Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
She needed to be taken care of, most notably by the man in love with her. But she insisted. And Cole was planning on coming back to help. Plus, there was Calliope. Nora. Tiffany. Even though the thought of those people playing nurse to me was embarrassing. I was growing close with them, but not that close.
It was comforting as much as it was irritating to hear Beau barking and grumpy. During my entire hospital stay, he’d been gentle, soft-spoken and oh-so-fucking sorrowful and haunted. Which didn’t satisfy me. Not even the petty part of me that was furious at Beau wished an eternal hangnail upon him.
The anguish in his eyes reminded me every moment of what we were. What we weren’t.
I wanted desperately to erase the horrible day that preceded Waylon shooting me. Wanted to forget that Beau had let me go.
But I couldn’t forget it. It was burned into my brain.
“I don’t recall asking your opinion on where I was going,” I said as I got my toiletries from the bathroom.
The toiletries that had been in Beau’s bathroom. The toiletries that had clattered to the sink the last night we were us.
“Home.” Beau took the toiletries from me, stomping over to add them to my small suitcase. It didn’t escape me that the bag contained almost as many things as the small duffel I’d arrived with.
Much nicer things, though.
I, quite obviously, hadn’t arrived at the hospital with anything but a weak pulse and half of the blood my body required to survive.
Every day since I’d woken up, I’d received a new delivery of things. Silk pajamas I definitely didn’t own before, plush robes, slippers, underwear, sweats. All high quality. All way out of my price range.
Which meant they either came from Calliope or Cole. I wasn’t in the position to argue. The luxuries helped serve as a barrier between the reality of where I was. What had happened.
“You’re coming home,” Beau declared, zipping up the suitcase.
I pursed my lips and did my best to shuffle toward him, and my shoes, despite the pain gnawing my heart. Pain not just from the gunshot wound. I was on enough drugs to help soothe the worst of that, but the agony caused by hearing Beau still referring to his place as my home.
As I opened my mouth to fight, curse him, fall apart, a small voice interrupted me.
“You’re coming home?”
I turned quickly, wincing at the rapid movement. My painkillers weren’t that good.
I felt Beau rush to my side, softly place his hands gently on my hips as if to steady me. His touch was a balm and torment at the same time.
Clara was standing at the door, holding her grandfather’s hand.
“You’re coming home?” she repeated, hope and joy in her voice. Her eyes sparkled with that light I’d been missing since the moment that gun went off.
I stared at her. The little person I loved most in this world.
“Yes, Blueberry,” I replied quietly. “I’m coming home.”
Five Weeks Later
I slept with Clara every night.
In Beau’s bed.
With Beau.
Because Clara now had nightmares. And she needed both of us to settle.
Neither Beau nor I would deny her a single thing that would help her feel safe.
I had nightmares too.
And interestingly, I didn’t have them when I had both Clara and Beau by my side.
Once again, like at the start, Clara was our buffer. Despite her being small in stature, she was a mighty force in those early days. Yet now, despite all her magnificence, she couldn’t buffer us from our past. Couldn’t shield us from the knowledge we had of each other. The hurt leeching through the cracks.
It was torture.
And it was untenable.
I was healing physically, so I considered going back to school for the spring semester, if I took limited classes.
If I chose the school thirty minutes away. The one I’d already enrolled in. Paid for.
Or I could take Cole up on his offer for me to move in with him in New York. Which meant paying for a whole new school and attempting to transfer again.
Not that that was really an option.
Not with Clara only just now getting back to her old self, having less nightmares. Another change for her, me leaving, would be too much for her. Too much for me.
I couldn’t sleep in Beau’s bed indefinitely.
We’d both been avoiding the conversation.
Well, I had been avoiding that conversation as well as any conversation with Beau that threatened to go beyond surface level.
He had made it clear that he was ready to talk through things whenever I wanted. That he was willing to grovel on his knees, do anything for my forgiveness. He showed it subtly, respecting my distance. Well, as much as he could while helping me shower, helping me dress.
I hated being dependent on him, yet I needed it. He was the only person I wanted to take care of me. His fingers knew my body, were impossibly gentle. Patient. He kept his touch clinical, though, not pushing boundaries, respecting me.