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)
I blink slowly. “Give me my book so I can throw it at you.”
Farrow smiles. “Let me think about that.” He doesn’t think about it and he keeps my paperback right in his hand. But his other hand leaves my knee and crawls up my thigh.
I like that. Too damn much.
My phone rings near my side. Every person in my family has texted about a dozen times. I have plenty of new ones, especially from my siblings.
You’re not cool enough to be a ghost, so you’re not allowed to die. – Kinney
My dad said she tried to sneak into the car. Just so he’d have to bring her to the hospital. He caught her, so she’s grumpy and still at home. None of the parents want any of the kids on the road. At least not until the morning when the storm is supposed to die down.
FaceTime me when it’s not like 3 a.m. Going to bed. Glad you’re ok. Love u. – Xander
My brother’s texts remind me about what I learned tonight. He’s been giving away his pills to the neighborhood kid. A truth that I clutch but can’t confront just yet. Not while I’m stuck in this hospital. This is something I need to talk to him about face-to-face. Everyone just assumed Winona and Ben drove to the orchestra hall to protest the auction, so no one knows about Xander.
On my wayyy!! – Luna
I smile at Luna’s text. But the call isn’t from my siblings. It’s from my best friend.
I click speakerphone so Farrow can hear. “You all close yet?” I ask Janie.
“We’re still in terribly slow traffic,” she says.
I picture Jane packed in a car with Beckett, Luna, Thatcher, Quinn and Donnelly. All six are headed here from the orchestra hall.
“Be careful,” I tell her and shut my eyes for a second, pain radiating down my ribs.
“Updates?” she asks.
I open my eyes and stare at the closed door. “Sulli just got here with all the parents, about a half hour ago. She’s with Winona.” In the room across the hall. I try to squash the guilt because it’s my job to protect those girls. Uncle Ryke…has to hate me.
I hate myself for putting her in that much danger. For putting Ben in danger.
“She’s fine,” Farrow says and reaches for a tin of chocolates on a nearby tray table.
“Her lip is being stitched up,” I correct. “She’s not fine.”
“She’ll survive,” Farrow says easily.
Jane interjects, “I’ve already spoken to Sulli.”
I try to sit up again, my muscles screaming. So I stop. “Ben is in another room. My dad said his concussion is mild, and I think Charlie is getting surgery on his leg soon—”
“I meant updates about you,” Jane says. “I’ve talked to my brothers and my parents already, too.”
I frown, a little hurt. “Tu m'as appelé en dernier?” You called me last?
Jane takes an audible breath, upset that I think that. “Not because I wanted to. Your mom said I should give you some time alone with your one true pairing before I call.”
Farrow is laughing at my mom’s wordage.
My neck heats.
Jesus. My mom loving us together plays too damn well into Farrow’s hand, and I lose every round when we go head-to-head.
“My mom needs to take it easy,” I tell Jane.
“Never. Aunt Lily loves love.”
“She can love my love ten billion times less in front of my boyfriend. That’d be perfect.” I can almost feel Jane smiling on the other end. And I can also feel it fade in the quiet.
“Moffy, please tell me how you are,” she whispers and when I don’t answer right away, she adds, “I hate that I’m not there yet.” In the background, I catch Thatcher saying that he’ll take a back route. He must be driving.
I rake my hair with my left hand, which tugs the IV tubes. “I’m still waiting for the surgeon to check the X-Rays.”
“You need surgery?”
“I’m not sure—”
“He needs surgery,” Farrow cuts in with that matter-of-fact voice, husky but soothing. Gravel tied in silk.
I watch him open the lid to the tin and inspect a chocolate. I tell him, “There’s a zero percent chance you know that just by looking.”
He unwraps a truffle, and I hone in on how his fingers peel the red foil. Christ. I need to stop being in love with how he moves.
Farrow is smiling a self-satisfied smile. Beyond human comprehension. “There’s a hundred percent chance I know you fractured your clavicle, wolf scout.” He pops the chocolate in his mouth.
I make a face. “Why do you have to call it a clavicle?”
He chews slowly, brows rising. “Because that’s what it’s called.”
“It’s called a fucking collarbone.”
“Man, it’s the same exact thing, but only one pisses you off, so I chose that one.” His smile stretches as irritation scrunches my face.
Concern encases Jane’s voice as she asks, “Is he in pain, Farrow?”