Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“Don’t worry, Doctor. I plan on taking very good care of her. You can count on it.” He smiles and squeezes my hand in reassurance.
Dr. Morton smiles and nods his head before saying, “Well, then, if you feel up to it, you are free to go home in the morning, Ms. Martinez. But, remember to take it easy.”
“She will, doctor,” Joaquin says. “I’ll make sure of that.”
“Good. I’m prescribing antibiotics and a painkiller for you, which means no alcohol. The nurse will give you instructions for cleaning your wound and changing your bandage. Do what we tell you, and you’ll be fine when I see you in about a week.”
I nod at his stern expression, swallowing around the sudden lump in my throat. “Understood. And, hey, Doc. Thanks for saving my life. Twice.”
“No problem.” He smiles, casting an unsure smile at Joaquin, and leaves.
“I can’t believe I get to go home so soon,” I say when it’s just Joaquin and me again.
“They’ve only been waiting for you to open your eyes, Willow.”
I nod and scan the room. “I guess I should call my mom to bring me some clothes and take me home.”
Joaquin folds his arms and grins. “Did you forget already? You’re coming with me.”
I gasp and shake my head. “I’ll need clothes,” I say because what in the hell else do I say?
“I know. I went by your house this morning before I came here because your mom packed some things. Everything you need is in this bag right here.” He lifts the bag with a proud smile. “I helped.”
“Stacking up the karma points now, are we?”
He shrugs. “I want you to be comfortable,” he says very seriously. “It’s why I added lots of lingerie after your mom packed a bunch of normal shit.”
“Lingerie isn’t normal?”
“Not for the shit I want to do to you.”
Joaquin sits back in the chair, and we watch TV until I finally fall asleep.
I wake up to the sound of the hospital breakfast delivery and shake Joaquin awake, ignoring the pain tearing through my back and my side. “Wake up, handsome. I’m ready to go home.”
He rubs his eyes open and smiles. “Good morning, beautiful. Don’t you want to eat this fancy breakfast before you go?”
My face scrunches up. “No. I’d rather eat at home.”
“Okay then.” He smiles. “Let me call the nurse to get your papers ready, and you need to get dressed. Need any help?”
I sigh to hide the swoony feeling settling around me at the thought of this big, strong man taking care of me. Playing nursemaid.
“I’ll call you if I need you.”
“I’m here,” is all he says, and those two words of reassurance are just about all I can stand.
Inside the bathroom, tears fall, and I don’t know if they are tears of joy, relief, or really good drugs.
And it’s not Joaquin’s guilt or the offer to take care of me that has my heart galloping like a wild horse in my chest. The look in his eyes when he saw me awake, the relief that made his whole body sag, those signs that he cares. That he sees me as something more than a good-time girl.
Is that too much to hope for right now? Probably. But I’m healing and hopeful, and more than anything, I want to hope for this. I deserve it, dammit. And I’m not going to run like a scared little girl. I’m going to run headlong toward the future I want.
The future I almost didn’t get.
Three knocks sound on the door. “I got your dismissal papers. Everything all right in there?”
I nod even though Joaquin can’t see me, and I rinse away all traces of tears with cold water.
“I’m good,” I tell him honestly because I feel hope and relief. And pain, too, of course.
“Just got a good look at my reflection. Scary shit,” I admit.
He laughs. “You look beautiful, and I’ll help you shower. At home.”
A shiver steals down my spine at those two words. At home. As if his home is our home. Some day. With the promise of a shower, I wipe down my body and wet my hair, dressing quickly because I’m so eager to get the hell out of this hospital.
One last glance in the mirror. It’s the best I can do. “Okay. Ready,” I say, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach.
His eyes heat at the sight of me in blue jeans and a t-shirt, but Joaquin licks his lips like I’m a giant, juicy steak. “I should have taken more flannel pajamas for you,” he growls.
I laugh. “Let’s go play nurse. I hope it involves one of those sexy white uniforms.”
He takes my bag and shoves the prescriptions and after-care instructions inside before he zips it up and points at the wheelchair.
“Have a seat.”
“No fucking way. The bullet was in my back, not my ass.”