Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Isabella
I lie back on the couch with my arm over my eyes. My head is throbbing from all the crying, and the light from the kitchen is not helping.
“Carlottaaaaa!”
She laughs from the kitchen and comes back, rubbing her flat stomach. “You know the ice cream was for you, and you didn’t even eat it.” She sits down on the end of the couch and pulls my feet onto her lap. “I’m going to be sick I ate so much of it.”
“I need to get a job,” I announce.
She slaps my leg. “There’s no rush. I mean, really, Issi. You got married. Spent weeks planning a funeral for a woman you love that you buried yesterday. Give yourself a break.”
I shake my head, overwhelmed. “I wonder what he’s doing in Vegas. I should have answered when he called. You should have let me.”
She rolls her eyes at me, but I don’t take offense. Carlotta is the queen of eye rolling. “It’s not going to hurt him to think about what he did. Let him wonder what you’re doing. You’ve played easy to get–”
“Hey!” I say, somewhat offended. “I’m not easy.”
She shrugs. “I know that. I meant... You know what I meant. It’s all right–”
But she doesn’t get to finish because my phone rings again. Carlotta grabs it out of her pocket–yes, she had to hold it to stop me from calling Lucas back–and her eyes widen. “Oh shit. It’s Ford.”
I sit up and dive onto her lap. Ford doesn’t call me. I mean never. And if he’s calling me right now, then there must be something wrong. Everything starts to go through my head, and I answer the phone. “Yeah. Ford. Hey. Everything okay?”
He doesn’t make me wait. “I need your help, Issi. There’s something wrong with Lucas.”
I jump off of Carlotta’s lap and pace around the room in search of my shoes. “I thought he was on his way to Vegas.”
“No, he’s home. I hate to call you, but I’m really worried about him.”
I pull my bag over my shoulder and am walking out the door. “Of course, I’ll go. I’m on my way. Is he okay?”
He hesitates. “Yeah, uh, I think he will be.”
“Sure, Ford. I’m going right now.”
I hang up the phone, and I’m opening Carlotta’s car door and climbing in. Carlotta is hopping on one foot, trying to put her shoe on as she comes out of the house.
“What’s going on, Issi? What happened?” she asks as she gets in the driver’s seat and puts her seatbelt on.
I am not going to cry. I won’t cry. “I don’t know. Ford just said he’s worried about Lucas.” I slap my hand on the dashboard. “Go, Carl, let’s go.”
She laughs, and I don’t see what’s so funny. I fidget and bounce my leg the whole way across town. Carlotta tries to calm me, but that’s not going to happen. The only way I’m going to have any semblance of calm is when I see Lucas and know he’s all right. When she finally gets onto Lucas’ road, I have one hand around my bag and the other on the door handle. Carlotta reaches across me, her arm over my chest. “Geez, Issi, at least wait until I get to a complete stop.”
As soon as she pulls in the driveway, I’m out the door. I hear her call after me, “Call me later.”
I wave a hand at her as I run into the house. “Lucas!”
I look in his office, and he’s not there. I take the stairs two at a time and stop when I get to his bedroom door. “Lucas,” I say, panting. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
He’s lying on the bed. He has his jeans on and a T-shirt that stretches across his chest as he leans up on his elbows. “You came?”
He looks surprised as I approach the bed. “Of course I came. Ford said he was worried about you.”
I stop next to the bed and grab his wrist, while looking at my watch and counting his pulse.
“I’m hurting, Bella.”
His pulse is a little elevated to be lying down, but nothing worrisome. I hold my hand to his forehead to see if he has a temperature. “Where? Where are you hurting?”
He doesn’t feel warm.
Lucas lifts his hand and holds it over his heart. “Right here.”
His heart. Fuck. “What kind of pain? Any shortness of breath?”
I walk away to get my bag with my stethoscope, and he grabs my hand. “No. No shortness of breath.”
I look down where he’s holding my wrist. “When did it start, Lucas?”
“It started when I woke up this morning and saw the marks on your body. The bruises that I put there. The pain became unbearable when I got home and you had left me.”
My mouth falls open, and I look at him with surprise in my eyes. “I didn’t leave you, Lucas.”