Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, wanting to reassure her. “We’ll know when Nicole gets the blood test results.”
“Sav is right.” Livy nods over her shoulder. “We can’t change what happened. Let’s just focus on fixing it.”
I go over to Claire and brush a hand over her head. My palm drowns her tiny skull. My chest tightens at the thought of what could’ve happened if Anya hadn’t been as well prepared and brave as she’d been. The scenarios that run through my mind make me want to empty my gut. No wonder Anya can’t stomach it.
I watch her closely while she makes tea. Her cheeks still haven’t recovered their color. Dark circles mar her eyes. Livy, on the other hand, is suspiciously upbeat after the ordeal she’s been through. It makes me think she was born for this life.
I pop bread into the toaster and put place settings at the island counter. When the eggs are ready, I pull out a chair for Anya next to me. As soon as she’s put her butt in the seat, I sit down and drag the chair close enough to mine for our thighs to touch. I need the contact, but she needs it too.
She stares at her plate with a convulsive swallow when Livy heaps eggs onto her toast.
I put a hand on her knee, commanding her attention. “You have to eat, tesoro.”
“You don’t want your breastmilk to dry up,” Livy says gently.
“Yes.” Anya pushes the hair from her face. “I’m just not hungry.”
“Take a few bites,” I urge. “It’ll do you good. Your body needs the energy.”
She nods even though she doesn’t reach for her fork or knife.
I dig into the eggs, lifting a forkful to my mouth as I keep an attentive eye on my girl.
“Excuse me,” she mumbles, pushing back her chair.
She hops down and hurries from the room.
I exchange a look with Livy, concern eating into my gut. “She needs a doctor.”
“Maybe she needs a different kind of doctor.”
I put down my fork. “What do you mean?”
Livy raises a brow, waiting for me to get it. “She’s been through a traumatic experience.”
“You think she should talk to a psychologist.”
Livy shrugs. “It can’t do any harm.”
“Do you think that’s why she’s sick?”
“She blew up six men and killed the two surviving ones in cold blood.”
I clench my jaw. “I’m aware of that.”
“She thought she was going to die. She was ready to die.”
The sound of that alone makes me unravel.
“We could’ve lost Claire,” Livy continues. “We almost did.”
“I get it,” I bite out, unable to listen to more. I’m too close to losing my shit as she names those scenarios that drove like white-hot blades into my chest not minutes ago.
My knee throbs when I get off my chair, but I hardly register the pain. I have bigger worries. “I’ll discuss it with Nicole. Maybe she knows someone trustworthy.”
“That may be a good idea,” Livy says, her tone somber.
I motion at Claire. “Do you mind?” Unable to resist, I press a kiss on my angel’s crown and inhale the scent of her baby shampoo to remind myself that she’s here, that they’re all right. “I’m going to check on Anya.”
Livy’s blue eyes soften. “Be gentle with her.”
I limp my way toward the stairs but stop when I hear a noise coming from the guest bathroom.
Going over, I listen at the door. The sound of heaving sends me in a tailspin. I barely knock before yanking the door open. Anya kneels in front of the toilet, tears running over her ashen cheeks.
“That’s enough,” I say through clenched teeth, dropping the cane and rushing to her. “I’m calling Nicole.”
“I’m fine,” she says, her words meek.
“Goddammit, Anya.” I stop next to her. “You’re not fine.”
“It was the eggs.” She gives me a pitiful look that wreaks havoc with my heart. “I couldn’t stand the smell or the sight.”
Hooking my hands beneath her armpits, I hoist her to her feet. She’s small and light in my hold, reminding me how fragile she is.
“How about dry toast and black tea?” I turn her around and brush the damp hair from her forehead. “Do you think you’ll be able to stomach a few bites?”
“I’ll try.”
“Come on, my love.” I lift her into my arms. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
Her protest is weak. “I can walk.”
“I’ve got you,” I say, heading for the hallway.
She wraps her arms around my neck and holds on. “Your knee.”
“My knee is fine,” I lie.
She rests her cheek against my chest where my heart beats with frantic thuds. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
Opting for humor, I say, “I’ll get my wheelchair. I can sit in it with you on my lap and wheel us around the house.”
Her laugh is weary. “That’s not funny.”
I take the elevator and carry her to the bedroom. When I’ve made her comfortable in bed, I tear myself from her side to go make that toast and to call Nicole while I do it.