Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“You had it right the first time.” Hope saunters through his stare pushing me to add, pushing me not to make the same mistake twice, “We need to go.” The emotion spreads a little further. Deeper. “Let me tag in Sybil for the last period, tell Hennington that this matters more – you matter more – and meet you at home ASAP?”
There’s reluctance to his nodding.
But he does it.
“Swear you won’t leave without me?” Having him barely repeat the action is what prompts me to reach out for his hand and demand, “Swear to me the way only you can, Jukes.”
“I swear, Gillybean,” he quietly states. “All-4-One style.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip to keep my sigh of relief trapped inside.
“You can’t leave,” M grumpily declares, warranting my attention over my shoulder. “You can’t just blow off your job for some Swiss cheese bud you’re banging.”
The dig at Thayne’s performance is not only uncalled for, it causes him to try to remove his hand from mine, obviously ashamed of how he believes he’s letting down his team.
His boys.
And they are!
Just as much if not more than they’re M’s.
“You’re right,” I assure after giving my boyfriend’s hand a loving squeeze. “I can’t, which is why I’m taking an emergency leave of absence from my career for the silky mitted stud I plan to spend forever with.”
Two completely different yet equally audible breaths hit my ears.
“You’re choosing him over your career?” airily croaks my brother. “Over everything you’ve worked so fucking hard for?”
“You mean am I choosing him over you? No.” Leaning in his direction to guarantee there can be no confusion to what I’m concluding, I forcefully clarify, “I’m choosing us over everything.”
Chapter 23
Thayne
You know when music isn’t really music to your ears?
When that’s practically all you’ve heard for the past couple of hundred miles.
Well, that and your little brother snoring whenever he lets himself drift off.
Bud is louder than the eighteen wheelers we cruise by.
And while flying was an option – perk of being on the same team with Peck who happens to have a family plane available in emergency sitches – this was quicker.
Less work.
More control.
Dubs has periodically called whenever the doctor or nurses arrive to keep us informed of every little thing they’re doing, which is also why I didn’t wanna fly.
I can’t handle not knowing what’s happening as it’s happening.
I can’t handle being this far away from everything.
From her.
How did she get this sick?
How sick is she really?
How long has this been going on?
Why hasn’t she told me?
Fuck, why does everyone wanna keep so many goddamn secrets all of a sudden?!
By the time we arrive in Grams’s room at Highland North Medical Center – the closest large hospital to Middlebrook – I’m running on playoff level of fumes.
Despite loading up on LMC coffee, my eyes are heavy.
My head is heavy.
And worst of all, so is my heart.
Hell, it’s the heaviest of them all.
Seeing the woman who helped raise me with tubes in her nose and cords taped to her arms damn near drops me into a butterfly, something that would hurt to the high heavens without my padding.
Regardless of the fact, we’ve had longer conversations with the cashiers at checkout counters than we have with one another lately, Gilly still swoops in for the assist.
Winds an arm around my frame.
Aids in easing me into the bedside chair that Dubs slips out of as Bronny leans over her sleeping frame. “Grams?” He gingerly places a hand on top of hers and cranes his face closer. “Grams?”
“Boy, livin’ with a dentist should make your breath better than this,” she grouses on a small adjustment of her frame.
“You’re awake,” escapes me in mostly air.
“Of course, I’m awake.” Both eyes lift to shoot me a sarcastic stare. “I jus’ keep pretendin’ to be asleep ‘cause I didn’t wanna talk to nobody.”
“Not even me?” Dubs playfully ponders.
“Especially not you,” she brushes off with a small handwave. “You ain’t ready to hear the truth.”
“I’m not?”
“No.”
“Well…” he curiously begins, “what is it?”
“Little Wessy, how are you still as bad at listenin’ now as you were when you were face high to the counter?”
Small sniggers swirl around the room, yet he pushes, “Tell me anyway.”
“It ain’t my place to tell you your truth, but it’s becomin’ my place to remind you to quit lyin’ to yourself especially about that girl you love more than my plants do the rain in the summer.”
His mouth drops open in pure shock.
Hey, she told him he wasn’t ready.
And she was right.
She usually is.
Is that why she didn’t tell us about whatever’s been going on with her?
‘Cause she didn’t think we were ready?
“Now, why don’t you take Bronny to go get somethin’ to eat in the cafeteria?” Arranging her head on the pillow is accompanied by a smile. “I know he’s starvin’.”