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)
“I told the nurse I would walk you back.” Monty slips his hands into his pockets, his face devoid of emotion. “I would offer assistance with your leg, but you strike me as someone who would rather throttle me than accept my help.”
“You don’t know me.”
“That goes both ways.” He leads the way back to the room.
As we navigate the corridors, I feel the itch of watchful stares. It’s subtle at first, the fleeting glances from strangers. Then I start to notice a pattern. Females, in particular, let their eyes linger just a moment longer than necessary, their gazes trailing over me with an intensity that heats my skin.
Some men glance my way, too, but their looks are quick, dismissive, unlike the women whose eyes seem to ask for something in those extra seconds.
Monty catches the edge of unease in my limping stride, the slight furrow of my brow perhaps giving me away.
“You’ll get used to it,” he says, his tone light.
I shoot him a look, puzzled, feeling like I’ve stumbled into one of Wolf’s games where the rules make sense to everyone but me.
He exhales a hint of resignation. “You’re a good-looking man. Women appreciate that.” He pauses, peering at me as if to gauge my reaction. “Attractiveness runs in the family. It’s a blessing and a curse.”
Is that why you cheated on your wife?
My mouth tightens, physically holding back the question.
A blessing and a curse? The concept that a man’s appearance could influence interactions to such a degree is baffling. Survival depends on strength, resilience, and the depth of one’s character, not the symmetry of one’s face or the cut of their physique.
“Doesn’t help that your ass is hanging out. This way.” He veers right, entering another corridor.
I glance back, and sure enough, the females trailing a few feet behind aim disarming smiles at my backside.
As we continue our walk back to the safety of our hospital room, I ponder the idea that women—strangers—would find something appreciable in my appearance.
This is a shared experience among the men in our family?
Monty’s casual acceptance of these social norms and silent judgments bugs the piss out of me.
I refocus on returning to Frankie, to the familiarity of her scent.
His observations continue as we weave through hallways. “You’re severely malnourished.”
“I hadn’t noticed. Thanks for the heads up.”
“I don’t know what happened that left the three of you starving…” The undercurrent of concern in his voice swiftly gives way to a different kind of forewarning. “As you return to health and get your strength back, the attention from female admirers will only get worse. You’ll have your pick of any woman you want. Comes with the genes.”
He says it matter-of-factly as if commenting on the darkness of polar night, like it’s just another inescapable fact of nature.
There’s a huge disconnect between his perception of what’s important and mine. Yes, the past few months have chiseled away my physical form, the evidence of our survival beaten into the very ligaments and bones of my body. But the prospect of female admirers or the so-called pick of any woman feels utterly inconsequential against what we’ve endured.
Besides, I don’t want my pick of women. I only want Frankie.
As I limp along the corridor, trying to ignore the fiery pain in my leg, Monty unexpectedly stops. Not to corner me again. He pivots toward an elderly woman who leans against a walker and stares at her slippers.
“Are you lost?” He offers his arm for support.
She takes it, petting his sleeve. “I…I don’t know. My family should be here. I can’t find them.”
“I’m sure they’re on their way. Is this your room?” He points at the open doorway beside her.
“Ellen.” A nurse rushes over. “What are you doing out of your room?” She looks up at Monty and gasps. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Novak. Let me…”
“I have her.” He guides Ellen with patience and a gentle smile into her room, murmuring something in her ear that makes her laugh, blush, and swat at his shoulder. “Shush. You’ll make my heart stop, young man.”
I hang back as he helps her settle onto her bed and exchanges words with the nurse.
Then he returns to the hall, breezing past me like nothing happened.
“What was that about?” A low fire burns in my leg as I catch up with him.
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you help that woman? Do you know her?”
“Jesus.” He stops abruptly, scrutinizing me, peering too closely. “Denver really did a number on you.”
Standing under the harsh lights and his intense glare, I feel exposed, transparent, stripped of the defenses I’ve built up over years. I hold impossibly still, knowing that any movement can reveal too much.
He couldn’t possibly know what Denver did to me.
If he knows, that means he did nothing to stop it.
My spine prickles with long-buried anger, every instinct screaming for me to lash out and reestablish the boundaries that his gaze threatens to dismantle.