Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 31149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Me: And what would that be?
Dermot: To check on you. How are you feeling?
Isn’t he a doll?
Me: Noises are a bit iffy, but I feel okay. Just achy.
Dermot: Have you been drinking water and taking it easy?
Me: Yes, Doctor.
Dermot: I’m pretty sure you typed that with sass.
Me: Who, me? Never.
Dermot: Sure. Is your mom over? I didn’t see her car in her spot.
Me: Nope, she went home about an hour ago.
Once more, the bubbles appear and disappear.
Dermot: Someone is there, right?
Me: …No?
Dermot: You have a serious concussion. You need someone to watch over you.
Me: Nooo, I’m fine. No one needs to worry about me.
Dermot: Well, I’m worried.
“Aw, how sweet,” I mutter to myself. No one has ever just outright told me they were worried. Except my family. I can’t remember if Jason ever thought of anything other than hockey. Or when I was getting on my knees for him.
Dermot: Can you call someone?
Me: Not really. I mean, I could ask my mom to come back, but once she takes out her contacts, it takes forever for her to do anything. My sister has her boys, and they’re already in bed. Sadie, my other local sister, is out of town. I promise I’m okay.
I wait for a solid five minutes as the bubbles appear and disappear, and I can’t help but laugh. I wish I could see him. I bet he has his nose all scrunched together, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he types and deletes, trying to find what he wants to say. When he was stitching me up, he had that look. All focused and considerate, but I knew he was listening to me. He asked me questions and made me feel like I was important. All while taking really good care of me.
When my phone chimes, I look down to see his response.
Dermot: Can I come sit with you?
My heart kicks up, and a swooping feeling in my gut has me pressing my hand to my chest.
Me: You want to come sit with me?
Dermot: Yes.
Me: I’m sure you have something better to do.
Dermot: There is nothing I want more than to make sure you are okay.
Well, talk about kicking a girl in the chest. I gasp at his text and feel his words tingle all over my body.
Dermot: I’ll have to bring Kip. If that’s okay.
Now I’m the one texting and deleting, unsure what to say. My house is a mess, but if I’m honest, it’s always a mess, and… I want him to come over.
To watch over me.
Duh.
Me: Well, if Kip is coming, then it’s a hell yes.
Dermot: What was it when it was just me?
I bite my lip as the corners curve up.
Me: My answer would have been Please.
six
. . .
Dermot
Maggie’s house smells like her.
When I see the sprigs of fresh lavender on her coffee table, I can’t help but smile.
The space is totally her. It has a romantic feel, with lots of white bookcases along the walls. Instead of art on the walls, she has photos arranged on the shelves with all of her favorite books, and she has one bookcase of just her books. She’s also added a huge bouquet of flowers, white marble accents, and various statues of naked bodies to the shelves in front of her books.
It’s classy and sexy.
Just like her.
I stop in front of one photo of her and her four sisters. All the Welch daughters look very similar, with blond hair and blue eyes, little carbon copies of their parents. But to me, Maggie stands out. Not only is she stunning, but she looks like she has a secret that, if you ask nicely enough, she may tell you.
I want to know everything and then some.
I tell myself this is about my Hippocratic oath, about duty and responsibility. But the truth is simpler and far more selfish. I’m here because it lets me be near her, and I don’t have to put myself out there to ask for that.
Which is pathetic.
Start living again. Put yourself out there.
Ugh, if my sister’s concern could fuck off, that’d be great.
“So, not all your sisters live in town?”
Maggie looks up from the couch where she’s lying with Kip across her lap. Damn dog went straight for her when we got here. She washed her hair, but instead of wearing it down, she has the peachy-pink waves back in a loose braid over her shoulder. Strands fall along her temple, making her look as if she belongs on a lily pad in a fairy garden rather than on her bright-white sectional with my dog insisting on cuddles.
My lucky-ass dog sighs deeply as she runs her fingers along his head. “Nope, Opal is a traveling nurse since she doesn’t want to be here. Her ex lives here,” she says, whispering the last part. “And Blake runs my dad’s fundraisers, so she travels all over to make sure each one is up to snuff, doing what they’re supposed to, and meeting people to solicit donations. She could do her job here, but she doesn’t like to come home much. She stays in Nashville a lot since the home base is there. Sadie just moved here from Nashville to basically become the next mayor, but she’s more my dad’s event planner right now. You know, nepotism at its finest.”