Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“It’s what? What is it then?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what this is, but I won’t make promises I can’t keep.”
“As admirable as that is, I didn’t need a promise. I need reassurance.” I’ve never had to fight for a woman—their attention or otherwise. But these past two days have changed things. They’ve changed me. I don’t have casual dates at my place, so her presence has taken me by surprise. Maybe the concussion is worse than I realized, but I won’t beg. Like the injuries, some things take time. Like she said, this is a small town. You can’t go long without crossing paths sooner or later.
She pushes herself closer, so close her body presses to my side like it was meant to be there. I didn’t think this would feel as good as it does. I’m sure she’d be the first to say we barely know each other. Not remembering any form of relationship we used to have sets us back even further, but damn if she doesn’t fit just right. Leaning forward, she rests her head against my arm and whispers, “Everything’s going to work out exactly how it’s supposed to.”
Somehow, her optimism is contagious, and I find myself relaxing under the idea. But just to clarify, I ask, “Are we talking about my injuries or us?”
The smallest of laughs still rattles the mattress beneath her before she snuggles against my side, arm draped over my middle as she tucks herself into the crook of my elbow. It’s funny how we couldn’t have been further apart earlier, but we’ve ended up right where we should, together in bed.
Tilting her head back, she finds my eyes and says, “Guess we’ll find out.”
Yep. Guess only time will tell.
CHAPTER 18
AUTUMN
“Fuck.”
The word permeates my sweet dream, yanking me from the field of freshly baked blueberry muffins I was eating my way through, and plopping me back into reality, a.k.a. a sun-drenched brown bedroom.
Stretching my arm out across the mattress, I notice the empty bed before I turn to verify. “Fuck,” reaches my ears, pulling me from bed before I have a chance to pinpoint where it’s coming from. “Brandon?”
I kick the tangled covers from my ankles and land on my feet. Running to the bathroom, I call out, “I’m coming.” I push the door open, expecting to see him lying on the bathroom floor, or in the shower, or even on the toilet, but he’s not. Scrambling out of the bathroom, I run down the hall and scan the living room and kitchen with my head on a swivel. I head back to check the front door when I hear, “Autumn?” yelled from outside.
I tug the back door open and run out to a crisp morning that covers my skin in goose bumps and bright sunshine. “Brandon, where are you?”
He groans before mumbling, “Down here.”
When I reach the rail, I lift on my toes to peer over. I’m greeted with flexed biceps and a sweaty chest, but my gaze bounces from the blood staining his skin to the axe on the ground next to where he stands. “Don’t move.” Tearing down the steps, I run so fast that I launch off the second step and land on the grass, running until I reach him. “Where are you hurt?”
“Is it bad?” he grumbles, seemingly suffering more from annoyance at the situation.
The string of swear words would back that theory, but I still inspect the area around his arm and the side of his chest to figure out where the blood came from. Since it’s not obvious, I look down at the axe in the grass, not seeing any red scraped across the blade. I’m not upset about that. I look back up at him, and ask, “Why are you bleeding?”
His eyes travel down from mine, landing on my chest. The cool air, sweaty hunk of a man, and thin fabric all contribute to my nipples standing at attention for him. I cross my arms over my chest until we can get to the bottom of what’s happening. “Brandon, what’s going on?”
Nodding his head toward the trees, he says, “I was running and took a dive.”
“Took a dive?” The memory of first seeing him in the hospital bed, the swelling under his eye, and a fear of what could have happened rises like bile in my throat. A fall, considered simple at other times, could set him back milestones in his recovery. “You fell?”
“I veered off the trail like I normally do. There was some underbrush that wasn’t there a week ago. I’d been clearing out the areas where I venture, but Mother Nature will always reclaim what’s hers.”
“Why would you go running without a doctor’s approval?” I point at the brush I can’t see, while planting the opposite hand on my hip. “Or at a minimum, mine?” I bite my lip to keep from saying what I shouldn’t, but the concern I had coming out here turns to anger. “Anything could have happened to you, and I wouldn’t have known where you were. What was your plan? Did you carry your phone? How is your back?” I move to the other side of him and run my finger along the edges of the bandage. “How is your shoulder? Are you in pain?”