Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
This is something my boyfriend does.
I don’t prod Thatcher to speak, and I finish the last suture, clean up, and bandage his hand.
“Done,” I tell him.
He stands, opening and closing his hand in a fist. I straighten up and snap off my gloves, discarding them…
Something wet drips down my forehead. I touch the droplet and look at my fingers…I see blood. My pulse spikes. I blink. No.
It’s not blood. It’s clear, but I feel like it’s all over me. Drenched in blood, limbs slipping against my limbs while I try to hold a body down. On floorboards. I can’t get a good grip.
I blink.
I look up. I see the night sky. Not ceiling rafters. I’m on the roof. And rain starts pelting my face. I smell rain on metal. My heart speeds. I hear the violent crunch, I feel the impact against my body—I struggle for the next breath.
Fuck. I shut my eyes tightly.
Fuck.
I hear screaming in the distance.
Fuck.
Slowly, I open my eyes, and I block out everyone but him. Maximoff is in front of me. Unyielding forest-greens holding me upright. “Farrow,” he calls out to me. “Farrow.” He grips my neck, and I’m more alert. Looking at him.
He knows.
He knows what’s wrong.
My eyes burn, and I shake my head. These traumatic events have clung on, and I can’t rip them off now. And I’m pissed that this is happening.
“It’s the rain,” I say, something thick in my throat. Each word is heavy and coarse.
I grit my teeth, breathing through my nose.
“Let’s go downstairs,” Maximoff says, his tough gaze cradling mine which grapples for clearer focus, and I hold his hand before we move—
The door opens abruptly. Light rain showering the rooftop as Rowin emerges, med bag slung over his shoulder.
Maximoff is about to speak, but someone else beats him to it.
“You can go,” Thatcher says, nearing the entrance. He holds the door open and motions for Rowin to leave back through.
Rowin glances at his bandaged hand and then to me.
“I said you can go,” Thatcher repeats, more sternly this time.
Rowin gives Thatcher a nod, and then he shoots me an annoyed look, as though I made him drive through traffic for no reason.
Right now, I’m honestly just trying not to have sensory overload from the car crash or the confrontation with the stalker.
He leaves, and as soon as I’m downstairs with Maximoff, in the empty Superheroes & Scones store, we wrap our arms around each other. Chest against chest, my pulse beats with his, and I hold the back of his head.
I breathe in his chlorine and citrus scent. He probably shouldn’t have been swimming with his injury. But smelling summer on Maximoff makes me smile.
It grounds me to the here and now.
25
MAXIMOFF HALE
“What are the antibiotics for strep?” I quiz my boyfriend. Printed flashcards fill my hand and scatter the coffee table inside the loft of Superheroes & Scones. Three-day-old red velvet cake from Jane’s birthday lies next to more study materials and energy drinks.
It’s afterhours in the comics shop. Empty. The only real time I can enjoy one of my favorite places on Earth.
Farrow slouches on a yellow beanbag, his muscular legs splayed over my lap, and I reach for my mug of tea. Sitting straighter than him.
He flips a page in a comic book on his lap and answers, “Ampicillin, amoxicillin, and PCN.”
Yeah, I have no clue if that’s correct. Not until I flip the card over and read the answer on the back.
Farrow is grinning at the comic. “You don’t have to tell me it’s right, wolf scout. I know it is.” His eyes finally flit to me. “Keep going.”
He has a USMLE Step 3 exam tomorrow. Tomorrow. He said it’s the test he has to pass to get licensed. And he hasn’t studied a single minute for it.
So when I heard that, I printed out a tower of flash cards and bought practice materials. Here we are. Only now I’m starting to think he agreed to this study session just out of pure amusement.
That know-it-all smile stretches his face, and he raises his brows. Like he’s waiting. But he’s also skimming a comic book. He grabbed one from the store downstairs.
I set my tea down and read off a notecard. “What is the most common cardiac manifestation of Lyme disease?”
“An AV conduction block or defect,” he says casually. “Why does this girl talk to…wait, are those demons?” He frowns and rotates the comic to check the front cover. Like he’s ensuring he grabbed an issue of X-Men.
He did, and I don’t need to see the panel. “That’s Magik. She’s the sorceress supreme of Limbo.”
His eyes meet mine, and he almost laughs. “Fuck, I’m just remembering how big of a dork you are.”
I’d shove his legs off me, but for some damn reason, I love them across my lap. So I end up giving him a middle finger instead.