Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Todd coughs down the line. “Shit. Your life right now, though.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Hey, I don’t know if you want my input—”
“I don’t.”
“I like him.”
Fuck. I hate to admit it, but I like him too. He’s not conventional, but what’s conventional about love? It’s something I’ve fast learned in recent months. “He’s a good kid.”
“So what did you say?”
“I told him I’d think about it.”
Todd laughs loudly, and I have to laugh with him. Because I’m fucking hilarious. Truth is, I couldn’t stop them if I tried. Trent asked me. Respect to him. “And have you thought about it?”
I get to my feet, ready to drag myself back to Billy’s room. “I can’t think of much past Lo right now.”
“Call me if you need anything, bud.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about this new, kind, sensitive Todd.”
“Fuck you,” he mumbles, as if to make a point, and hangs up.
I collect the coffees, heading back to the ward, and as I approach Billy’s room, I see the door ajar. At first, I assume a nurse or doctor must have entered, but after ten minutes sitting on the chair outside waiting, not wanting to disturb them, I hear not a peep, and no one leaves. I look toward the entrance of the ward and back to the door, pondering what to do. Is Lo even in there? Rising to my feet, I take a few steps and peek inside the room. It’s dim, the TV glowing, and Billy is asleep on the bed. But there’s no Lo, or medical staff. I purposely keep my eyes from lingering on the frail man lying deathly still and back up.
“Come in,” a low, rattily voice virtually gasps.
I freeze where I stand, watching as his head strains to turn toward me. Sunken eyes find me, and I physically withdraw at the full-on sight of his skeletal face. So ashen. So hollow. Cowardly, I look away, shocked to my core. “I’m sorry, I have the wrong room.”
“No, you don’t.”
What? Cautiously, I lift my stare, preparing myself to face the dying man once again. He smiles at me, and I have no fucking clue what to do with it.
“Sit down,” he rasps, his arm lifting from the mattress before dropping straight back down heavily.
“No, I should leave you to rest.”
“You going to argue with a dying man?” There’s a lightness to his tone that defies the heaviness surrounding him.
“I have the wrong room. My apologies.”
“You’re as bad a liar as my Lo. You’re clearly made for each other.”
His words stop me in my retreating tracks, my eyes wide and now fixed on his serious face. Does that mean what I think it means? The thin cardboard coffee cups in my hands are burning my palms, but I’m in no position to remedy it. I can’t move. Can’t think.
“Please, sit down.”
My eyes fall to the chair by his bed, and I stare at it for way too long. Sit down. I force my feet to move across the room, taking me closer to Lo’s husband. Uncomfortably close. His appearance was brutally disturbing from across the room. Here, this close, it’s death personified.
Looking down at the coffees in my hand, I will my hands to stop shaking. I can’t. I place them on the cabinet next to his bed and lower to the chair. Fidgeting in my seat, I try to get comfortable. I could try for a year. I’ll never relax. My body refuses to settle, and I’m pretty sure he can hear my heart thumping. That in itself is cruel. He’s barely able to draw breath.
“Nice to finally meet you.” He coughs over his words, flinching at the pain it causes him. I can do nothing more than wait for him to overcome his coughing fit. I have no idea where this conversation is going. All I know is that Lo’s husband knows about me. How? I would’ve put my life on the fact that Lo would never tell him. I’m clueless on every level in this moment. “What’s your name?”
“Luke,” I answer quietly on a swallow.
“You’re the one who gave Lo the money for my operation.” He states it as the fact it is, and I nod in response, my throat increasingly clogging up with unease. I don’t want to make a difficult situation for Lo.
I look back to the door, contemplating leaving quickly before I engage any more with him.
“I knew there was someone else,” he rasps, with an odd sense of acceptance that I can’t quite fathom. I return my eyes to him as he drags his head back to the center, looking up at the ceiling.
“There isn’t someone else,” I say quietly. I am not the someone else. “I’m a friend of your wife’s. It’s never been anything more than that.” I should be ashamed of myself, lying to a dying man. For me, it’s been so much more. I realize that now. When Lo’s text messages made my day. When I had no desire to go looking for a hookup. When I felt more . . . fulfilled. Content. Pop saw it, and he called me out on it.