Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“We’re decorating?” I couldn’t hide my shudder. I associated decorating mainly with my grandma’s house, which had collectibles everywhere. In Seattle, my parents had worked long hours, and while our craftsman house had been homey, no one would have mistaken the hodgepodge of items for a deliberate interior design scheme.
“Rowan. Wren.” Blessedly, Jonas chose that moment to appear behind Wren. He was accompanied by a medium-sized dog, some sort of cattle dog mixed mutt, the long-legged type I often saw at the races. “How about we let Declan rest?”
“Hey.” I grinned, not even trying to hide my relief at being rescued from Rowan’s decorating ambitions. “And this must be the famous Oz?”
Jonas had mentioned his dog in passing a few times, and I could see why he was so taken with the dog’s gentle temperament. No jumping or barking, the dog simply strode over to the bed, hopped up, and settled himself at the foot.
“How are you feeling?” Jonas stepped into the room, eyeing me critically.
I managed a moan even more dramatic than Rowan’s. “If one more person asks me that, I might punch a wall, and I don’t have a hand to spare.”
I held up my healed wrist. Thanks to time and PT, I was able to steer the scooter and do basic tasks now, but punching anything would be foolish. Stupid or not, I glanced at the stack of pillows next to me. Might be worth a little pain to relieve some frustration.
“No punching.” Jonas gave me a stern glare that made me laugh. Damn, I was glad to see him again. And he looked good. Beard neatly trimmed, wearing a soft moss-colored sweater that made his hazel eyes appear greener than usual. Khaki pants hugged his thick thighs. I looked away before I got caught staring. I was the king of averting my eyes, but this was the first time I’d had to really work at it, a level of appreciation I hadn’t had prior.
“I’m telling you, he’d rest better if you let me work on the ambiance in here.” Rowan gestured with both hands as Jonas bodily steered him and Wren toward the hall.
“The ambiance is fine for now.” I yawned, more to hurry up the teens leaving than actual exhaustion. Lord knew I’d napped enough for several lifetimes this month alone.
“All right, everyone out.” Jonas good-naturedly waved Rowan and Wren away amid protests.
“Fine, but I’ll draw up some decorating plans for later.” Rowan made the promise sound closer to a threat as he left, followed by Wren, who was muttering about not having had a chance to quiz me about my symptoms.
“You do that.” I sank back against the pillows and briefly closed my eyes.
“How are you really?” Jonas asked as he went around the room, closing the blinds.
“Shitty.” The dimness helped, but I couldn’t quite shake my frustration or find it in me to lie to Jonas. “Sorry. I’m just so tired of being fine. Okay. On the mend. Could be worse. Fuck all the lies.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me.” Jonas stooped to pet his dog before settling into a weirdly shaped midcentury modern chair in the corner to the side of the bed. I appreciated how he always seemed to go out of his way to make it so I didn’t have to crane my neck to make eye contact, but the chair looked all kinds of uncomfortable and stiff and not at all suited to his big frame.
“I know. That’s why I like you. I can be whiney.” I made the comment flippantly, but a hint of a blush crept across Jonas’s face.
“Thanks. And I’ve told you, you’re not whiney, but even if you were, you could whine away.”
“Oh, I’ve got a list.” I gave a bitter laugh. “I can’t drive. Can’t ride. Hell, even being a passenger in my dad’s cushy truck makes me nauseous. I actually had to make him pull over on the way to my grandparents from Portland. I’m a mess. My ribs are healed, wrist is on the way, leg’s getting there, but it’s my fucking brain. Having to relearn how to do stupid stuff. Waste of my time. Shit, I’d take a blown ACL over this bullshit.”
“Amen. TBIs are the worst. As a nurse, I’d rather see a thousand knee injuries over one head injury.” Jonas scooted his chair closer to the bed. “There’s so much we still don’t know about the brain. There’s new research all the time though.”
“I hate feeling like a fucking science experiment to my doctors.” I groaned and gestured at the door. “That one teen, Wren, thinks the key may be my nutrition. Everyone has a theory, yet no one has a real answer.”
“It sucks. I’m not going to minimize it.” Jonas moved his hand like he might be reaching for mine but quickly dropped it back to his side. “And what’s worse is it’s not the kind of hard thing you can step away from or turn off.”