Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
We’ve even repeated a shower routine, only Rian handcuffed me in the bathroom with him while he took one.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few days, though, it’s that Rian is mostly like a normal guy. Sure, he’s moody, bossy, and…sad. It’s not something I noticed right away, but Rian is incredibly fucking sad, but then, how many of us aren’t? If I hadn’t been there when he killed someone, if I hadn’t been taken by him and threatened by him, I would never know the darkness he hides.
He would just be a guy who lost his wife, the person he is obviously still in love with, and one who has close friends and a son he would take on the world for.
Those are the things I try to focus on.
Well, that and how funny it is that he pouts when he loses at Jenga.
“I have a bad arm. That’s why I’m not good at this game,” he finally says as though he’s been trying to come up with a reason he’s not good at keeping a tower of wood from falling.
“It’s okay to lose,” I say as I begin packing the game away.
“Says you,” he counters.
“How does your arm feel?”
“Ugh,” he groans. “Stop asking me that.”
He’s healing remarkably well. I’ve been watching for signs of infection or necrosis, and with none in sight, I felt comfortable closing his wound a couple of days back. I’d seen them left open for up to two weeks. Gunshot wounds often leave a lot of bacteria in the body, so we’re always extra careful.
The whole process hadn’t been fun for either of us because he hadn’t allowed me to give him much pain medication—afraid he would pass out, and I’d escape, I guess—and hurting people is one of my least favorite things to do. But it’s done now, and we don’t have to worry about it again.
“You’re in a mood,” I tell him. He gets like that sometimes. One minute he’ll be okay—talking to me, laughing with me—and the next, it’s like he shuts down. Which I guess is how we should both be—shut down. I mean, at least with each other. It’s not as though Rian and I are friends.
He rubs his good hand over his face. “Sorry. I’ve just…got a lot on my mind.”
“Same,” I reply before our eyes meet, his going soft around the edges, an almost gentle, apologetic look on his face, likely thinking the same thing I am.
I have a lot on my mind because of him.
I’m on his, but I know that’s not all there is. He takes phone calls from who I assume is his asshole friend, the two of them speaking in hushed voices. Sometimes he handcuffs me so he can go outside or into a different room for them to talk.
They’re trying to find someone, though I’m not sure who, but I can’t figure out what else is going on.
“Your boyfriend has been trying to get a hold of you,” Rian says, out of nowhere.
“What? I don’t have a boyfriend, and how do you know someone has been trying to get a hold of me?”
“That’s important information for us to know, right?” he asks, and I shift uncomfortably where I’m sitting on the floor, on the opposite side of the coffee table from him.
“Are you talking about Hector?” I ask.
He nods.
“We broke up.”
“Then why did he go to your house? And why did he inquire about your leave of absence with the hospital?”
I stare at him for a moment, stunned that they can find out this kind of information. I’m sure they’re watching my place, interested in seeing if anyone is looking for me, I would guess, but how can they find out who has been asking for me at the hospital? “How deep do your connections go?”
“You don’t want to know,” he answers.
I shouldn’t be surprised he doesn’t answer me, but I hadn’t expected Rian to talk to me about a lot of the things he’s spoken to me about, so there had been a possibility. Still, it shouldn’t sting the way it does, shouldn’t be this strange burning pain beneath my skin.
“I’m sure he’s asking about me because he knows I’m not the type to take a random leave of absence.” I’m surprised they believed me and approved it at all, but for all I know, Rian and his friends had a hand in that as well. And on the other hand, why would they expect something else when it had been my voice on the call?
“Do the two of you still meet up? Still fuck?”
“What the hell does that have to do with you?” I push to my feet, taking the game back to the games closet where he’d pulled it from. Why does a criminal hangout have so many board games, anyway?