Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
I’m helpless, bleeding all over the place, in pain, but that’s not the reason tears start to form. Jude peeks up at me, and I look away, sniffing discreetly.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, pressing the towel to my palm.
“I’ll be fine.” I stand abruptly, holding the facecloth in place, and edge past him quickly, leaving the suite.
“Amelia, for the love of God.”
I ignore him and make my way down to the lobby to get my bags, no hands free to wipe my eyes while I keep my makeshift swab in place.
“Come on, Amelia, you need medical attention,” Jude says, chasing me down the sweeping marble stairs.
Looking at the facecloth, I wince when I see it’s become sodden. “Shit.” Fat drops of blood start to leak, hitting the marble floor and splashing. I hurry my pace through to the lobby, bleeding everywhere.
“Amelia, stop.” Jude lands in front of me and grabs my hand, holding it up as he scans the lobby. “I need a first-aider over here,” he yells, getting the attention of everyone floating around. Then he leads me to a chair and forces me to sit, perching on the coffee table before it. “If you move, you’re in big trouble, do you hear me?”
He concentrates as he peels the soaked material away, and the moment he winces, I know he’s right. I need medical attention. And maybe a mental assessment, because my guard is slowly lowering.
Jude glances up and meets my glazed eyes, and my heart softens when he breathes out and moves closer. “Don’t,” I whisper, begging him. “Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
Hurt me. “Don’t be worried and all sensitive.”
“I am worried.” Slipping his hand onto my nape, he directs my face into his chest, kissing the top of my head repeatedly as he holds me close. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so fucking sorry, Amelia.” The feel of his chest expanding and retracting, warm and hard, eases me. It defies everything, but I relax. “It’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”
My throat is too tight to talk as my tears soak into his shirt. I don’t know if I believe him. I don’t know if I should expose my heart to him again. I don’t know if I should let him take care of me now.
I just don’t know.
I feel Jude’s head turn, and he nods before slowly pulling me out of his chest and wiping my eyes. “First aid is here.” A man appears, taking in the blood before sweeping a hand out in a gesture towards the back of reception. Of course they want to remove the bleeding, blubbering lady from the bustling lobby. “Come,” Jude says, helping me up and tucking me into his side. He reaches for my face and pushes it into his chest as he walks me, following the first-aider. We’re led into a room and Jude sits me down.
“And what have we here?” the man asks, pulling a chair over and taking my hand.
“She’s cut herself,” Jude answers. “It looks nasty.”
The first-aider eases the material back and flinches. “Yes, a hospital visit for you, my dear. I’ll get this covered for now.”
I look away from the cut on the edge of my palm, which is still oozing. “Thank you.”
Jude takes his phone to his ear. “I’ll meet you in Air Street; I need to get Amelia to a hospital,” he says, hanging up and facing me. His eyes tell me not to challenge him.
And I don’t.
We were only able to leave the hotel after completing an accident report, and the drive to the nearest hospital was bathed in an uncomfortable silence, as was the two-hour wait in the accident and emergency department, with Jude often standing and pacing, his impatience growing minute by minute. Because of my silence? Because of my distance? Because of the wait?
When a nurse eventually calls my name, Jude doesn’t ask if I want him to accompany me, and instead slips an arm around my waist and walks me as we follow the nurse to a private room off the corridor. His attentiveness isn’t helping my constant wavering, flimsy resolve to protect my heart.
The nurse checks my hand and concludes Dermabond won’t be suitable due to the location of the wound on my palm. So stitches it is. Ten of them. “And how did you end up with a nasty cut like this?” she asks.
I clench my teeth as she starts to sew me up, her eyes moving to Jude every now and then. He’s sitting in the corner with his head in his hands, and it hits me. She thinks he did this? I turn my gaze onto her, seeing the concern in her eyes. “No,” I say quietly, shaking my head, but I’m very aware that her training has probably told her a victim might protect their partner. Shit. “It was my brother’s wedding. It was a long day, too much to drink. I was a little fuzzy this morning. Clumsy.” And now I’m lying, but I can hear myself trying to explain, and it doesn’t sound good for Jude.