Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Doctor says she’s sedated for now.” Julien comes back into the room. Weariness covers every inch of him, but I’m still amazed at his force. It’s like everything comes alive when he’s around.
“How bad?” I wasn’t allowed to see her until now, even though I begged and pleaded. She was stuck down in the ER for a while before getting moved to a private room Julien arranged for her.
“He says she’s going to survive. Her pelvis was shattered and she’s got scrapes and contusions and possibly a head injury. They’re going to take her into surgery soon to try to save her hip.”
I pull into myself. My arms hug around my body. Kim’s alive—she’s alive—but only just barely. And now, for the rest of her life, she’s probably going to be dealing with the fallout from this accident.
No, not an accident. That implies what happened wasn’t totally on purpose.
It was an attack, and it was aimed at me.
Or maybe at Julien. I don’t know which, and it doesn’t matter. Kim wouldn’t have been in harm’s way if I hadn’t invited her over, and I did it knowing full well that Julien’s family was going to war. I just didn’t think, and now Kim’s paying the price for my stupidity.
Worthless. Useless. Dumb as dirt. All of my father’s insults run through my mind as tears roll down my cheeks.
“I’m going to find the men that did this.” Julien’s standing beside Kim’s bed, but he’s looking at me.
I stare back at him and wipe the tears from my face. The rage in his eyes is terrifying, and a chill runs through my stomach. “I believe you,” I tell him. “But I’m not sure it helps.”
“They’ll suffer for what they did to her, my wife. I swear, they will suffer.”
“Will that fix her?”
He shakes his head. “But it will deter anyone else in the future.”
I laugh at the absurdity of that. “As if I’ll ever invite her over again.”
“Don’t do that to yourself.” His expression softens. “I know what you’re thinking right now. You think it’s your fault.”
“Tell me it’s not.”
“It’s not,” he says and comes around to sit next to me. He takes my hand and holds it tightly between his own. His palms are big, firm, and dry. “You had a friend over. You did nothing wrong.”
“I knew about the war.”
“Yes, you did. But I took all the precautions, and look what happened? My driver was on the wrong fucking side of the road. My guards reacted too slowly. I failed you, and I failed her. But I won’t let this happen again.”
I lean into him and hold his hand. I stare at Kim, thinking about her laughing in the hot tub, about her crying over what my father did to me, about her joy and her lightness, and I’m so afraid I’ll never have any of that again.
If this dims her—if this breaks her—
I won’t be able to live with myself.
An hour passes. Eventually, I tell Julien he should go.
“I’m not leaving your side,” he says firmly. And so far, that’s true. He’s been texting with his men, and he took a few calls in French, but otherwise he’s been right there.
He doesn’t owe me this. He’s my husband, but only on paper. What happened to Kim isn’t his fault, and he doesn’t have to sit around in this hospital room while I feel sorry for myself and spiral into a dark pit of self-loathing.
But he still doesn’t go.
And after a little while, I realize I don’t really want him to.
I’m strangely comforted by him. Julien’s big and strong, and he’s brooding almost as much as I am, but he’s gentle when he takes my hand and holds it. He doesn’t push me to talk when I don’t want to, and he doesn’t complain about how long we’re staring at Kim’s sleeping body.
All he does is stay with me.
Kim goes into surgery.
The doctor says it’ll at least be a couple of hours. Julien convinces me to go home with him, and promises we’ll head back to the hospital the moment she’s awake again. I’m pretty sure he bribes the nurses to call.
It’s around ten at night when we get back to his kitchen. He takes another call and barks angry commands. When he hangs up, he pours two glasses of wine, and we sit together at the island, my knee touching his.
“Who was that?” I ask, nodding at the phone.
“Jean. I shouldn’t yell at him like that, but it’s been a stressful evening.”
“Is everything okay?”
“The guards got the license plate for the truck, but it was stolen. Jean found it abandoned in Southside. They’re still hunting for the men that did this.”
I drink and regret asking. I don’t want to know the details. “You don’t have to. Go out of your way, I mean.”