Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“What the hell are you doing?”
Jumping, I turn to look over my shoulder and find Harlen with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed on me, like he just caught me in an embrace with another man. “Looking for something to eat. What does it look like I’m doing?” I reply sassily, and then growl in frustration when he uncrosses his arms and comes toward me. “Do not pick me up!” I yell, right before he picks me up. “Seriously, you need to stop hauling me around.” He kicks the fridge door closed then carries me to the couch in the living room, setting me down gently then lifting my legs and shoving a pillow under them.
“Now, what do you want to eat?” he asks, putting one fist to the back of the couch, the other on the arm, caging me in.
“You need to let me do stuff for myself.” I push at his chest, but he doesn’t move, not even an inch.
“I’m taking care of you.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t walk, or cook, or take a shower alone.”
“You complaining about me helping you in the shower?” he prompts, and I grit my teeth, remembering just how nice it was this morning when he helped me in the shower… before helping himself in the shower.
“No.”
“Good.”
“Honey,” I lower my voice in hopes to get through to him, “I’m okay. I’m healing. The doctors have said I’m doing great, but I need to start doing stuff for myself too. Without you hovering over me.”
“I don’t hover.”
Oh Lord, here we go. He does hover. I can’t do anything without him standing at my back, watching my every move. “Okay, you don’t hover. I’m just saying I need to do things on my own again.”
“I don’t hover.”
Lord, give me patience.
“You saved me,” I say, and his chin jerks back so I lower my voice even more. “I love you. I know what happened was hard, but you saved me. I didn’t die. I’m living and breathing, and so are you. I want us to get back to normal.”
“Angel—”
“Please, Harlen,” I beg. “I want normal back. I need that.”
“I almost lost you.”
God, that hurts. No, it kills me, to not only see the pain in his eyes, but to hear it in his voice when he says it.
“I know, but you didn’t and you won’t.”
“You need to give me time, baby.”
“I know,” I agree, because that really is the only thing that is going to help, but at the same time, I want to move on. I don’t want to see him looking at me like I’m going to suddenly disappear right before his eyes, or to wake up at night finding him wide awake, his arms tight around me because he’s afraid I won’t be there if he goes to sleep. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He leans in, resting his forehead to mine. “More than anything on this earth.”
Tears start to fill my eyes, and I can’t hold them back as they fall down my cheeks. “How can I help you deal with this?” I ask through the lump in my throat.
“You breathing is helping me, but I need time to forget how close I came to losing you, to forget what happened. I know I’m a little overbearing right now, and I don’t know when that will stop… or if it will. I still see the look in your eyes when he raised the gun toward you, still feel your body going limp in my arms as I carried you to the ambulance. I don’t know when I will get over that, or if I ever will.”
Every single one of his words cuts me open, leaving me completely bare. I hate that he was so close to losing me, after already suffering the loss of his parents and knowing what a lifetime without them feels like.
“I’ll give you time, as much time as you need,” I finally say, watching his eyes close. Moving my hands to his face, I tip my head and press my mouth against his. “It will be okay.”
“Okay, Angel.”
“I promise it will be okay,” I whisper against his lips, the same words he said to me, and I pray that he will believe them like I did.
“Okay, baby.” He kisses my forehead, and I hold onto him then smile when my stomach growls.
“Now, let me take care of you. What do you want to eat?” he asks, and I look up at him.
“Takeout?”
“Of course she wants takeout,” he mutters dryly, and I smack his arm, seeing his lips twitch. “What kind?”
“Pizza,” I respond immediately then shake my head. “No, Chinese. Wait, no, pizza.” I bite my lip, and he laughs, that sound filling me with the knowledge that we will be all right.