Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
“I’ll clean your scalp in a minute,” he told her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” He shook his head and followed her gaze. He had blood on his shirt and a cut on his arm. He didn’t remember bumping into the mirror, but it could’ve easily happened when he struggled to drop their bags.
“I’ll get you a tissue,” she said. Palmer started to move until Kent told her to stay put.
“You need to rest.”
He got up and went to the bathroom. He turned the water on and stared at his reflection. “What in the hell are you doing, Wagner?” Kent kept his voice low to prevent Palmer from hearing him. He shook his head and glared into the mirror. His hands gripped the counter, and he squeezed until his fingers throbbed. He told himself he could do this, he could be the man he’d promised to be, but even he was questioning himself.
Kent soaked a washcloth and used another one to clean the blood and cut on his arm. He needed a Band-Aid, which he had in the car. He took the washcloth to Palmer and wiped the sweat from her forehead, and cleaned the droplets of blood on her arm and her hand.
“I’ll be right back,” he told her. “Don’t move and don’t touch your head.”
She nodded.
“Palmer, look at me.”
She did as he asked.
“It is imperative that you stay where you are. There’s glass in your hair that I need to get out.”
“Do I need to go to the hospital?”
“No, I don’t think you need stitches, but I won’t know until I can clean your injury. Stay put.” He placed a kiss on her forehead and left the room.
Kent ran.
He ran down the hallway as if her life depended on it. To him, it did. He was responsible for Palmer, and while seizures were part of the growing tumor, it was his job to make sure she was okay. Hitting her head against the mirror was far from okay. He knew better than to overload his arms with their luggage, and to let her walk more than a couple of feet after waking up.
Kent got to the Jeep, grabbed his medical bag, and ran back into the hotel. He was sure the clerk stared, but he didn’t bother to slow down and look. When he arrived at their door, he paused before slipping the key card into the slot. If Palmer’s moved . . . He refused to finish his thought.
Palmer sat in the same spot she was in when he’d left her. Kent helped her up and all but carried her into the bathroom, where he’d left his bag.
“Okay, sit on the toilet.”
The lighting wasn’t the best, and he finally understood what women meant when they posted about hotels and their lack of usable lighting in the bathroom. “I’m going to have you sit on the counter, so I can use that makeup light.”
Kent helped Palmer get up onto the counter. He appreciated the longer counter space, and after getting her a pillow, he asked her to lie down. She did and faced the mirror. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Kent smiled.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” he asked as he put gloves on.
“For this.”
Kent couldn’t look at her, out of fear he’d start crying. He didn’t want her to apologize for being sick. This was out of her control. If anything, he should be the one apologizing to her. He should’ve caught her and saved her head from hitting the mirror.
“You have nothing to be sorry over, Palmer. We know what to expect.” It was the best he could say. “This is going to sting.”
Kent cleaned her wound with antiseptic. Palmer hissed when the liquid seeped into her open cuts and flinched when Kent removed the glass from her scalp.
“No stitches,” he said in relief. “Also, no shampoo for a few days. The cuts need time to heal.” He helped her sit up and get off the counter. “Are you hungry?”
“No, just tired.”
“Okay. I’m going to clean up, and then I’ll be in.”
Palmer left Kent in the bathroom. He moved slowly, still working through his demons. Every logical part of him wanted to take her home, but then what—would he leave her in the hands of a hospice? No, he couldn’t. It would break his heart not to be with her every day and be there for her. They could go home and do the day trips he’d initially considered before taking a sabbatical. Then they’d at least be home or nearby. He hated that option too.
Kent washed his hands, dried them, and turned off the light. Palmer lay in bed, facing the other bed. He turned off the light, changed, and crawled into the empty bed.
“Kent?” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Are you mad at me?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you’re over there.”
He got out of bed and crawled into the bed with her. He held his arm out, and she nestled into the space he created. “Is this better?”