Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Flannel pants and my oversized college hockey t-shirt—my favorite.
And of course, he knows.
Just like he knew to order edamame, even though I didn’t ask for it, and an extra side of pickled ginger. We eat in near silence, both of us clearly starving, and by the time I finish my last sip of tea, my lids are drooping. I’m still ridiculously beat, but I’m not shaking anymore, so that’s a start.
I brush my teeth in a haze and sink gratefully onto my mattress, my body feeling both leaden and oddly floaty, a fact I find myself muttering aloud to Stone as he covers me with the blanket.
“Floaty like dizzy?” he asks, sounding concerned again.
I sigh. “No, just like I might float away. Seriously, I’ve never been so tired.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you float away.” Stone settles beside me on top of the covers, snuggling my back to his front in big spoon position, the way we often fall asleep when I’m weak enough to let him sleep over.
Like tonight…
“You can stay over if you want,” I say, already halfway unconscious. “If it feels too late to drive back.”
“I might do that,” he says. “Then text Sophie to take Barb out and feed her tomorrow morning. She won’t mind.”
The last thing I register is Stone pressing a kiss to the back of my head that I like way more than I should.
But I’m too exhausted to worry about “should” right now.
As sleep claims me, all I feel is peace and gratitude that Stone’s in my life. Even if we aren’t headed for forever.
Nothing lasts forever, not even love. I learned that very young. In some ways, that knowledge has made me a sadder person. In others, it’s made me grateful for things other people take for granted.
Things like a friend who picks up the phone when you need them and good sushi, and how much better I sleep when the man’s arms are wrapped around me.
Chapter 4
Stone
“Hi. It’s Stone. Tyler Stone.” I play up the wounded note in my voice as I add, “Could you please let Coach Lauder know I won’t be in until after lunch? Maybe even tomorrow morning, depending on how quickly this migraine passes? It’s a real son of a bitch.”
I pace the length of Remy’s living room, phone tucked between my ear and shoulder, trying to sound properly pained while keeping my volume low enough not to wake her. “Thanks. I appreciate it, Donna. Thank you for— Yes, I’ll hold.”
Donna, the cheerful Badgers’ receptionist, who’s worked at the complex since the 90s, transfers me to someone in HR to “officially” log my sick day. As the tinny hold music fills my ear, I glance down the hall toward Remy’s bedroom, where she’s currently dead to the world, a testament to how utterly exhausted she was last night.
I’ve never seen her like that before.
Remy Lauder is a force of nature, a redheaded hurricane of focus, drive, and determination, with the kind of discipline that makes Navy SEALs look like slackers. In the year and a half that we’ve been…whatever we are…I’ve never once seen her falter.
Until last night.
Finding her shaking by the side of the highway, tears streaming down her face, knocked something loose inside me. A protective, mama bear instinct I didn’t realize I possessed took control, refusing to let up until my girl was nurtured to within an inch of her life.
And yeah, I finally got her to a better place, but it still wasn’t a great one. She clearly needs some major TLC.
But who takes care of Remy Lauder while she’s taking care of business? Who reminds her to eat regular meals and get enough sleep? Who tells her to slow down when she’s running herself into the ground?
Who taught her the value of self-care, real self-care, not the “buy yourself a bottle of prosecco and take a bubble bath” variety?
The answer is painfully obvious: no one.
With a dad like Coach, it’s really no wonder she missed that particular “how to take care of myself” skill set, and I know for a fact she doesn’t let anyone else close enough to try.
Poor pumpkin.
She clearly needs an intervention, whether she likes it or not.
“Hello, Mr. Stone?” A brisk female voice I don’t recognize snaps me back to the present.
“Yes, hi, I’m here,” I say, injecting a note of strain as I add, “So sorry about this. I know it’s terrible timing with training camp just starting, but—”
“Not at all. These things happen,” the stranger interrupts efficiently. “The migraine’s been logged into the system. Just make sure you get a doctor’s note if you’re out for more than two days.”
“Absolutely. Thank you.”
“Before I let you go, I wanted to let you know that Remy Lauder also called in sick today. Food poisoning, apparently. But it could be a virus of some kind. There might be something going around the office.”