need to lighten up the situation.
Alex huffs as I look around.
“Where are your bags?”
“Down in the Uber. The guy was really nice and said he’d wait for us in case you weren’t home.”
I tilt my head at Tinley’s explanation. The Uber drivers around here aren’t that nice. They move on to the next assignment. My Spidey senses are tingling as I guide them out of my condo. Instead of going to the garage where my truck is parked, we head to the front of the building where they say the Uber is parked. It would be shitty luck that they escape Houston only to have all of their shit stolen.
But their belongings are safe because when we step outside, I find Wren, smiling like a damn Cheshire cat in his car at the curb.
“This motherfu—” I yank open the passenger door. “Take us to the hospital, you dick.”
Chapter 34
Tinley
“I need my damn truck up here also,” Ignacio snaps at the man who clearly isn’t an Uber driver. “And don’t think for a second that we aren’t going to talk about this.”
The guy chuckles but doesn’t say anything as we all pile out of his car and head into the hospital.
Coming here was hard, finding out things were much worse with my son were harder.
I knew he had trouble at school. I knew he sometimes hung out with kids that he’d get into trouble with. I had no idea he had been selling drugs before Ignacio came to town. I want to hate the man for not telling me the second he found out, but Alex’s assurance that he stopped that very same day helps ease a little of that anger.
When Alex came home bloody and beaten, I knew where I had to go. I knew he would help us, and I’d shoulder all the judgment if it meant that my child was safe.
Even on the two-day bus ride, Missouri didn’t seem far enough away, but I calmed some with each passing mile.
Ignacio, ever the leader, handles check-in at the front desk, but instead of sitting beside us while we wait, he paces, his long legs striding back and forth across the room. His handsome face is set in a scowl and I wonder if some of his anger is directed at me or if he’s solely focused on the man who did this to our child. He’s probably got room for both.
With each pass, I hold my breath, waiting for him to voice his opinions on my parenting. It can’t be any worse than how I already feel about myself, but he never opens his mouth, and when he does look over in this direction, he focuses on Alex.
I knew what I was risking coming to him. I know this could be more ammunition to use against me, but I also know that I’ll do anything to keep Alex safe. I haven’t been able to do that, but I know his father can.
The visit to the ER is the shortest, according to the clock, I’ve ever had. Although it feels like days, we spend less than two hours at the hospital, coming out to find Ignacio’s truck in the parking lot.
We walk to it as if he parked it there himself even though he never left our sight. He stood to the side while Alex was evaluated, nodding and listening to the doctor give the good news that although it looks bad, the bruising is already starting to turn yellow on the edge. He has a few bruised ribs, and that’s the only thing of significance. I don’t think about the bill from the X-rays and the scans. I’ll get to them eventually. Or maybe never. They don’t throw people in jail for medical bills, do they?
“Both?” I hear Ignacio ask, making me realize I’m lost in my own head again, or maybe I’m just dead on my feet.
There’s not really any form of good sleep to get on a bus, and I feel like I haven’t slept in days.
“If you don’t mind,” Alex says from the back before yawning himself.
I watch as Ignacio looks at his son in the rearview mirror, and the love I see there makes me want to cry.
“Why don’t we stop for a burger and fries, and if you’re still hungry, we can order pizza to the condo?” he compromises.
Alex readily agrees. “Pizza is amazing when it’s fresh.”
Ig chuckles. “You’d probably eat week-old pizza from the trash. I’ve seen how much you eat. Didn’t I catch you putting ketchup on your mac and cheese a couple weeks ago? Don’t start acting all picky now.”
They both laugh, and I suddenly feel like an outsider.