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)
“I don’t have time.”
“You’re going to have to if you want to heal.” Oh. Dude could do stern when he wanted, complete with a glare.
In the hall, voices sounded like a group of nurses chattering, the noise getting closer.
“Don’t tell about my vision shit,” I ordered Jonas.
“Doesn’t work like that with me.” Jonas didn’t appear cowed in the slightest. “I’m an ER nursing supervisor when I’m not road-tripping to Salt Lake with your dad and Denver. I can’t let you hide something important from the medical staff.”
“Fuck.” I groaned, shifting in the bed, which fucking hurt from my slightly numb ass to my arm and shoulder to my right foot, which felt weirdly weighty. I pushed those thoughts aside in favor of glowering right back at Jonas. “If the tour folks get wind of me having a little headache and some vision shit, they’re not gonna let me back on the bike till I clear concussion protocol and crap.”
“Declan.” Jonas leaned forward, forehead creasing. “Did you understand what I said? You’ve had a traumatic brain injury. Worse than a concussion. You’re not getting on a bike for a good long while, and that’s not accounting for your leg injury.”
Suddenly, my head felt too crowded, like a swimming pool on a hot July day. Jonas’s earlier explanation of my injuries seemed to float away, mingling with scraps of my dreams. I took a deep breath, not liking how hard it was to think.
“Was there a cat here?” For a second, I wondered if this whole conversation was another dream, but Jonas’s hand on mine was solid. I moved a finger over a rough spot on his thumb. Real. At least he was real, but my brain remained frustratingly foggy.
“No, it was a book I was reading to you.” If Jonas was surprised by my question, he didn’t show it, voice staying patient and calm. “A cozy murder mystery.”
“A book.” My back and shoulders sank back against the thin mattress. I should have known that. Should be able to find my way back to what we’d really been talking about, but I couldn’t. “Oh. Fuck it. My brain’s all jumbled.”
“It’s okay. Some confusion is normal.” Jonas patted my hand again as a dark-haired nurse bustled in. She was middle-aged with a loud accent better suited to Chicago than Utah.
“Declan! Awake, I see.” Her voice was way too loud and grating. “How are we feeling?”
“Crappy.” I couldn’t even fake it. My throat was still dry as sandpaper. “Water?”
“Ice chips for now,” she chirped, still operating at top volume. “I’ll go get you some. The doctor is on his way.” She smiled at Jonas, some message passing between them. “And so is your dad.”
“Great.” I slumped as Nurse Megaphone exited the room.
“Doing okay?” Jonas peered down, concern evident in his hazel eyes. “You can close your eyes if you need to.”
“I’m afraid I might not open them if I do that.” I couldn’t believe I’d confessed that to a near stranger, but maybe that was precisely why I’d admitted the truth. The vision disturbances and fuzzy thinking had shaken me. I didn’t want to fall asleep and wake up worse. I was a doer. I wanted to fix the situation and fast. However, I’d been around enough medical shit to know how unlikely that was. I groaned. I needed a distraction from my gloomy thoughts. “Read to me some more?”
“You want that?” For the first time, Jonas seemed genuinely surprised, but he was already thumbing open his phone.
“Gotta see what’s for teatime,” I mumbled right as my dad appeared in the doorway. His eyes were red, his hair all messy, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in days. Oh hell. I really had almost bought the farm. My stomach roiled, acid rising in the back of my throat.
“Declan.” Dad said my name with so much emotion—happiness, pride, frustration, worry, and other things I couldn’t name—that my own eyes started to burn.
No. I wasn’t a crier. Not about to start. I blinked hard as Jonas dropped my hand. I wanted to yank his back but didn’t.
“We’ll pick it up again later,” he said in a low voice before standing so my dad could have the chair.
Strangely, I wanted Jonas to stay. I barely knew the guy, but I liked his calming presence, the way he quieted the noise in my rattled brain, the way none of this seemed too awful with him nearby. But Jonas was already backing out of the room, and Dad looked ready to bawl, lecture me, or both. I’d simply have to hope I hadn’t seen the last of Jonas.
Chapter Four
Jonas
I’d eaten more hospital food in the last two decades than anyone else I knew, to the point where I’d learned to cook in self-defense, but I’d never had a salad quite so pale and lifeless as this one. I gave up after a couple of bites and pushed my tray away in favor of pulling out my phone.