Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
My best friend snaps his head up in horror and quickly ends his call. “I gotta go, Ma. She looks like she’s actually awake this time.”
This time?!
What does he mean this time?!
Questions aren’t allowed to be verbally formed due to him sweetly scolding, “You need to be careful, Angel Cake. Last thing you wanna do is accidently rip out one of these wires.” Slater slides himself to the very edge of his seat to fix whatever got messed up during my thrashing. “Trust me. I’m a trained medical professional.”
Desperate to see the color I love so much return to his words encourages me to tease, “Nah. You just play one on T.V.”
A warm chuckle is attached to an amused nod. “Hey, if you wanna start callin’ me Doctor McHunky, that’s fine by me.” Giggles reverberate around the room, shifting his stare from my arm back to my eyes. “You have no idea how thankful I am to hear that sound again, Arley.” Rather than wait for me to say something, Slater resumes smoothing the tape back down, an action that elicits whimpers to seep past my slightly parted lips. The new noises have him cutting his crystal gaze back up to my brown. “Too hard, baby?”
Urges to repeat the sound are instant courtesy of the new butterflies dancing around my stomach.
Wow.
And here I thought I couldn’t love being called anything more than Angel Cake.
His eyebrows suddenly lift higher in question prompting me to answer in the form of a slow headshake.
Relief quickly reclaims his expression as he finishes the task in silence. Afterward, his hand lingers on top of the area, thumb gently stroking the territory, simultaneously soothing and protecting it.
Me.
“I know those glasses aren’t your favorite,” he kicks his chin the direction of my face, “but I didn't exactly have time to swing by your place and grab another, so you’re stuck with the brown ones you keep in my truck for emergencies.”
Giving the leopard print spares an adjustment is absentmindedly done.
“Do you know where you are?”
“The hospital?”
“Do you know how you got here?”
A much faster headshake than before presents itself.
“What’s um…” He does his best to maintain his composure; however, the shakiness in the words falling into the space between us tells me exactly how scared he truly is. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Sucking in a deep breath occurs in tandem with shutting my eyes.
What is the last thing I actually remember?
Was it drinking with him on my couch?
Did we even…drink last night?
Today?
When is it?
Panic threatens to take over my mind, yet the sweet caress from Slater swiftly brushes it away.
Reminds me I’m not alone.
That there’s nothing to fear.
That there’s never anything to fear with him around.
“I…” my gaze returns to him revealing uncertainty. “I remember leaving the office. I think…late?” Pulling my brow tightly together is accompanied by another attempt to recall more information. “Pretty sure I was working late.” Fear propels itself up the back of my throat into my words. “Was I working late, Slater? Was I working at all? Why don’t I remember?” New waves of worry wash over me. “Why can’t I remember?!”
“Hey, now,” he sweetly coos, baby blue shades invading his speech, “how about you give me a big, deep breath?” The corners of his mouth try to turn upward. “One with all the fixin’s.” Additional soft brushes from his thumb make the request impossible to deny and given the grin that successfully appears on his face, he knows it. “One where I can see those music notes two steppin’ along your collarbone.”
The reference to the tattoo I know he can see because of how loose the hospital gown is not only has me following his orders but giggling again as well.
Gah…
How does he do that?
How does he always know just how to defuse a situation before it becomes a major situation?
Is that something they trained him for in the military?
“Alright then,” he warmly states and scoots his chair closer. “Let me start by saying trouble rememberin’ things is normal when dealin’ with a head injury. Especially if you’re sufferin’ from a concussion.”
“A concussion?!”
It looks like it’s painful for him to nod in acknowledgement. “You’ve been in and out for the past few hours and while there doesn’t appear to be any damage, they’re gonna do a CT scan to make sure everything with that big, beautiful brain of yours is still in the best condition possible.”
Headshakes are attached to a whispered argument. “I don’t want a CT scan.”
“I wasn’t askin’.”
“But-”
“And I’m not arguin’.”
The firmness in his voice has me pressing my lips tightly together to suppress further objections.
Pretty sure I get some sort of say in this situation as an adult.
Afterall, it’s me who has to suffer through that tube of judgment, not him. God knows I’ve had enough of those types of tests and evaluations for this lifetime and the next seven.