Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 70646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Oakley: Doing what?
Ford: Nothing.
Pace: Applying for KPD. He starts with the SWAT team in a couple weeks. He has to go through police academy first.
Ford: Thanks for that.
Viddy: What?!!???!?!
I grinned at that.
Switching back to the text between Pace and me only, I said four words.
Oakley: I told you so.
Pace: How about you told me so after dinner. See you in five. Don’t dress up.
I rolled my eyes.
I hadn’t dressed up for anything ever.
And, honestly, I wasn’t even sure that I could wear my jeans yet seeing as I was still pretty skinny due to my weight loss before the surgery.
I didn’t argue with him, though. Nor did I reply.
Instead, I got up off of the couch I’d made myself comfortable on and started into the bedroom.
The click-click of Jagger’s nails sounded behind me, and I knew that he was hot on my heels.
He paid quite a bit of attention to me now that I was back home.
I wasn’t sure if Jagger knew what had happened—or almost happened—to me. But ever since I’d gotten home from the hospital. he’d been extremely watchful.
I ignored the incessant buzzing in my pocket from the group chat and stripped out of my clothes, throwing them down on the floor.
Even my panties went, because those were so boring.
Black and boring.
I needed to look into a new wardrobe.
I’d have to make a trip to the mall when I felt good enough.
Even now, after a twenty-yard walk from the living room into my room, I was tired.
Even worse, things started to ache all over again.
Today had been a doctor appointment day. I’d had to walk way farther than I’d wanted to, and I was aching.
I probably should’ve said no to Pace when he’d said ‘dinner,’ but I didn’t want to. More so, I just wanted to spend some time with him, and I didn’t care if I had to be in pain to do it.
I studied my post-surgery body.
I was skinny.
Nauseatingly so.
I could see every single one of my ribs, and the only thing that looked like they had some heft to them were my boobs—which hadn’t lost any weight during the kidney failing process.
My eyes moved down the length of my abdomen and I studied the new scar.
Without any drains in the way, or gauze pads covering it, the scar looked gnarly.
It was wicked and curved, starting from my hip bone and arcing up to stop right around my belly button.
I touched the top of the scar with morbid fascination and winced when it shot pain all the way down my scar, and shooting deeper into my belly.
Sighing in discomfort, I realized that the sports bra was going to have to stay.
I didn’t have enough energy to get it off.
Pace: here. Open up.
I looked at my naked state in the mirror and quickly reached for a pair of yoga pants. After slipping them on, I grabbed the first t-shirt I saw, which happened to be Pace’s—the one I’d worn home from his house last week—and headed to the door.
I was slow as molasses and hadn’t even managed to get my t-shirt all the way on when I was pulling open the door.
“Come in,” I said as I tried to disentangle the t-shirt from my bun.
Two big hands stilled my backup, and then Pace had my hair uncaught, and my shirt once again settling over my body.
“Nice shirt,” he teased, his eyes meeting mine.
I smiled. “You told me to dress comfortably.”
Pace nodded. “I did.” He paused as he was looking at me oddly. “Can I see your scar?”
Without a second thought, I lifted up my shirt and showed him the scar, and he winced.
“That looks bad,” he said.
“I got the drains out today,” I said.
“Me, too,” he confirmed. “Should’ve ridden in together. I didn’t even think they’d be doing both of ours on the same day.”
I was saddened that I hadn’t thought to ask that. That would’ve been a perfect excuse to spend some time with him.
“What does yours look like?” I asked.
He lifted up his shirt and showed me, causing me to gasp.
“That looks awful!”
And it did.
Before, I’d thought that the jagged, almost botched scar was due to how puffy and swollen he’d been. Then again, it’d been covered up with a gauze pad taped down over the incision, so I’d just had the shape of that to guide me.
But holy shit, it looked nothing like my scar.
“They had to deal with scar tissue,” he said. “Looks worse than it is, I promise.”
I followed the almost curved, kind of zig-zagged pattern on his belly and bit my lip.
Oh, boy, he looked really bad.
“That’s going to be an ugly scar,” I admitted.
He shrugged as if he truly didn’t care.
And that was when I realized that he really didn’t. Truly, he did not give one single shit about any scar. Especially not this one.