Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Thanks, Doc,” I said as she turned down the hallway one way, and I the other.
Three months.
Three months.
The words kept flashing behind my eyes, like a glowing stopwatch that had just been clicked. Three months used to seem like a long time—three months till graduation, three months of a trial subscription to Kindle Unlimited, three-month gym membership. Now?
Now it seemed like an infinitely short time to get all the things done that I wanted to. Because, in truth, I didn’t have anything I needed to get done. I’d been preparing for this diagnosis since the headaches started two months ago, and then the voices…
My living will was in order, but honestly, I didn’t have much to leave to the only person I considered family—my foster care mother, Maria Johnson. She’d be the proud owner of the eight-year-old car I’d finally paid off, and whatever remained of my meager savings account.
My heart sank a little as I walked through the double doors to the hospital, the night sky opening up above me in a sea of glittering darkness—I’d worked for years in college to earn my doctorate in psychology and now I’d never get to work with actual clients. People who needed my help, namely foster children or adults who’d been in the system…that was where I’d planned to focus my efforts.
Planned. How stupid of me. I should’ve known I couldn’t make plans, but after twenty-three healthy years, I thought maybe the family curse had skipped me.
I’d been so ridiculously wrong.
I sucked in a sharp breath, letting the crisp scents of the summer air soothe the emotions that were threatening to break through the numb blanket I kept them under. I didn’t have time to wallow or cry or agonize over the hand I’d been dealt. The clock was ticking, and it was time I started doing all the things I’d kept myself from doing…out of fear. Seemed so silly to be scared of having a one-night-stand or going on a roller coaster or go sky-diving now.
My footsteps slowed as I walked along the paved path through the outcropping of trees that hugged the hospital grounds. Some sort of awareness prickled at the back of my neck, stopping my movements completely.
Please don’t be cancer, please don’t be cancer.
He didn’t even text me back. He left me on read. Why would he do that?
Fuck the diet, I’m getting tacos tonight.
Voices that didn’t belong to me fluttered through my mind, a stream of uninvited consciousness that had me clenching my eyes shut and curling my hands into fists. It’d been happening more and more lately, and I had the tumor to blame. Not only did it give me sometimes debilitating headaches or make me throw up my guts, it was slowly chipping away at my sanity.
Just ask her. Just ask her. Say something.
That voice stood out among the rest, and something about it sent warm shivers down my spine. It was deep and rough and something about it gave me the odd sensation of endlessness…like an ocean who's seen every stage of the world.
Wow. I really am losing it. But that voice…it was familiar and swam into my mind like warm tendrils reaching out to gently pull me back, back, back…
I turned around, opening my eyes, somehow knowing he’d be there.
The man from the other night, the one with the dark chocolate eyes, shoulder-length dark hair, and tattoos peeking out from underneath the leather jacket he wore. The one who’d stolen my breath the second I’d laid eyes on him, and was having the same effect on me now as he stood a few feet away.
“Hi, Aquaman,” I said, arching a brow at him. Ajax. His name was Ajax and there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d forget it or him ever in my life. “Am I in your way or something?” I asked, stepping to the side of the path.
“No,” he said, and that voice matched the one I’d heard in my head seconds ago. It sent the same heat gliding over my body, but maybe that could be chalked up to him moving closer to me.
I had to arch my head to meet his gaze. He was so damn tall and his chest strained the thin white T-shirt he wore beneath the leather jacket. I could see the hint of ink through the white T, but couldn’t make out what it was.
I held his stare, not hearing anything inside my head, at least for the moment, so that was a relief. “All right, then,” I said, turning back around and heading down the path.
He followed me, his long gait eating up the distance until he was at my side.
I reached in my bag for my keys—the same ones he caught the other night with uncanny reflexes—and chided myself for not instantly threading them through my fingers. I mean, hello, this guy could easily snap me in half. Where were my self-preservation skills at?