Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
He gave me a small tilt of his lips and his fingertips exerted the barest bit of increased pressure. “Not even close,” he murmured. The moment stretched as our gazes held, one of his hands still on my lower back where he’d held me steady as he’d treated the wound. He released a breath, looking away as his hand dropped. My smile faded. I immediately missed the warmth of his palm on my skin and the way that, for a moment, I’d felt held together by his touch in some way I couldn’t describe. And I felt strangely rejected too. I gave my head a miniscule shake. That, however, was a ridiculous thought. There was no rejecting going on because there was no offer. Quite the opposite, in fact. “You always did have a book,” I said. You and your damn books.
“Some things never change.” He reached for a tube of ointment or cream or whatever was contained in the emergency kit.
Some things never change.
But others alter drastically. Like you.
So why did I suddenly feel unsure of that? Why did he confuse me so much? Still?
Because everything is on shaky ground right now. Nothing is certain. Of course you’re confused and off-kilter.
And the moon is strange, its pearly glow filtering through the trees and making this moment feel like the vestige of a dream.
As though he’d heard my inner turmoil, or maybe felt it too, he glanced up quickly before focusing back on dabbing the cream on my wound and spreading it over the red outer portion. I watched his hand as it moved over that small section of my body and a shiver went down my spine. I tried not to react physically but saw his eyelids flutter as goose bumps broke out on my skin. The skin he was currently up close and personal with. “Does it hurt?” he asked, and I released a silent breath of relief that he’d assumed my reaction had to do with pain and not… What, Emily? What did that reaction have to do with?
“No,” I said, the word emerging in a rush, the volume not quite appropriate for the lack of distance between us and the quiet of the night. I pulled in a deep breath and let it out. “I mean, a little. But it’s manageable.”
He tipped his head back and our eyes met again, and for a moment, he looked confused too and…almost vulnerable. My breath caught. What are you thinking? I wanted to know. I’d always wanted to know, and with Tuck, I’d never figured out how to ask so that he’d answer me honestly. He’d always been so secretive, held his emotions so close to the vest whereas I’d worn mine on my sleeve—and belted them out using the songs I sang. The ones that were usually about him. God. I hated thinking about that. I hated it. Especially now when I had to rely on him in so many ways.
Especially now, after he’d disappointed me so deeply. All those drugs…
And yet still, our eyes held.
“Emily—” Charlie suddenly appeared over Tuck’s shoulder, and I gave a small jolt as Tuck turned his way. Charlie’s gaze went from Tuck to me, down to the exposed wound. “What’s going on?” he asked, his tone suspicious.
I started to pull my pants up as though we’d been caught doing something salacious but halted before I got antibiotic cream all over my clothes. But I did hold my hand in front of the sore, so Charlie didn’t have a good view. “Tuck was helping me treat my wound,” I said. “It might be infected.”
“You should have told me,” Charlie said. “Does it hurt?”
“No. It’s fine.”
Tuck picked up a bandage and stood. He started to turn to Charlie to, I assumed, give him the bandage so he could finish the job, but I stopped him before he did. “I’ll take that,” I said. Truthfully, I didn’t want Charlie to see it, because I could just picture the way his face would scrunch up with distaste like it’d done as he’d glanced at Russell’s dead body.
Or the way I’d seen it do when he got any small injury.
Charlie wasn’t good at keeping his reactions at bay. Part of his job was using his face to express his emotions, and so maybe he had a hard time turning that off. In any case, I preferred to keep my oozing sores away from him.
Tuck turned back toward me, hesitated, but then put the bandage in my outstretched hand. He seemed careful not to touch me. “Make sure to cover the whole thing,” he said. “And reapply the cream and change the dressing every few hours.” He nodded down to the medical kit.
“What do we owe you, doc?” Charlie asked as I unwrapped the bandage and removed the surgical tape.