Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 117249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“Flesh wound.” I run my hand across the gauze.
“And the other?”
“Nurse said it looks good.”
“I’d like to hear that from the doctor. He’ll be here soon.” Harley crawls back on the bed carefully, situating herself at my side. “I know it sounds silly, uber-girly, and sappy, but walking in and being here with you guys is the best Christmas present ever.” She looks at everyone before locking eyes with me.
“Are you saying we’re your version of a Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range air rifle?” Talon jokes, helping to keep the mood light after her confession.
Her nose scrunches adorably.
“A Christmas Story, babe.”
“That’s still on?”
“Twenty-four-seven marathon every Christmas.”
“Well, if there is any silver lining to spending Christmas in a hospital in Costa Rica—we won’t have American television.”
“Oh, contraire, Jay-Jay. We’ve already chatted with the staff, and Talon’s streaming it tonight,” Major informs her.
She shakes her head rapidly. “The moms are bringing the bag with the presents I packed. When they get here, we’re having Christmas.”
“You showed up here planning a Christmas party?”
“Told you I had plans to wake you up. Between the food, fun, and present exchange, I figured there was a good chance. If that didn’t work, Plan B was more drastic.”
“Drastic how?”
She chews on her bottom lip, casting a glance sideways and shrugging. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Why do I get the feeling Plan B would have had consequences?”
“Because her hock-eyed scheme was to push your subconscious into a fit of jealousy using the guys as pawns.” Rich throws her right under the bus.
“Dad!”
“Sorry, honey, been listening to your babbling for long enough to know that wasn’t smart.”
“It would suck to save his life, only to have Ace slay me,” Talon complains.
“Well, I was desperate to try anything. My research pointed toward inciting an emotional reaction,” she defends. “Like I said, it’s unnecessary now.”
Jealousy spikes in my system, even though nothing happened. “Glad it didn’t come to that.”
“Merry Christmas, Achilles.” She nuzzles into my neck.
I curl her to me, kissing along her forehead, and rolling my thumb around her bare ring finger. There’s no question about it. When we get back to Nashville, this woman will be wearing my ring.
28
Harley
Max Roberts had it wrong. Way wrong.
If Robbie and Finn were surly, temperamental bitches, he got off easy. I’d welcome surly and temperamental. Instead, I have pig-headed, stubborn, cantankerous grizzly bears who are resolved to defy the science of modern medicine.
The five days in the hospital grew increasingly tense as Achilles and Major tested their limits. It was no surprise they were rebellious patients. Achilles was successful in convincing his doctor to remove the catheter, and both men were required to move around. Achilles made it three times with the walker before he refused to use it again.
Not that he didn’t have mobility, but because of his bulk and stature, we had to make sure he didn’t put too much stress on his wound. Each day that passed, he and Major grew more impatient. Finally, the doctors agreed they are young, healthy, fit men with extremely strong wills, so they released them. But their release came with strict orders. No strenuous activity, no overexertion, and no work for at least a month. Then a reassessment. Gunshot wounds are no joke.
One good thing that occurred was I got to meet the infamous Willie. My first instinct was to be angry with him, but it was impossible. He may have been some kind of big-wig in the Marines, but he walked in like a normal man and won me over. Luckily, he was there when the men were discharged and reiterated their orders with strong authority.
It irritated Major and Achilles, but they didn’t argue when he told them he’d be in touch with me. Either they follow directions, or he’d be making a trip to Nashville. I’m not sure if that’s normal protocol, but I hoped he was serious.
We were discharged and had one night in a Costa Rican hotel courtesy of the U.S. Government. Once again, not sure this was protocol, but I wasn’t complaining. Since I’d arrived, I’d spent every night at Achilles’ side in the hospital. The parents went home two days after we got there. Talon and Ford had a hotel but spent all day at the hospital.
Once again, they displayed the depths of their brotherhood, refusing to leave unless the four of them were together. Well, five, including me.
The early flight out this morning couldn’t have come soon enough. Now that we’ve touched down in Nashville, I’m facing another battle. They are refusing the wheelchair service to get through the airport to baggage.
“Jay-Jay, I handled it. Trust me,” Ford says lowly in my ear as we leave our seats.
“Not sure you gained my trust back yet.”
“Aww, sounds like a challenge.”
We exit the ramp and are assaulted by clapping, howls, and deafening cheers. People we don’t know and will never see again are welcoming us.