Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“Steele wanted me to go to this specialist the minute he told me he saw the nodes and polyps growing on my vocal cords. We both were afraid it was cancer. I don’t smoke and don’t abuse alcohol, but I spent a lifetime as a child in prison with pedophiles. HPV, the human papillomavirus, is a sexually transmitted disease, and it’s definitely on the rise for oral transmission. I knew, because I had all the symptoms and I read that shit online. I was terrified to go to a specialist and discover, after all that time I’d finally escaped and thought I was free, that those men had left behind something slowly eating me alive.”
He fell silent, willing her to understand what he was saying. Giving her the picture without having to describe his childhood and the multiple assailants, week after week, month after month. Year after year. She didn’t stop stroking his throat. She did turn her face to his chest and press a kiss over his wildly beating heart, nearly stopping it.
“I was lucky. I don’t know how. According to the doc, I don’t have HPV. The nodes are caused by the stress of going to prison.” He caught her messy topknot in his fist. “You have no idea how much I detest the word stress. What the hell does it even mean?”
“It means you can never go back to prison,” she replied firmly. “We’re going to have to discuss that soon as well. The prison thing, I mean. Right now, I want to know about your throat. Are you going back to your doctor?”
He hesitated. Sighed. “I suppose. Steele made me a fuckin’ appointment. The day after tomorrow I’m supposed to go. I thought you could go to the tea shop with Seychelle and a couple of the others and wait for me there. If you don’t want to, I can cancel the appointment and reschedule for a better time when you feel as if you can manage without me.”
Ambrielle’s fingers found his jaw and traced along the outer edge. “Does the doctor do a biopsy every time?”
“Yes, but if I had cancer, it wouldn’t be from HPV, Ambrielle—you don’t have to worry about that.”
“I’m not worried. In any case, I’m vaccinated. Hopefully, that would protect me if I was exposed. I’m worried that you could be in trouble. I can manage for an hour or so, especially if Seychelle is there. I want you to take care of this.”
“It’s settled, then.” He went quiet for a moment, trying to think how best to get his way. “What do you think of counselors?”
Ambrie started to lift her head to look up at him, but his hand fixed in her hair held her in place. She settled against his chest, ear to his heart. He felt her breath on his skin. Waited.
“I believe in counselors.” There was a wary note in her voice. They had promised each other honesty, and she was doing her best but feared a trap. “I think everyone needs a good counselor to help sort things out now and then.”
He sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“Why?” Puzzlement.
His little princess. He could feel her body gathering energy as if it could protect him from whatever was worrying him. He would take that caring. Live in that moment. Let himself feel the intensity of her emotions for him. To a man drowning for care, having it shown to him was fucking everything. He savored every moment with her, just let himself imprint these moments onto his soul. He was far past trying to hold back his heart. It was long gone.
“Absinthe wants me to go to a counselor. Says I need to. Blythe has this one she knows, but I’m not going to go spill my guts and shock some little woman with gray hair by telling her my life story. Just the thought of going and hearing words like stress and trauma makes me feel like a fuckin’ pussy. Not to mention, after I got through confessing how many people I’ve killed over the years, being an assassin for the government, I think I’d go right back to prison.”
Ambrie laughed softly. “Silly man. You’re not supposed to confess you’ve killed anyone, unless Torpedo Ink has their own counselor, which, in my opinion, they need. But if they really do have one they trust, Master, it would be a good thing. It doesn’t make you a, well, you know, what you said, if you go.”
He tugged at her topknot. “Do you plan on going to a counselor? You have to be stressed. Traumatized. You’re intelligent. You know you are.” He closed his eyes and waited. Let his hand settle so his fingers stroked her scalp, soothing him more than her.
“I’m definitely traumatized. I’m checking my behavior all the time,” Ambrielle admitted. “I’m not normally a clingy person, but I’m afraid to let you out of my sight. I know that isn’t natural behavior for me.”