Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
I’m busy mulling over everything Knight Slater when a familiar face pops into my room. “Your bitch-ass ready to leave yet?”
I grin at Izzy. “Almost. Just waiting for the nurse to come back with my discharge papers, and then we can get out of here.”
“Thank fuck. I love you and all, but hospitals give me the creeps. I don’t know how you spend your days down in that morgue. You realize how fucked up that is, right?”
“The morgue is my peace,” I tell her. “Well, it usually is. Not with all this stalker shit. That’s kinda fucking with my zen.”
“Ya think?” she grunts.
Izzy helps me pack up all the things she brought, including the human-sized bear that’s been taking up residence in the corner of the room—and scaring the shit out of me every damn night, thinking someone is watching me while I sleep.
The second everything is packed and ready, there’s a soft knock on the door, and not a moment later, Celia walks in with my discharge papers just as Izzy dips out. “I’d like to say that it’s a shame to see you go, but honestly, I can’t wait to see the back of you,” Celia tells me. “Doctors always make the worst patients.”
I suck in a gasp, feigning offense. “I’ve been nothing less than the perfect patient.”
She gives me a hard stare. “You’ve been a pain in my ass.”
I grin, but she doesn’t allow me the chance to respond. “I trust Dr. Hart has already spoken to you about your pain medication and what’s expected of your healing journey? I know you’re eager to get home, but I don’t want to see your ass back in here, so nothing stupid. Play it smart. You’re still healing so no strenuous activity.”
“I know, I know,” I say, getting back to my feet just as Izzy barrels back in with a wheelchair and her eyes lighting up like the Fourth of July.
Celia shoves the discharge papers in my face before handing me a pen. “Sign here, then you’re free to go.”
I quickly scan over the discharge form, making sure everything looks the way it’s supposed to before signing my life away. Celia disappears, leaving me in the capable hands of my best friend. “Get on,” she says, her grin widening as she points toward the wheelchair. “I wanna see how fast this thing can go.”
Well, shit.
An hour later, Izzy is helping me into my bed, going the extra mile by fluffing my pillows and pulling the blankets right up to my chin, and while I’ve done nothing but rest for the past five days, I can’t help but feel tired. The trip home took it out of me. Izzy is a great driver . . . most of the time, but every corner and slight bump left me in agony.
She sets me up with my painkillers right beside the bed, along with my phone and a bottle of water. Then just when I think she’s done it all, she walks out into my living room and comes back dragging my entertainment unit behind her, the TV wobbling back and forth.
“There,” she says a moment later, tossing the remote onto the bed and surveying her handiwork. “That looks good.”
“Have I told you that even though you’re a thirsty hoe, I still love you?”
Izzy grins wide. “I’m gonna fuck Knight’s friends.”
I let out a heavy sigh. She hasn’t let up about it since the second they walked out of my hospital room. “Shut up and order us noodles,” I tell her. “Then let’s find you a Tinder date that’ll work those big asshats right out of your system.”
Izzy is all too happy to oblige, and forty-five minutes later, we’re snuggled in my bed, eating the best noodles Blackstone has to offer while swiping through the endless choices Tinder has to offer.
Netflix plays in the background, but I don’t think either of us has watched even a second of the show that’s on. I don’t even remember the name of it. All that matters are the faces that appear on Izzy’s phone.
She’s busily chatting away with someone when a text comes through on my phone, and as I glance down at the screen, all the laughter is sucked out of the room.
I grab my phone and show Izzy, and all she can do is scoff. “That man. I swear . . . ” she says, cutting herself off, not actually having an ending to that sentence.
I laugh, her supporting frustration warming something in my heart. She’s always had my back like that, whether we agree or not. If I’m pissed at someone, she’ll be twice as pissed at them before I’ve even explained what happened.
I know I should ignore his message, but I’m feeling petty and after having to spend five days in that damn hospital bed, covered head to toe in bruises and swelling, I can barely control myself as my thumb moves across the screen.