Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Finally, I’m going to wear her down with my persistence, and I’m not going to let up until I tear down every last wall she has and stomp it to dust.
I raise my hand and bang my fist on the door, completely ready to change things between us.
Chapter 26
Stephanie
I awaken slowly, and the first thing I notice is that someone’s banging on my door. The next thing I notice is that my wrist and head are throbbing almost in tandem.
Groaning, I roll out of the bed, banging my cast on the nightstand. “Shit.”
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I stumble out of my bedroom and head to the door. I freeze when I hear Lucas’s voice come through. “Stephanie…open up, please.”
Holy shit. Am I still dreaming?
I stare at the door as I cradle my casted wrist in my other arm. What in the hell is he doing here?
“Stephanie, please,” he calls out. “I’m worried. I heard about the accident and I went to the hospital but you weren’t there, and I just want to make sure you’re okay, then I’ll leave you alone, okay?”
That spurs me into action and I reach the door in three quick steps. I pull it open and Lucas is there looking beyond fatigued. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair is a mess, and his clothes are wrinkled. I take this all in as he takes me in, his eyes doing a quick once-over before spending a few moments on my cast before moving to my head. His jaw clenches hard and I can almost hear his teeth grinding.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him, still almost half believing this is a dream.
He doesn’t answer my question and instead says, “I’ve been knocking on your door for almost five minutes. I was about ready to call the police.”
“Sorry,” I say as I open the door further to invite him in. It’s the polite thing to do. “Guess I was sleeping too hard.”
“Why in God’s name would you check yourself out of the hospital like that?” he asks angrily, and already we are off to a bad start.
My hackles rise and I’m extra grumpy because my head is really throbbing right now. “How about you answering my first question…why are you here?”
Lucas steps past me into my living room and I shut the door, turning to face him. He looks me over again, and says, “You should be in bed. I’ll make you some breakfast and coffee.”
“Lucas,” I say sharply, and he blinks at me in surprise. “What are you doing here? If I remember correctly, with my concussion and all, you have a play-off game tonight in New Jersey.”
“Did you honestly think Jules was going to keep this to herself?” he asks me with a slight sarcasm in his voice that I’d normally welcome, but not now. I have a massive headache and it’s hard to wipe my butt with my nondominant hand. Let’s just say I’m grumpy.
Still, I admit, “No. I figured she’d call Max and word would get back to you.”
“And did you honestly think that you could have a near-death experience,” he says quietly as he takes a step closer to me, “and get seriously injured, that I wouldn’t come to see how you were doing?”
“The baby’s fine,” I mutter as my hand rubs my stomach. Lucas’s eyes drop there briefly before coming back up to meet mine. “I’m sure Jules passed that on too.”
“I’m not here for the baby,” Lucas says in a low voice. “I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to take my mind off the fact I’m getting ready to burst into tears, and I’m not sure it has anything to do with hormones. The fact that Lucas is checking on me when I’ve pretty much resigned myself that he didn’t give a shit at all has me feeling all kinds of stuff that’s extremely uncomfortable right now.
“Why?” I ask, and that’s really all I can say or I might start blubbering like a baby, and I don’t like to cry. My parents hated it when I was growing up so I learned how to contain my feelings, but fuck if they’re not threatening to break free right now.
Okay, yes…that must be hormones.
Rather than answer me, Lucas spins away from me, scrubbing his hands through his hair before grabbing the top of his head while he stares at my kitchen. I remain silent because the ball is in his court.
When he turns back around, his expression is guarded. His words come out in a forced manner that I know means it’s difficult for him to say them. “The thought of you dying was unbearable to me.”
“What?” I whisper, my heart starting to flutter madly, and I wonder if I’m having a stroke or something. I was, after all, hit by a car yesterday.