Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
What in the actual fuck was that?
Pleaseeeee don’t tell me Becks broke something again.
The freezer door and other bar stool were enough.
I know the apartment is marketed as industrial chic but that doesn’t mean to test the strength of the shit in it.
“Apologies,” I frustratedly grumble at the same time I tuck my figurine into my beige blazer pocket. “I apparently need to check on my flat mate before I get to the barn.” Rolling the pen into the small booklet occupying space on the island is followed by shutting it closed. “I would not like another broken mystery surprise when I return home in the morning.”
“Any chance he’s doing this shit on purpose?” Dad curiously inspects. “You know…a passive aggressive play?”
“Regarding?”
“The amount of time you spend with your very beautiful other half,” Father promptly replies. “I recall Carson’s roommate who behaved in a similar fashion when our sleepovers became a bit more frequent.”
Dad grunts out a laugh. “He was just pissed he was gonna have to pay rent alone.”
“Becks currently does not pay rent, so I do not believe that to be the issue.”
Although, we should discuss that.
Especially for when I totally move in with Arden.
Truth time.
I practically already live there.
I have the basics of a toothbrush, deodorant, and boxer briefs; however, I have the less simple shit as well.
Bodywash.
Cologne.
A suit.
That’s correct.
Not only do I have a drawer – technically now two – for underwear and sweats and loungewear and workout gear and jeans, I also have an emergency suit hanging in her closet just in case I don’t have time to get back here to change.
It’s hanging right next to the cocktail dress she was wearing when we first played pool together.
I don’t want to put the point on the board before the biscuit drops but…she did ask if I wanted her to rearrange Bear’s arsenal of dog food and accessories so that I could park Lucilla in the garage beside her jeep.
Fairly certain moving the rest of my shit in comes next.
“Call it food for thought,” Father politely insists.
“Not the game day appie you prefer but take it anyway,” Dad impishly commands.
“Fine.” Picking up my cell to end the call precedes me doing it verbally. “Love you both.”
“Love you,” they echo without hesitation.
Getting to Becks’ room from the kitchen is a short trip, much like opening the door is an easy action given its slightly cracked nature.
“You alri-” isn’t even allowed to become a completed thought due to the blood on the windowsill and his sprawled out, slumped over nature on the very edge of his mattress. “Becksssss!” Flying over to drop beside him is followed by severe shaking. “Becks! Bloodyhell, mate, wake up!” I viciously tear the collar of his t-shirt to expose his neck. “Wakeup!” Two fingers firmly press against the territory where they frantically begin searching for a pulse. “Comeonbud!”
Nothing.
“ComeonBecks!”
Still nothing.
“Becks!”
Finally, feeling the faintest beat against my digits, I expel a small sigh of relief.
He’s alive.
But for how long?
Quickly dialing an emergency apple occurs between wetting the edge of the nearby sheet with whatever’s left in the vodka bottle – hoping it works to clean the wound – and applying pressure to the gash.
The very calm, very polite woman on the other end of the phone remains on the line, guiding my actions.
Instructing how to gently move his head to keep it aligned with his spine.
How to check if his airway is blocked.
What to listen for when it comes to changes in his breathing.
Despite every instinct in my body screaming from the bench to do more, I don’t.
I maintain my focus.
Keep my mitts moving where I’m coached and eyes scanning the situation for the tiniest shift in behavior to report to her or the paramedics when they arrive.
While time seems to stretch on like a period with too many zebras blowing whistles whenever they even think they saw an infraction, I simply shoulder onward.
Bench any thoughts about not completing my ritch.
Being late.
Missing warmies.
Possibly being scratched for the whole night.
No.
The only thing that matters is that Becks is alive.
That he stays alive.
I mean I can’t just leave one of the boys behind.
Especially not to die.
Chapter 19
Tanner
The upside to being on IR?
You aren’t required to be at the games.
Unlike when you’re an active member on the roster.
Aka…me.
“You sure you got this, Pecks?” Hesitation to leave the waiting room remains. “You sure this doesn’t fuck up your night?”
“Us losing ‘cause your ass wasn’t there would fuck up my night, aye,” he describes on a ruffling of his shaggy black hair. “Get to the barn. Help get us a dub. I’ve got shit covered here.” His 3P sweats covered frame flops into the nearest seat. “Trust me. I know how to handle hospitals. I’ve had plenty of hours in ‘em.”
I do my best to politely grin. “Appreesh.”
“Yeah.”
“Text me.”
“The second we know something.”