Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“It hurts more if I’m not touching you.” I tilt her face up to mine and study her, letting her touch me, feel me.
“I love you,” she whispers, pushing her mouth to my dry lips.
“I’m glad.” So glad.
“Don’t say that. I don’t want you to say that.”
Why does this anger her? “But I am.”
“That’s not what you usually say,” she protests, feeling my hair, then pulling it.
Oh, I see. I smile to myself. “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you,” she replies quickly.
“I know.” I instigate the next kiss, riding the pain while trying to hide my discomfort. It’s probably the feeblest kiss I’ve ever given her.
“I’m getting the nurse now. You need some painkillers.”
“I need you. You’re my cure.”
“Then why are you still tensing and hissing in discomfort?” she asks, holding my face.
“Because it fucking hurts.” Get me those painkillers pronto.
She smiles, stealing one more kiss, and gets up off the bed carefully. And I feel . . . light. So fucking light. It’s not your time yet, Jesse. Because I have a job to do here.
I watch Ava as she faffs around my bed, fixing the sheets. “What are you smiling about?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“You’re going to love this, aren’t you?” I say, lifting my head so she can plump my pillow.
“I have the power,” she whispers playfully as I grimace.
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh,” the nurse sings when she whirls in. “Oh my.” Going to the monitor beside my bed, she presses a few buttons. “Welcome back, Jesse.”
“Thanks,” I grumble, bracing myself for the onslaught of poking.
“Feeling groggy?”
“Shit.” Was she expecting cartwheels? “When can I go home?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She chuckles. “Eyes, please.” She shines a light in my eyes, making me squint. “Your wife has told me all about these eyes.” Oh? “They really are quite something.”
You bet your arse they are. “Is that all she told you about, nurse?”
“No.” She smiles wickedly. “She’s told me about that roguish grin too.” Roguish? “Bed bath?”
What? “No, I’ll shower,” I mutter, hearing Ava chuckling.
“No can do, young man,” the nurse says, raining on my parade. “Not until the doctor checks you over and we remove your catheter.”
I have a piss bag? Oh, please tell me I don’t have a piss bag. The nurse holds up a piss bag. “For fuck’s sake.” How long have I got to stay here?
“I’ll call the doctor.”
Yes, please do. Hopefully he’ll be a little more reasonable and will compromise. I find Ava, happy to see some color back in her cheeks. “Get me out of here, baby.”
“No way, Ward.” She offers me a straw. “Drink.”
“Is it bottled?”
“I doubt it. Stop being a water snob and drink.”
Don’t have much choice, do I? “Don’t let that nurse give me a bed bath.”
“Why not? It’s her job, Jesse, and she’s been doing it very well for the past two weeks.”
Wait, what? “Two weeks?” How the hell is that possible? “I’ve been out for two weeks?”
“Yes.” She flinches. “But it felt more like two hundred years.”
Has she eaten anything in those two weeks? Showered at all? Two fucking weeks? Ava sits on the edge of the bed and plays with my ring. “Don’t ever complain to me about having a long day again.”
“Okay.” Two weeks? My God, how many times have I relived the nightmare in those two weeks? “She hasn’t really been sponging me down, has she?”
“No, I have,” Ava declares, and that makes me feel so much better. She’s been looking after me. She hasn’t left my side. If I needed any kind of confirmation that she’s committed, I suppose I have it.
“So while I was naked and unconscious,” I say, restraining my smile. “You were . . .” How do I put it? “Fondling me?”
“No,” she says slowly. “I was washing you.”
“And you didn’t have a sneaky touch?”
“Of course.” She comes close, and my smile widens. “I needed to lift your limp dick to get to your saggy balls.”
I feel instantly sick. “I’m in hell. Fucking hell on earth. Get me a doctor. I’m going home.”
“You’re going nowhere,” she says over her delighted chuckle, kissing me, like that might pacify me. It won’t. I’ll discharge myself.
“I need to pee.”
I frown down my body as Ava slips into the attached bathroom, feeling a brief urge to pee too, and then . . . nothing. Because, the bag of piss. “God,” I grunt, letting my head sink into my recently plumped pillow. I shift a little, grumbling in pain. This bed is lumpy. I’ll be far more comfortable at home, in my own bed, with my favorite nursemaid.
How can I convince them?
The door opens, and a middle-aged man in chinos and a white shirt—sleeves rolled up—wanders in. “Jesse,” he says, going straight to the machinery and checking things over.
“Doctor?” I ask.
“Trauma surgeon. Mr. Emerson. I specialize in knife-related injuries. How are you feeling?”