Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“You're dehydrated and need to eat something. We have to be sure you're taken care of as well.” While she chides me, she takes my blood pressure. “The most important thing right now is making sure you stay calm. Your blood pressure is a little higher than I'd like.”
Easy for her to say. “I'm trying.”
“We'll give the saline some time, and someone from down in the cafeteria will bring up the meal you requested. All you have to do right now is rest.”
“What about Tatum? My friend.” I really wish Callum was here with me. I'm entirely in the dark, and I hate it. “Where is she? I have to see her.”
A male voice answers that question. “She's in a suite upstairs.”
I crane my neck and look around the nurse— I never thought the sight of Romero would bring happy tears to my eyes.
“Hi,” I whisper.
He offers a faint grin. “Good to see you alive and well.” He and the nurse exchange a look, and suddenly she's in a big hurry to leave the room. I can understand why—he's pretty intimidating, even to me. I can't imagine how much worse it would be for a stranger to face his dark, intense energy for the first time.
“How is she?” I ask.
Once he reaches the side of the bed, it hits me that he's the one I should be more concerned about. I wonder if he's slept at all in the days since we were kidnapped. “She's doing better, just not talking much. She stares out the window most of the time. She did perk up when I told her you were here, and that you were safe.”
Thank you, God. I'll never forget what it felt like, her weight suddenly landing on me. I was so sure she was dead. “I have to see her.”
“You'll get to see her. But first, you've got to take care of yourself. Meaning you should eat something before I take you up.”
Did everybody decide to treat me like a child once I was rescued? It's like they're all working from the same script. “Truthfully, they weren't that awful to me. I'm not in bad shape. Dehydrated and exhausted, yes, but it could've been much worse.”
It's rare to see him smile—not that there's any lightness or humor in it. It's more like he's trying not to snicker at me. “They weren't that bad to you?”
“You know what I mean. They didn't, like, beat me or anything.”
“Tell that to the bruises on your face.”
“I haven't looked at myself in the mirror.”
He touches his fingers to his own cheek. “It's not that bad. Just a little bit here and there.” He switches to the other side. “Looks like you got slapped.”
“That's because I did.”
“Other than that, you look like you could use a shower, but that's it. No offense.”
“You look like you could use one, too,” I retort. No, he wasn't being critical, but I'm tired, frustrated, and sick of the condescension I've received from almost everybody since arriving at the hospital.
“I'm sure you're right,” he admits while rubbing a hand over his scruffy cheek. “Since Tatum is awake and you're back, I might be able to grab one.”
“Has my dad been here?” I whisper.
“He's on his way. I called him to let him know you're here, and safe.”
“Thank you, for everything. I'm sure this hasn't been easy, and you look like you've been through the wringer.”
“I've endured worse, believe me. I'll check in with Callum and then tell Tatum you'll come up after eating something.” He heads for the door but doesn't make it out before it flies open. My father rushes into the room, barely glancing at Romero after bumping into him and heading straight from me with his arms outstretched.
“Oh, my baby. My girl.” If I didn't know better, I would think he is trying to crush me with how tight his hug is.
“It's okay, Dad. I'm okay. Everything is fine,” I assure him.
“You're alright?” Finally, he releases me and I can breathe. He takes my face into his hands and examines me himself. “You were held hostage for days. How can you say you're fine?”
“Well, every test they ran said I'm in good shape, and I won't argue with test results. Dehydration is the worst of it.”
“Have you eaten? Damnit, I should've brought you something.”
“Dad, please, relax. It's okay, you didn't have to bring me anything. I asked to have some food from the cafeteria brought up.”
He nods, studying my face. “Are you sure you're okay? What did they do to you? Did they hurt you?”
My head aches at the idea of explaining any of this to him. “Dad, I'm exhausted. And I don't think I have it in me to rehash the whole story.” His face falls, and that expression stirs up guilt, so I add, “They didn't really hurt me. For the most part, they left me alone. I was in a tiny little room by myself.”