Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138844 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138844 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
“Ten points.” I let my gaze travel from south to north, and I met his smirk. “Hi. I have a suggestion—oh. Are you alone?”
He poked his head out and checked the corridor. “For now. Master will be back in a few. What’s up?”
I picked another sauce-drenched fry to munch on. “In my professional opinion, I think we should postpone the big mindfuck reveal till after we get home.”
That made him frown. “Why? Have you heard anything?”
Boy, had I.
“I’m fairly certain River and maybe Reese know,” I replied.
Then I proceeded to tell him all the details, starting with breakfast this morning.
Day five
KC Hayles
I panted through gnashed teeth and managed to push myself up to lean back against the oven. The damn chair mocked me. I’d somehow tipped it over when I’d fallen, and I used all the strength I could muster to kick it away from me.
Wow. You pathetic fucking loser, you nudged it a foot away.
“Fuck.” I felt the crippling despair wash over me once more, and I covered my face with my hands.
Get it together, get it together, or…fucking die already.
Lucian couldn’t see me like this. He’d be home any moment.
He’d help me off the floor, make sure I was okay—which I fucking wasn’t—and then he’d berate me for trying to reach for the motherfucking coffee filters on my own instead of waiting for him.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t. Four months of this bullshit. I should’ve died. They never should’ve dug me out of the snow. What was I good for? Fucking nothing. Daily rehab exhausted me, Lucian had to drive me back and forth, only to return to work after, and I’d turned his home upside down.
I couldn’t reach a damn thing, so Lucian had pulled everything from the cupboards. The microwave was sitting on the edge of the counter—same with the coffeemaker. Plates, glasses, all of it. The kitchen was a disaster.
And because the coffee filters happened to be a few inches out of reach, I was now on the goddamn floor bawling my eyes out.
I screamed. I fucking screamed. All the pain, all the hope, the grief, the bitterness… Except, no matter how much I screamed, I felt the same. I couldn’t get any of those hateful emotions out of me. They stayed. They clung to me every single day.
Thank God Noa couldn’t see me.
I’d questioned my decision to walk out of his life right up until I’d woken up in a hospital bed with doctors saying I’d probably never walk normally again.
Well. They hadn’t phrased themselves that way. Doctors could get away with “We don’t know yet” and “We will have to see how physical therapy goes.”
The moment I heard a door open, I sucked in a ragged breath and clenched my jaw. He was gonna see me. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Damn if I let him hear me sob like a baby again, though.
“KC?”
I coughed and cleared my throat. “Unless you brought home a fucking noose, just walk past the kitchen.”
The sound of keys and a…briefcase?…hitting the floor followed, and then Lucian barged in.
“Christ, what happened? Are you okay?”
“Do I look okay?” I snapped.
He let out a breath and hitched his hands under my armpits.
Humiliation crashed down on me as we struggled to get me upright. I had zero sensation left in my legs, except for those prickling tingles that grated on my nerves. Tears streamed down my face, and I finally grabbed on to the counter, making it easier for Lucian to lift me higher until I could lock my knees into place. Then he hurried to right the chair and bring it over to me.
“I told you we should’ve hired a nurse.” He helped me into the chair, and it just felt like I couldn’t reach another low.
Breathing heavily, unable to control my emotions, I threw him a glance and then looked away again. A fucking nurse. Because I couldn’t do shit on my own.
“The only thing I need is to fucking hang myself,” I said hoarsely.
“If you say that one more time,” he growled. A beat later, he was right in front of me, and he grabbed my face when I tried to wrench away. “No—you’re gonna fucking look at me, KC.”
I glared at him, no matter how blurry he became.
“This is temporary,” he implored. “You’re making progress—”
“Get the fuck out,” I choked out. “I’ll never be okay. Don’t you fucking get that?”
That set him off. “You’re worth more than your goddamn legs, KC! I’m not saying you’ll be bungee jumping anytime soon—I’m saying you’re going to heal anyway. You’re gonna overcome these obstacles and find happiness despite all these new challenges.”
I wanted to hurl. He could speak as eloquently as he wanted; these weren’t new “challenges.” They were a death sentence. I was useless. I was a shell of a man.