Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Typical Monty. Always taking care of me.
And now them.
But who’s taking care of him?
He’ll turn up after he’s processed everything, and when he does, he’ll have demands. I’m bracing for it.
I wrote some heavy shit in that scrapbook, including the bargain I made with Denver and the two harrowing weeks I longed for death while in his bed.
There are dozens of pages dedicated to Wolf and his soulful art, Gothic beauty, dark humor, and my bottomless grief after he died.
I also detailed all my intimate experiences with Leo and Kody, leaving nothing to the imagination. It was cathartic and beautiful, and whenever I needed to be reminded of the good moments, however few and far between, I revisited those entries.
I could’ve removed those pages from the journal and saved Monty that pain. But I’m unapologetic about my relationship with these two men.
The next time I see Monty, he’ll look at me with new eyes. He’ll see how much I’ve changed. I need him to see it, to understand.
Our marriage is over.
I’m with Leo and Kody.
Regardless of how he feels about me after reading the journal, I want him to have a relationship with Leo and Kody. They’re his only family.
Sitting beside me on my bed, Kody tackles his meal with the fervor of a grizzly that just emerged from hibernation.
His leg, though free of fractures, bears painful friction burns caused by a violent impact with the interior surface of the plane. The angry red discoloration of second-degree burns is a constant source of discomfort. The healing process will demand patience and meticulous care to prevent infection and aid in skin regeneration.
In matters of our mental health, a clinical social worker sat with us to assess, diagnose, and provide counseling for the trauma resulting from our plane crash.
The crash is just a surface wound atop layers of deeper, more persistent scars left by our time in Hoss.
We told the counselor nothing.
No one outside our trusted circle knows about the evil we endured. Monty and Melanie have worked behind the scenes, letting everyone believe we got lost in the Arctic and nearly starved. The details connecting us to Denver Strakh remain guarded until we have a course of action.
In truth, we have years of therapy ahead of us. Who knows how we’ll pay for it? Financially, we’re adrift, with no immediate plan to draw upon. Monty’s wealth is a possibility, but I can’t entertain that. After everything revealed in my journal and the complexities of my relationship with Leo and Kody, turning to him for financial support is unthinkable.
As for our physical health, it’ll take time to come back from the brink of starvation, but I’m noticing small changes in Leo and Kody. Hydration has returned color to their cheeks, and solid food is already rebuilding their strength.
I lectured them on the importance of nutrition in their healing, highlighting how proteins, vitamins, and even the much-maligned carbohydrates play a role in repairing their bodies.
They know this. But the hospital food, a far cry from the organic, unprocessed fare of the Arctic Circle, elicits a range of reactions from them.
“This isn’t food.” Leo stabs the green cube of Jell-O with a fork. “It’s river slime.”
“It’s gelatin.” I already devoured mine.
“Is that a plant?”
“No. It’s derived from animal bones and skin.”
“Bullshit. I’ve never seen an animal this color.” He pushes it away. “Hard pass.”
Given their extensive education in Hoss, they know so much about so many things. So it takes me by surprise whenever they don’t understand ordinary concepts.
Like Jell-O.
“Kody ate his.” I motion at Kody’s empty tray.
“No, he didn’t.”
I look again. His gelatin is gone. When our eyes engage, his expression empties, expertly concealing any trace of his thoughts.
“What did you do?” I twist, scanning around the bed until my gaze lands on the waste basket and the glow of green gelatin within. “How quickly we go from starving to throwing away food.”
“Leo’s right.” Kody scowls. “That’s not food.”
“Eat it.” I point at Leo, assuming my sternest nurse glare.
“I’d rather eat you.”
A spark of heat ignites in my belly.
The bandages that encircled his head are gone. His beard, that was so much a part of him in the Arctic, is also gone, exposing the chiseled cut of his jaw.
Thank God he didn’t lose his gorgeous hair to wounds or stitches. The contusions along the top of his head necessitated shaving small patches, but I took care of that. Yesterday, I braided those thick shoulder-length locks back into the Viking style that suits him so well, ensuring the shaved spots are cleverly hidden.
He takes a cautious bite of the Jell-O. “Fucking weird.” Another bite and his eyebrows slowly lift. “It’s…not terrible.”
As he voraciously shovels in the rest, his mouth widens in a surly, reluctant smile that’s so inherently Leo.
My God, he’s beautiful.
Those eyes, the striking blue and captivating gold, sparkle with renewed energy. Two days of IV fluids and food have worked wonders, filling out the gauntness that hollowed his features. Despite his complaints about the hospital’s culinary offerings, he hasn’t stopped eating since we were admitted.