Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Lying on the bed to wait for James, I’ve been drifting on and off, sheer exhaustion pulling at my lids. They’re releasing me with instructions that James watch over me for the next twelve hours.
The hollow feeling in my chest grows. I don’t want James.
The door opens, another nurse coming to poke at me. But it isn’t a nurse. Emotion punches into me, a fist to my aching chest, a sharp squeeze of my tender heart.
Finn.
He looks about as good as I feel, eyes bloodshot, the skin bruised beneath them, his hair matted on one side and sticking up on the other. I soak in the sight of him like water on parched earth.
His blue gaze darts over me as if he doesn’t know what to focus on first, or that he can’t yet take in the whole of me. Tension rides his body, making it visibly tremble. Then his eyes meet mine. He looks haunted, ripped apart.
I swallow with difficulty. “Hey.”
When he speaks, his voice is a ghost of its former self. “Hey.” He takes a step into the room and closes the door behind him. “I got here as soon as I could. Flights were scarce.”
He’s here, that’s all that matters to me. I should sit up, make myself appear strong and capable and all that. But, unless someone comes to wheel my ass out of here, I’m not moving.
“I think I was hit by a guy on a bike.” Everything’s kind of hazy, but I remember two wheels and a handlebar.
The grooves around his mouth deepen. “You were.”
He moves like an old man, making his way to my side. I watch him come, little tremors quaking in my belly. I want to hug him so badly my arms twitch, but they’re too heavy to move.
He sits in the chair by my bedside, his body too big for its stingy frame. Up close, he looks worse, careworn and exhausted. I empathize.
“Is the guy okay?” My memory is fairly shitty right now. Apparently, concussions can do that to a person.
“Couple of scrapes. Broken wrist.” Finn’s expression is blank, barely a flicker of movement. He glances down at my hand resting on the bed.
“How ironic. Mine just healed.”
The corners of his mouth pinch. “Love that you can joke. Two times, I’ve had to hear you were in the hospital.” Blue eyes pin me to the spot. “That’s two times too many.”
“It’s not like I planned this.”
He grunts.
“I’m not even a clumsy person. Both times, they ran into me.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of looking both ways, Chester?” He actually glares.
“It was a one-way street. Who thinks to look for rando bikers going the wrong way?”
“You do. From now on. Jesus.” He wipes a hand over his mouth. “My heart can’t take another call like that, okay?”
“Okay. I’m sorry.” I am. Not for getting hit, but for putting that look of abject fear in his eyes.
Finn scowls. “Don’t be sorry. How do you feel?”
“Fuzzy.” I blink down at my body. The inside of my elbow has a bandage on it from where they put an IV in earlier. A saline drip that had provided cool relief and, later, some very exceptional painkillers. One thing to love about a hospital, I guess. “I can’t remember what I look like. Give me a damage report.”
His throat works on a swallow. “A few scrapes and bruises on your right temple and cheek.”
“That’s not so bad.”
“Debatable.”
This is not the reunion I’d planned. Finn is here and clearly worried about me, but he’s distant and fairly humming with some emotion I can’t figure out. My memory clears a little more and a bolt of horror hits me. “Oh, shit.”
Instantly, Finn jolts as if pinched. “What? Are you hurting? Talk to me.”
“Jake. How is he?”
Finn settles down with a scowl, then rubs a hand over his face. “He sprained his neck. And, like you, has a concussion. He’s out for the season but, all in all, he got lucky.”
“I saw it happen. I was so scared.”
Finn pales, and his lashes lower. “Me, too.”
“I know. I should have been there.”
Finn glares down at his fists.
I want to touch him, stroke away the stiffness along his neck and shoulders. But he looks as if one touch will shatter him, and I don’t know what to say to bridge the gap between us. “Did you win?”
The muscle on his jaw bunches. “Yes. We weren’t going down without a fight.”
But there’s no emotion in his words. He keeps glaring at his fists as if he’s thinking of punching something. I don’t know what to do.
“You were magnificent,” I tell him with a soft voice.
He grunts.
“Are you mad at me?”
“Yes.”
It lashes like a whip.
I bite my lower lip, look away, blinking hard.
None of the harshness leaves his voice. “I’m trying not to lose it.”