Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 127941 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127941 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
A sigh pulls from deep within me as I tilt my head back against the tiles and close my eyes, rejoicing in the rare moment that I have to myself. The boys haven’t been overbearing or anything like that, but they sure as fuck meant it when they said they wanted to keep a close eye on me. I’m not complaining though, for the most part, when we’re all getting along, I absolutely adore their company.
Knowing the time is ticking all too fast, I turn off the taps and carefully reach out for my towel. Everything is still so sore. Every stretch, every movement, every little sneeze and cough tears through me. I’m starting to admit to myself that maybe I do need more than just two weeks of bed rest. Once again, the boys were right.
Stepping out of the shower, I pull my towel around me and gently dry myself off, hating how slowly I have to do each little task. I used to rush through things like this, but those days are gone. At least, for now.
A sheet of wet hair frames my pale face, and I cringe to myself thinking about how long it will take to do my hair and makeup.
Dropping the towel on the bathroom floor, I glance up to find my naked reflection staring back at me. I let out a broken sigh. This isn’t me at all. The bullet hole has properly closed up and is looking a million times better, but the bruising around my abdomen is still nasty.
“Winter?” Carver calls from my bedroom. “Where are you? You need to start getting ready.”
“Bathroom,” I tell him, not bothering to scramble for the towel at my feet. He’ll be here long before I can get it up around me, and there’s no point telling him to stay back because he won’t, not until he’s got eyes on me and can physically make sure that I’m still breathing. Hell, what does it matter anyway? It’s not like he’s never seen my tits and ass before. A guy like Carver would have seen more than his fair share of naked women. This is nothing new.
He appears in the bathroom door a second later and pauses, looking in and taking in my reflection through the mirror. I watch him back, my eyes scanning over the fitted black suit that makes him look like the man you don’t want to bring home to Daddy.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his eyes glued to my stomach.
I watch as everything inside of him breaks. He’s been doing better the last few days. I’ve been trying to keep it from him, acting strong every time he walks into a room, and not allowing him to see the bandages, but this right here, this shit is confronting as hell.
My heart shatters watching the devastating emotions crossing his face, and just like that, he falls to his knees on the bathroom floor.
“Carver,” I whisper, hating how much this whole situation is fucking with his head. He used to be the one who would be strong for me. I was the vulnerable one; I was the one who needed him to keep the monsters away, but the tables have turned and I’ve somehow become his saving grace. I turn and walk to him, dropping my hands to his chin and forcing his eyes up to meet mine. “I’m okay. I’m safe.”
He shakes his head, his hands coming to my hips before he tilts his head into my waist and holds me there. “You’re not okay.”
My hands fall around his neck, my fingers gently roaming through his hair as I lower myself down, throwing caution to the wind and letting the pain consume me.
Carver’s grief is so much more important.
I fall into his lap and he holds me tight. “I’ll never be able to make it up to you,” he tells me, his head dropping into the curve of my neck as the guilt completely overwhelms him. “How will I ever make this right?”
“I. Don’t. Blame. You,” I tell him, sounding like a broken record. This isn’t the first time he’s broken down over the past week. It’s always in my room and always when we’re alone. I’m his safe haven, the one place he can let it all go, and while I love that he feels that he can be vulnerable with me, it’s also one hell of a dangerous game. I’m becoming way too attached to Dante Carver, and I fear that I’m only going to hurt myself. “Had you not taken that shot, she would have killed me. You did what you had to do. She pushed me right in the line of your shot, and I fell. This is on her, and the only way for us to make this right, is by taking away her power. She’s nobody, and when we’re through with her, we’re going to make sure that she knows that.”