Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“Anything else you need?” he asked.
“Nothing I can think of yet,” I said, rushing back out front to grab Sabrina’s purse and phone out of the club’s SUV, finding her keys, and getting into her SUV instead.
Then I flew the fuck back out of there, making a beeline to the closest hospital, anxiety coiled in my stomach, even though I knew, technically, that Daphne was going to be okay.
By the time I made it into the emergency room, Daphne had already been brought down to get a scan of her arm, leaving Daphne standing numbly in the room, shaking violently, dripping water onto the floor.
“Hey,” I said, watching her gaze shoot up, tears flooding her eyes.
“She’s got a broken arm,” she said, sniffling hard as I pulled the curtain for privacy.
“I know,” I said, putting the clothes down on the chair at her side. “She’s gonna be alright, babe. The police said she hit the bushes, which broke her fall,” I added, reaching out for her jacket, and peeling it off.
After that, off came her sweater, then the long-sleeved shirt beneath. Leaving her in nothing but a simple black bra.
I tried not to look, not when she was so fucking traumatized, as I grabbed the light pink sweatshirt I’d grabbed, and pulling it down over her head. She lifted each arm obediently to slip her arm in, but said nothing. Her face was frozen in the same mask of terror it had been back when she first lost contact with Daphne.
“What’s going on here?” a voice asked as I reached under Sabrina’s skirt to start to pull down her thick, skintight leggings.
“She’s soaked,” I explained. “Trying to get her changed before she gets a chill.”
The nurse looked at me, then Sabrina, and the pile of soggy clothes on the ground already.
“Okay,” she agreed, nodding, before moving out again.
With that, I got her out of her leggings, slipped on the sweatpants I’d grabbed, then removed her skirt.
“Why don’t you sit?” I said, gently pressing her into the seat.
“I shouldn’t have left her,” Sabrina said, seemingly speaking to herself, but the words were an unintentional knife to the gut.
Because the only reason she wasn’t with her kid was because of me. She regretted going out with me. And not to be selfish, but I felt like it meant she would never be willing to leave Daphne to be with me again.
“She’s going to be alright, babe,” I assured her as I rubbed one of her shoulders.
“She has a broken arm. She had to jump off of a balcony,” she added, sniffling hard.
“She fell,” I clarified. “She was trying to scale down.” I wasn’t sure if that was any comfort, but I always found facts reassuring.
“Why would they be shooting at her?” she asked, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her thighs and bury her face in her hands.
That I had no good answer for.
“Some people are just fucked up,” I said. I mean the news was full of people doing shit for no reason other than they were fucking nut jobs.
“What if she needs surgery?” Sabrina asked, spiraling.
“Hey,” I said, moving in front of her and squatting down. “Look at me,” I demanded softly, waiting for her to release her face from her hands. “If she needs surgery, she will have surgery and we will wait right outside in the waiting room for her. But I don’t think she’s going to need it,” I told her, having a little experience with broken bones myself.
“Her face…”
“A few scratches. They will heal. And if you’re worried, there are creams and shit to put on them to make sure they don’t scar. But they’re little scratches. And her lip is probably already starting to heal,” I went on, knowing she was going to fret about that next. “She might not be wearing lipstick or kissing boys anytime soon, thank fuck, but she’ll be just fine.”
“I should have been there with her. I could have…”
“Daphne had done things right,” I reminded her. “She heard them coming. She got out of there. She called for help. She was cool under pressure. You raised a smart, capable kid.” Who, I imagined, was going to be hitting the martial arts classes even harder once she was healed up.
As much as I didn’t want to worry Sabrina any more than she was, I was less concerned about Daphne’s physical condition and more so about her mental and emotional reaction to the event. That might not even sink in for a few hours or even days.
But self-defense classes would help her gain her power back. Would make her feel more capable and strong. I was glad I’d suggested she start going, even if she now had several weeks of recovery ahead of her where she would be feeling especially vulnerable.
Sabrina spent the next couple of minutes trying to pull herself together for Daphne. So that by the time her daughter came back into the room, she no longer looked seconds away from bursting into tears.