Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“Goddamn it!” Fire consumes me, and I’m left seeing stars. The last thing I see is the helicopter maintaining its balance, finally, and the basket making its way up. After that, I close my eyes and brace for impact. The only thing going to break my fall is the water. Even still, it’s a long way to go. A vision of Stormy pissed as fuck, ready to kick ass and take names is what I’m holding on to when I plunge into the deep water. My feet are already kicking, the life jacket doing its job and helping propel me upwards. My non-injured hand goes up in the air. The medic boat crew will see me with the other spotters. One thing’s for sure: I’m hanging my hat up with this shit. I can feel the dislocation in my shoulder, and that’s going to be a bitch to explain to Stormy. It’ll be even harder to hide wearing a damn sling for however long it’ll take to heal.
A boat approaches me while I bop in the water. A sitting duck in an ocean full of sharks isn’t my idea of fun, and I’m thankful they’re not delaying like that fuck Smith.
“You okay?” a man asks when the boat is close enough.
“Shoulder took the brunt of it, but I’m fine.” More pissed off than anything else. He lowers the ladder on the backside of the boat, and I couldn’t be more fucking thankful.
“Yeah, that shit was not easy to watch.” He can say that again.
“Appreciate you picking me up. You got a medic on board?” I ask, using my good arm to help propel me up.
“We do, but it’ll have to wait. We need to get out of here, and quick.” It’s then I see the fire licking at the wrecked boats. Racing fuel is going to make things go boom quickly. I nod my response, take a seat in an open one, and we’re racing against time until the boats will explode.
“No problem. Probably better to have this taken a look at by a doctor before paperwork needs to be done,” I say more for myself, but the other guy shakes his head in disgust, more than likely over the paperwork. Meanwhile, I’m wondering how I’m going to explain what happened to Stormy while simultaneously keeping her calm. Good fucking luck with that. So much for getting home tonight. The amount of red tape will guarantee that won’t be happening. I’ll be lucky to call or text her. My phone is in that helicopter, and if the way the helicopter was handled is anything to go by, well, I may as well kiss it goodbye.
20
STORMY
The past few days have sucked. Griff and I have been missing each other, not just emotionally either. Believe me, I am there. Never in my life did I think I’d miss a man as much as I miss him. Nope, he’d miss my text, I’d miss his call, and him leaving a voicemail didn’t alleviate the longing. Instead, I saved it, replaying it at night before going to bed in order to hear his voice. I didn’t leave him a voicemail back. I sent a video of Finn and myself on the couch saying we can’t wait for Monday. Even if I’m lying through my teeth. Not about Griff coming home, but for me, it means I’ve got to face work and really set foot back in town.
“Dang it, Finn. We missed Griff again,” I talk to the fluffy Golden Retriever out loud, seeing the text from the man himself. When Finn woke up at his standard time, I groaned in protest. The sleep I hoped for to come last night didn’t happen. There was no amount of reading to make me tired enough either. I tossed and turned so much even Finn left the comfort of the bed, choosing his place on the couch instead. I nab my phone, hit the reply button, and send him a text.
Me: I can’t wait. See you soon.
Finn barks, making his displeasure known. Whether it’s about Griff remains unknown. It is his kibble time, so I’m sure that’s the reason.
“Alright, I’ll get your food ready, then my coffee.” I go the fridge to pull out the sliced-up fruit I’ve been adding to Finn’s dry dog food, my creamer, and then go to the pantry to finish off his breakfast. Griff says I spoil him. I don’t agree. Finn was spoiled long before I came along. The only difference is, now he’s living a healthier lifestyle with more walks.
The clanging of the dog food and fruit hits the metal bowl. Finn sits like the king he is until I give him the words he’s used to. “Good boy.” He gives me his paw, and then he’s chowing down. I leave him to his morning ritual and head to the coffee pot, trying to figure out what we should do today. Groceries are ready for the week, the house is clean, and I’ve been slowly unpacking my things to set around the house. My books are now in the once sparse wood built-ins, a natural wood tone like a lot of the furniture Griff has in his house, well, our house. It’s not the usual white and blue style house you see in most beach houses. It’s homey, lived in, and relaxed. Which is probably why my books came out of the boxes faster than I intended them to. I was worried this wouldn’t last, but those are unfounded. Seriously, Griff has shown me in more than one what it’s like to truly be cared for in the terms of a stable man. My father obviously wasn’t one of those, and Zach, well, you see what happens when you settle.