Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“I guess I have to consider that everyone who smiles in my direction is as full of it as I am when I smile at them,” I mutter. “What I wouldn’t give to actually be happy. It’s been so long, I wouldn’t even know what it looks like anymore.”
With a clean towel, I pat dry his leg before applying lotion. I doubt the man would use lotion on his skin in his regular life, but this is part of the process.
I re-cover his leg and move to the other side of the bed, going slowly so as to not slosh the water in the tubs. Cleaning the floor would keep me busy too but having to do it isn’t my idea of a good time.
“I’m not exactly a bitter person,” I say out loud. “I just can’t seem to find joy these days. Ryder makes me happy, but every smile also comes with guilt. He spends the day at daycare. I only get a few hours with him in the afternoon before my mom takes over. She’s not a bad person, but she’s just not me. I want to be there for him. Parenting is fucking hard.”
I clamp my mouth closed, nearing the edge of no turning back. If I let one tear fall, I know it’ll be a torrent of them and sobbing on the clock is the very last thing I want to be doing.
I finish the bed bath without uttering another word before moving on to oral care. After swabbing his mouth and doing my best to clean his teeth with a sponge, I apply medicated ointment to his lips.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his finger twitch.
The man hasn’t moved a muscle that I’ve witnessed since he got here two weeks ago.
I stare down at his hand, thinking it’s possible in my exhausted state that I was just imagining it, but then the index finger moves again.
My pulse rachets up, my heart hammering in my chest as I look down at his face.
“Keep trying,” I tell him. “There are so many people here that miss you.”
I pull out my phone, shooting off a text to Kincaid. I was instructed to report any and all changes to him.
A soft knock echoes through the room, and a second later, Stormy walks in.
“I can come back,” he says, frozen in the doorway after noticing the tubs of water.
“His bath is done,” I explain, waving him forward. “His finger moved.”
“Really?” I can hear the excitement in his voice. “Which one?”
“That one.” I point to his index finger and we silently wait to see it move again.
“Fuck yeah,” he whispers when we both see it twitch. “Sorry for my language.”
I scoff. “It’s not anything I haven’t heard or said myself. I texted Kincaid.”
His smile grows wider. “You’re about to be overrun with Cerberus members.”
“The female residents are going to love it,” I say, laughter and some of that joy I haven’t been able to find on my own in my voice.
“The staff as well,” he says, but there’s annoyance in his tone.
“Someone giving you trouble?”
“There are a few who seem to be around every corner.”
“I can report them or ask them to leave you alone.” Embarrassment heats my cheeks. Every person who works here should be more professional.
He shakes his head. “It’s not a problem. I’d say something if I noticed patient care diminishing, but everyone seems to be doing what they’re supposed to. But when they have free time, they’re right there.”
“There’s hardly any free time around here. There’s always something to be done.” The work is endless, even if it’s popping in to check on someone or say hi. There are some people here who never get visitors and showing them a little more attention is good for their spirits, and in turn their health. Sad people have more health problems.
Internally, I scoff at those thoughts, wondering if the indigestion I’ve had over the last year has a root cause in my own depression.
“This is a big deal, right?” he asks, lifting his eyes to mine.
“I think so, but I’m not a doctor.”
“Should we call the doctor?”
“That would be the nurse on duty’s call,” I say as I step around the end of the bed. “Let me go get her and she can make that call.”
“You stay with him. I’ll grab her,” he says as he pulls out his phone. “I’ve got to call the guys anyway.”
I walk around to the far side of the bed, clasping Bishop’s hand in mine, smiling every time I feel that finger twitch.
I don’t know if it’s hope making it feel strong each time it moves or if he’s actually moving it more.
The door at my back opens, but it’s Rachel moving toward the mirror instead of Stormy coming back in.