Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
I would. I tried.
I wiped fruitlessly at my cheeks. The pain was too immense—I didn’t know how to cope. I’d completely lost my shit when I learned about the accident the other day. Thank goodness Lucian had found my number and sent a text.
Moving my chair closer to KC’s bed, I did my best to stop crying and reached for his hand. I touched him carefully, just a finger tracing a faint scrape along his knuckle. I hiccupped around a low sob and shook my head. It was so unfair. KC loved skiing, and he was so good at it. We used to go up to New Hampshire together.
This time, he’d been in Colorado. A weekend away from everything after a work conference in Denver.
They were still searching for two skiers who’d disappeared around the same time the avalanche was set off, but now it was a recovery mission. No way could they have survived. I was just thankful KC had been caught near the end of the mayhem. According to the rescuers, they’d spotted his bright-green helmet quickly.
I remembered the first time he took me skiing. I didn’t wanna wear a helmet, and I was such a jerk about it, but he was adamant. No helmet, no skiing.
I’d already heard one of the nurses comment that it’d been a good thing he’d worn a helmet because it’d stabilized his neck.
“I’m glad you’re here, Noa,” Lucian murmured. “He will be happy to see you when he wakes up.”
I didn’t wanna think about that, because Lucian was wrong, and I couldn’t face rejection another time from KC.
Just the day after he and I had kissed, he’d asked Mom for a divorce and me for “time.” I’d called him a month later. He hadn’t responded. I’d called him three months after. Nothing. I’d texted him after five months, saying I missed him, and he’d sent me another apology. He hadn’t been ready. He felt “awful for not being there” for me, but now wasn’t a “good time.”
I hadn’t heard from him since, and I was done reaching out.
He still had to be okay, though. I couldn’t bear to see him this way. Bandages all over, both legs in casts, cuts and bruises across his face, aside from where his goggles had sat.
I wiped at my cheeks again and glanced back at Lucian, who was leaning against a wall and checking his phone.
Was KC still living with his friend? They’d grown up together, I knew that much. But unlike KC, Lucian was a bit…stiff. Reserved. Always in a fancy suit. Tall—maybe even taller than KC—sleek, and polished. And with a name like Lucian Leroux, could you be anything other than fancy? Not a hair out of place. Some silver teased his temples, standing out against the brown.
Also unlike KC, Lucian was openly gay.
“You know that’s not gonna happen, right?” I asked, clearing my throat. “I won’t be here when he wakes up. He says he’s not ready.”
Lucian looked over at me and furrowed his brow. “How much time does the man need? He misses you every day.”
Oh. “Not enough, I guess.” I turned around and faced KC again. “I don’t know why you’re asking me anyway. He lives with you, doesn’t he?”
“He’s not one to discuss relationships and family attachments,” Lucian replied. “Then again, neither am I.”
Wonderful.
I retreated back into the shadows once KC woke up.
Lucian texted me a handful of updates over the weeks, but that was all. And KC would never be completely fine. I was still googling what partial paralysis could entail, and from what I was gathering, he’d always suffer from a tremendous weakness in both his legs. I’d read articles about how patients could get worse but never better in many cases. Meaning, he would have to work out like crazy to maintain what little mobility he had left, and if he didn’t, he might lose the last of his strength.
I couldn’t imagine what he was going through or how he was taking it. I wanted so badly to be there for him, but I was afraid to make things worse.
Lucian’s last update came the day they were set to go home. I’d borrowed T’s car and stood parked up the street, a few cars away from Lucian’s driveway. He lived in a big ranch-style house in a nice suburb, and he’d obviously done well for himself. People around here kept their boxwood hedges trimmed all year-round, even now when there was snow on the ground.
I hauled in a breath, noticing how cold it’d become in the car, when someone pulled into the driveway of where Lucian lived. It had to be them, right? I’d been waiting for half an hour or so.
Yeah, Lucian stepped out first, and he put on a pair of nice leather gloves and buttoned his coat on his way around the car. No, wait. He popped the trunk first. And pulled out a wheelchair.