Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“I don’t want to think about it.” Melissa shudders. “There’s no way I’ll be able to look Delores in the face after all this. We’ll sneak out and you can text her where you are later.”
“I approve of this plan.” I stand, pointing toward the door with my good arm. “Let’s go. Now. I can get the rest of my stuff later. I don’t need a toothbrush or deodorant. At least not as much as I need the sex trauma to end.”
With a soft laugh, Mel dumps the last of my clothes in the bag. “I’ll get your toothbrush and deodorant, you weirdo. In the hall bathroom?”
“Yes, in the black bag that’s open by the sink,” I say. “And my laptop and phone charger are in the living room on the desk.”
“Be right back,” she says, darting out into the hall on silent feet, like a ninja.
She’s only gone for thirty seconds or so, but it’s enough time for the wall pounding to make me start to spiral all over again.
“I’m going to need therapy,” I say in a hollow voice as Melissa pops my toiletries and computer into the bag and zips it up. “Or a hypnotist. I want someone to reach into my brain and erase everything I’ve heard today.”
“Would a nice steak dinner help?” she asks. “I have two filets at home. We could leave the soup and bread here for Delores and her man and do steaks and grilled vegetables instead?”
“You’re an angel,” I say.
She snorts as she extends the pull handle at the end of my bag. “We’ll see if you still think that once you’ve had a toddler wake you up at six a.m. every day.” Her smile fades a watt or two, “Or almost every day. He’s at Ben’s again at some point soon. I’ll have to check the stupid schedule.” Before I can offer her any words of comfort, she pushes on, “Up and at ‘em, Boudreaux. The sooner we’re out of here, the sooner we can put this audio nightmare behind us.”
I want to tell her I love her again on the way out to her car, but I settle for, “Thank you, Mel. Really. I owe you big time.”
“It’s not a big deal.” She tosses my bag in the back seat as I maneuver into the passenger’s side, being careful not to disturb my sling or the bandage on my neck. “I have an extra bedroom and no one around to bug you during the day. It’ll be a peaceful place to recover. You’ll be helping me out, too.” She slides in beside me, adding, “But if you don’t feel up to watching Chase tomorrow afternoon, that’s fine. I can find someone else. I don’t want you to bite off more than you can chew when you’re still all bandaged up and sickly looking.”
“I don’t look sickly,” I counter. “I look rough around the edges. Like a warrior, fresh from battle.”
She hums low in her throat as she shifts her ancient bug into reverse and turns to gaze over her shoulder. “Right. A warrior who’s really pale and needs a nap.”
“Fuck naps. Naps are for the weak and literal children.” I take a deep breath and blow it out through pursed lips, willing blood to start flowing toward my face. “I can handle babysitting, no problem. Like you said, as long as I don’t need to pick Chase up, we’ll be golden. I can play Legos for hours. Ask Nora. I used to force her to build a Christmas village with me every year, until we were in our teens. Also, not to brag, but kids love me. Like, really love me. I’m catnip for the under-five set.”
“They sense that you’re still an overgrown child, perhaps?” Melissa asks as she guides the car out of the subdivision, away from the horny octogenarians and toward a bright new future with no old person fucking in it.
“Probably.” I grin, relief flooding through my tense muscles. “No shame in that. Adulting is overrated.”
I did enough of that as a kid. I spent my childhood protecting my sister from my father’s rage and my teen years eaten alive by bitterness and repressed anger. It only seems fair that I get to spend at least part of my adulthood embracing things that bring me joy. Even if they are “kid” things, like playing with blocks or collecting vintage robot toys.
“Then I’m sure you and Chase will get along great,” Mel says. “He’s just getting into Legos, but he’s always loved his big wooden block set. I’ll clear off the coffee table before I leave for work tomorrow, so you guys can block until your hearts are content.” She frowns and casts a quick glance my way before taking the left toward her place. “Will you be able to click the Legos together with one hand?”