Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Fuck.
“It’s okay.” I stand up, still feeding Eden. “So listen…I want you to be honest. But I’m not going to mess with you. Or report you.”
The guy looks up at me.
“Is somebody looking for you?”
“I’m an orphan,” he says, a beat too quick.
I shift Eden to the crook of my fucked-up shoulder arm and reach down with the scarred-elbow one.
"Let's get you up and to a bed. You can take a nap and get a refresh. Then we'll talk more."
He gives me a weird look; it’s all eyes. It takes me a long second to realize...I think he looks scared.
Ah, hell. "Listen, man. I'm gonna tell you two things, okay?"
He nods, looking like he might pass out again at any moment.
I turn my arm over, so he can see the inside of it. "You see all that? There's plates and pins in there." I bend it slowly. "See? It's barely normal. I'm still doing PT. It got smashed up—"
"I know." His voice is so quiet. "I know about that,” he says.
I nod. Okay. That makes sense. It's not like the kid's come here by accident. He knows who we are. He probably came because he needs help.
"This other one..." I try to nod toward my shoulder. "Also fucked up. Probably needs surgery. The second thing is, your door's got a lock. There's a couple of different rooms down here on the ground floor, and you can have one of the ones that's got a lock. Used to be staff quarters, so it's like a deadbolt. Keep the women feeling comfortable and all that good shit. Everybody feeling comfortable," I say, arching a brow.
His eyes search my face, and I can feel it—I can feel exhaustion and his...skittishness. Of me.
I hold my ring hand up. "See that there?"
His gaze shifts to my wedding band. "I'm married. Just got legally married nine days back. I think it was." I give a soft laugh. "He's got all that covered. I'm in love with Luke McDowell, and even if I wasn't? I'm not into hurting people."
He looks down. Then, with slow, stiff movements, he helps himself up. Once he’s on his feet—I can see he’s about my height—he gives me a smirk and looks down at my arm. "Don't wanna pull it off."
I chuckle. "Thanks, kid."
He looks like he's barely keeping his eyes open as he frowns at Eden. "You guys got a baby?"
"Yeah," I tell him, smiling as I lead him toward the living room. "Went to the cabbage patch and the stork brought her to the car. One Grade-A Baby."
He smiles, small and sort of sad around the eyes. "Girl or boy?"
"She's a girl. Her name is Eden."
At least I hope it will be.
He nods. His eyes widen slightly as they land on his feet. "I should take these off."
"Nah. You're okay. Rugs can be cleaned. But we're mostly walking down this hall here. We're gonna hang a left and go down about five doors. Past a library. And then your room, the one I thought I'd give you, it's gonna be on the right. There's big windows, and they open fully."
His eyes slide to mine, and they're so damn expressive, I can almost hear him saying thank you.
"This one's falling asleep,” say, nodding at Edey. “If she doesn't take more of the bottle, I'll bring some more food for you and set it on the nightstand. If she does, it'll be a little bit, like maybe twenty minutes. I'll bring you a water bottle, too." We're to the door of the staff room I was thinking would be his. I nod at it, and he opens it himself.
"Damn," he mutters, blinking around.
"Yeah, it was a staff room, but it's not now." I laugh, because I don't know what to say. The room's got a deep purple canopy over its sturdy walnut, four-post bed, and there are massive, gorgeous oil paintings on all the walls—done in a cosmic theme. Except, as I stare, I remember that this isn't cosmos.
"These are cells," I tell him.
"What?" His dark brows bunch up.
I nod. "Yep. Luke's father was pretty into science and all that sort of stuff. So he had someone do paintings of cells and all these things inside the body."
I forgot about these paintings, but they’re very well-done. We almost never come into these other rooms. I think I've only seen this one once.
"It's the windows I remembered," I say, stepping over toward them. "I'm a fan of windows."
"Me too," he says. I watch as he looks around the room.
"You need something now? You see that bathroom door, right? It's only your bathroom. No shared doors."
Something crosses his face. I can't tell what.
His eyes come to my face again. "Thank you," he says. He pushes a hand into his jeans pocket and looks at the floor.