Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
I’m not that girl, the swoony kind. I’m the girl who hoists my bestie across my shoulders and carries her off the beach when she’s had too much to drink. I’m the girl who finished a ten-mile hike with a twisted ankle and not a word of complaint.
I’m the girl who does the saving, not the one being swooped into a man’s arms.
But apparently, today, I am that girl.
Even though Weaver is probably hurting every bit as much as I am, he scoops me up, cradling me close as he whispers, “I’ve got you, Sully. I’ve got you.”
“Oh, thank you,” Aunt Cathy says, mincing along beside us as Weaver starts down the long hallway, leading to the older part of the hospital. “Thank you so much.”
“Sir, we need to speak with you,” a male voice calls from behind us. “We need to get your statement about what happened here.”
“Then follow us to the emergency room,” Weaver shoots back without slowing his pace or so much as glancing over his shoulder. “She’s hurt and needs to be checked out. Now.”
“You too,” I wheeze, curling my good hand into his shirt, where the fabric is tacky with cooling blood. “You’re hurt. You shouldn’t be carrying me. Put me down, I can walk now.”
“I’m fine,” Weaver says softly. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur again, fresh tears in my eyes.
“We’re both so sorry,” Aunt Cathy pipes up, turning to the guard who appears beside her with a nervous flap of her hands. “Oh, please, just let him take my niece to the emergency room. I can talk to you. I was there. I saw everything. This man did nothing wrong. It was all my brother, the man your friends took away. He’s not well. He’s sick. In the head. He has been for years, the poor man. He didn’t realize what he was doing.”
The poor man…
Guess Cathy won’t be choosing me in the big family break-up, either. She’s being sweet to Weaver now, but once she realizes Weaver and I are more than just casual acquaintances, that will change, I’m sure. Cathy isn’t as anti-Tripp as my grandfather, but she proudly wears her “Tripp Lobsters Stick in my Craw” shirt when she hits the local pub with Uncle Tom.
“And our dad is having open heart surgery right now. Leon’s just out of his head with grief,” she continues, tears pooling in her faded blue eyes. She swipes at them with the sleeve of her flannel as we emerge from the hallway and Weaver takes a right.
The security guard or policeman, or whatever he is, still trails along beside her, and soon he’s joined by another guard. I catch a glimpse of the larger man, wearing what looks like a bulletproof vest, as Weaver stops in front of the elevator bank and hits the down button. We’ve acquired quite a following, but at least no one is trying to stop us and they seem to realize that Weaver isn’t to blame.
“Your brother still assaulted two people, ma’am,” the larger man says. “Once they’ve been treated in the ER, I’ll need to get their statements, and they’ll have the option to press charges.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head as the elevator doors open and our entire caravan of chaos files inside, causing the older couple waiting by the door to scuttle to the back of the car. “I don’t want to press charges. He didn’t mean to hit me. He’s never hit me before. It was an accident.”
The larger man sighs, his eyes sad and understanding and disappointed, all at the same time. “He’s your dad?” he asks, gently.
I nod. “Yeah. And Cathy’s right, he isn’t well. He has a drinking problem. A bad one. He has for a long time.”
“And what’s your connection to the assailant, sir?” the man asks, shifting his attention Weaver’s way as the elevator dings its arrival on the basement level.
“No connection,” Weaver says in his ice-cold voice. “And I will be pressing charges.”
Before the man can reply, Weaver’s hurrying through the open doors, aiming himself for the check-in desk across the large waiting room.
chapter 22
GERTIE
Shit.
This day just keeps getting worse with every passing second.
I press a hand to Weaver’s chest, not knowing what to say. I can’t blame him for wanting to hold my father accountable, but…he’s my dad. As disappointed and angry as I am with him, I don’t want to see him in prison.
“I’m sorry,” Weaver murmurs beneath his breath, clearly sensing that I’m upset. “But I can’t let him get away with this. If you won’t stand up for yourself, I’ll do it for you.”
I swallow but don’t say a word. I don’t know what to say, I only know that assault charges are going to make an already awful situation even worse. By the time we’re done, we’ll be lucky if the Tripps and Sullivans aren’t warring in the streets of Sea Breeze.