Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“You have not ruined anything. And it’s my fault for startling you.”
“Not true. I ruined tomorrow’s breakfast.”
“Hunter loves his steak rare. I’m sure he’ll enjoy his quiche a little bloody as well.”
“Stop,” she tries to laugh, but it sounds more like a moan.
When we reach urgent care, I help her inside. It doesn’t take long to update her medical records, but the waiting room is crowded. Alice slides down in the chair and tries to lean her head back. Her face is still ghostly.
“Lie on my lap or lean against me before you pass out again,” I say.
“I’m fine,” she says in a weak voice.
“You don’t sound fine.” I wrap my arm around her, forcing her to lean against me.
She’s called back before other people, perhaps because there’s blood involved, or maybe they don’t want her passing out in front of everyone else.
“I hope I don’t lose my finger,” Alice says, curled up in a ball on the exam table while we wait for the doctor.
I bite back my grin. “I hope not either.”
“Did I ruin your plans for the night? Were you and Blair going out to dinner too?”
“Nope. We’re staying in. And I don’t think this will take all night unless you get transferred to the hospital for surgery.”
Her head whips in my direction. “Do you think that will happen?”
“No,” I say with a chuckle.
She frowns.
“Do you want me to call Callen?”
“So you do think I’m going to lose my finger?” Her eyes narrow.
“I think the effects of your minor blood loss could last for a while.”
“I’ll be fine. If I pass out,” she sighs like she might do just that, “I’ll eventually come to. Besides, he’s out of town. I don’t think he needs to get on a plane for my finger.”
After a quick knock on the door, a young woman in a white coat steps inside. “Hi, Alice. I’m Dr. Friedman.”
The nurse follows her.
“I’m sorry. Blood makes me queasy. Well, my own blood,” Alice says.
The doctor smiles while donning a pair of gloves. “That’s okay. Feel free to look away or close your eyes.”
As the nurse unwraps Alice’s hand, the doctor inspects the finger, and Alice tips her chin up, looking at the ceiling.
“Alice, I think we’re going to clean that up and just use a little glue. No stitches. How does that sound?”
Alice swallows and returns a tiny nod while keeping her focus on the ceiling. The doctor gives me a brief glance and a tiny grin.
It’s a quick procedure and we’re back in the car and on our way home in no time.
“The color in your face looks better,” I say, shooting her a sidelong glance.
“Thanks for the compliment.” She stares out the window.
I chuckle. “Anytime.”
“I overheard Vera telling Mr. Morrison that she and Blair found an apartment. That must be exciting,” she murmurs.
“I heard that too.”
Alice turns toward me, but I keep my eyes trained on the road. I overheard something, too, and now I can’t stop thinking about kissing Alice Yates and whispering “hi” before our lips touch.
“Can I ask if you’re better now? Fourteen months of intensive therapy seems like a lot. And if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”
“I love the way you refer to a psychiatric hospital as ‘intensive therapy.’”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I think I’m going to use intensive therapy from now on. It’s a little less scary than a psychiatric hospital. And yes, I’m better now. You don’t have to tiptoe around me like everyone else.”
“Does Callen tiptoe around you?”
“No, because he doesn’t know about that part of my life.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want him to tiptoe around me. Geesh, Murph. I thought you were following the conversation better than this.”
I grin. She hasn’t called me “Murph” since she stayed at my rental.
When we reach the house, I pull the white SUV into the drive closest to the guesthouse and hop out, jogging around the front then opening her door.
“I’ve got it,” she says, reaching for the seat belt at the same time I do.
I retreat a step to let her slide out of the vehicle. Then, with my hand cupping her elbow, I gently guide her to the door.
“The quiche,” she says as I open the door.
“I’ll clean it up and suggest everyone go to brunch in the morning.”
“I don’t want you cleaning up my mess,” she says, easing onto the sofa with her hand hugged to her chest like she’s lost an entire digit.
“Welcome to my world,” I say. “And yet, you continue to do things for me. This is the least I can do.” I crouch before her, resting my hands on the cushion beside her legs.
She seems to hold her breath under the scrutiny of my endless gaze.
“That night …” I briefly close my eyes, shaking my head.
“I don’t remember that night,” she whispers. “How did it end?”