Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“You okay?” he asks, worry lacing his words and reflecting in his eyes.
My eyes are still black. He notices, too, and strokes my hair out of my face. “Katie’s here.”
“She has my bloodwork?”
“I don’t know. Jensen’s here, too.”
“Okay, then, that’s for later. Let’s deal with my father first.”
He backs up, and I step into the main room.
In an instant, the room is abuzz with activity as Jensen and Katie greet me, neither mentioning nor even seeming to notice my eyes, but they do, of course. Creed must have warned them not to react. I, for one, am glad to see Jensen looking himself, and I say as much. Caleb has apparently joined our get-together as well, but he must be new on the scene as he motions for Creed to join him in the hallway. Creed nods and gives me a chin lift before he follows Caleb out of the room, and I have a bad feeling that’s nothing good.
“I brought coffee,” Katie says, holding up a cup meant for me. She is a blossom of jasmine-scented perfume, dressed in black pants peeking from beneath her lab coat.
I accept the cup; I’m not sure I can stomach it, but I do love my coffee. “Thank you, Katie.” I sit at a small, round kitchen table across from Jensen, who’s ready for me with his MacBook open.
“Where’s my coffee?” Jensen asks.
“You’re barely off the IV,” Katie says dismissively.
“GTECH, Doc,” he says. “A little coffee won’t kill me. I’ve been off that IV for hours already.”
Katie holds up a finger. “One hour off the IV.” She eyes me. “He thinks he’s Superman. At least Maddox is taking it easy this morning. He’s still resting.”
Creed and Caleb return to the room, the testosterone level in the small space skyrocketing off the charts. They claim the edge of the living room, standing side-by-side. Tall, dominant men. Leaders.
“He’s your Superman,” Jensen says to Katie, inclining his chin at Caleb, and then he lowers his voice as he glances at Creed. “And the Dark One there is our Batman.”
I don’t laugh, as he’s probably not far off with his premise. I’m just not sure how Creed would feel about his comparison. I sip my coffee, and somehow, as illogical as it is, just having something, anything, in my belly calms the ire of my gut.
Jensen punches a few keys on his computer. “Boy Wonder—that would be me—needs a few minutes to get set-up, so feel free to poke and prod Addie. I’m happy that the doctor’s attention is diverted elsewhere.”
I glance at the clock and note the eight o’clock hour. “As long as I call him in the next hour,” I say. “I’d really like to shower, if that’s okay?”
“We have some things to discuss, anyway,” Caleb interjects. “Do what you ladies need to do.”
“Why don’t I join you for a moment in the bathroom before you shower?” Katie suggests. “I need to get some blood and check your vitals.”
“That works,” I agree, my eyes meeting Creed’s, his dark with concern, and remotely, I’m aware of Caleb watching us.
“Any results on her blood work?” Creed asks, as if he can’t take the idea of me going in the bathroom and finding out what he will not know. And clearly, by way of my eyes, everyone knows what’s going on anyway.
“I don’t discuss labs with anyone but the patient, and I’m not prepared to make any conclusions at this point,” Katie replies, casting him a ‘dare you to challenge me’ look. She grabs the medical bag and motions me to the bathroom.
My eyes meet Creed’s, anger crackling in his stare, but he won’t push the topic in front of the group, of this I am certain. He wasn’t suggesting she share the results with everyone. He’s a private person. He’d never do such a thing. He’s just anxious, and I’m going to bet he’s freaking out inside right now.
I enter the bathroom with Katie on my heels, and she shuts the door and sets the bag on the counter, her hands settling on her hips. “How do you feel?”
“Do you know anything yet, Katie?” I prod, steeling myself for the answer.
“You’re ovulating. You’re low on vitamin C,” she says, removing a syringe from her bag. “Which is why I’m giving you a supplement along with the nausea medicine.” She points to the edge of the tub, which has a wide girth of a ledge. “Sit.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing yet,” she says, injecting the vitamin C and then pulling out another syringe. “None of the more advanced testing is ready. And I need to compare today’s samples to last night’s. How do you feel?”
“Sick,” I say, “but not so much that I can’t hide it. Well, mostly. I had an intense spell earlier that wasn’t easy to push through. And, obviously, my eyes are not changing back to normal. Do you think—”