Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Jesus, Bee, he’s got to be close to fifteen years older than you.”
“I didn’t know that at the time, not that it matters. I’m not telling you the whole sordid story. I don’t ask about all of your many conquests. I don’t want to know.”
“Give me your arm.” I hold it out, palm up, and he presses the pad of his finger against the skin of my inner elbow until he seems happy with the vein he’s found, then wraps an elastic band around my bicep.
“Look away,” he murmurs, his head bent over my arm in concentration. “You hate this part.”
Doing as I’m told, I look to the left and think about adding some bookshelves to the far side of my living room. I feel the prick in my elbow, but then it’s gone. Blake pulls the needle out, leaving the tiny catheter in my vein. He secures it with tape and gets the fluids flowing.
“I’m getting you some water. Have you eaten anything?”
“No, I woke up less than an hour ago.” I watch him saunter into the kitchen. He fills the large tumbler I use for water and brings it to me. “I have some soup in the fridge.”
“I’ll heat it. Do you have enough for two?”
“I have enough for six,” I reply and sip my water. Using my toes, I scoot my ottoman over to put my feet up and close my eyes, listening to my brother bustle in the kitchen.
“Have you talked to Chase?” Blake asks.
“Not yet. Did they find the guy?”
“He was in the hospital,” Blake replies as he pulls the bowls of soup out of the microwave, wraps each one in a towel so they’re not too hot to hold, the way our mom used to do, and brings them into the living room. He passes me one before he sits in the chair opposite me. “He’ll be there for a few more days yet.”
“Wait. Why is he in the hospital?”
Blake scoops a noodle into his mouth. “Connor didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“He beat the hell out of that guy. Broke his nose, his jaw, his wrist.”
My own jaw drops, and I stare at my brother in shock as my chest warms. Why is that so hot? I wish I’d seen that. “Seriously?”
“He’ll have to have surgery on the jaw. The wrist will set fine. And as long as you follow through on pressing charges, he’ll be charged with sexual assault.”
“I’ll definitely press charges against that piece of shit.”
“Good.”
“So Connor beat the hell out of that guy for me?”
Blake grins. “Yep. He told me about it when he called me last night, but I went in to see for myself this morning. That dude is fucked up. Serves him right for drugging and laying his hands on my baby sister.”
Connor did that for me.
I admit, that doesn’t sound like the actions of someone who just wants sex and nothing more. However, he could have been acting out of kindness or obligation. He is an alpha male personality, so perhaps it was his big-brother vibes. Like he’d want someone to do the same for Skyla.
Like if he saw anyone being treated that way, he still would have stepped in.
It doesn’t mean that it was explicitly for me.
“You’re thinking way too hard for someone who feels as shitty as you do.”
“How do you know I feel shitty?”
“You look shitty,” he replies, grinning when I narrow my eyes at him. “You should start feeling better soon, though.”
I already am. Between the food, this IV, and the water I’ve drunk, I’m starting to feel human again. My head isn’t pounding, and the cotton is mostly gone from my mouth.
“I’m sorry you’re spending your day off playing doctor to me.”
“I don’t play at being a doctor,” he replies. “And you’re my best girl. Of course, I came to check on you. I have tomorrow off, too.”
“Two days in a row?”
“I know, there was a schedule mix-up. I’m not complaining. It doesn’t happen often.”
“Any plans?”
“Errands, house stuff. The usual. Check on you.”
“I’ll be at work.”
He frowns over at me. “Jesus, Billie, take a day off. Recuperate.”
“I’ll be fine.” I wave him off and set my empty bowl aside, but he shakes his head.
“As your doctor—”
“You’re not my doctor. That’s not ethical.”
“I want you to stay home. Rest. Lots of fluids and good foods.”
“No.” He starts to argue, but I hold up a hand. “I’ll drink lots of fluids and eat good food, but I’m not staying home.”
I won’t be able to sleep anyway.
Without replying, he takes our empty bowls to the kitchen and loads them into the dishwasher, then returns to me and sits by me on the couch after checking the bag that’s now half empty.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re going to cuddle,” he says as he wraps his arm around my shoulders and tugs me against him. “It’s good for you.”