Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
There was something outside the good, but he couldn’t make sense of what it was. And it was okay because the singing voice was always close. Sometimes he felt the bad come closer, but then the voice hushed and shushed, and the bad went away, replaced by the thud, thud, thud. Both anchored him to the good and the safe.
Back. Forth. Back. Forth.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
He felt his skin and wiggled his toes. He felt his eyes move and became aware of light outside his lids. He didn’t want to come out of his body. It was safe inside. Warm and full and good.
“There you are, sweetness,” the voice said. “Are you going to open your eyes and say hi? I’ve been waiting for you.”
Waiting. The voice was waiting. The voice wanted him to open his eyes.
Fear. Light. Space so big. Too big.
“Okay, that’s okay. You take your time. There’s no rush. You take all the time you need.”
Time. No rush. Safe.
Back. Forth. Back. Forth.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Cold. Warm. Empty. Full.
The voice again. Singing. So sweet. He wanted to see the voice. The voice was good. The voice took away the cold and the empty. The voice made him safe.
He raised his lids, the light seeping in. He knew the light because he’d known the dark. The space around him brightened, and the voice became a face. Smiling. “Hello. There you are, sweetness. I’m happy to see you.” The voice was a she. She was happy to see him. Her smile grew bigger, and her eyes crinkled. He could feel himself smiling back. The woman laughed. “A smile too! My goodness, what a beautiful smile.”
He wanted to see her smile some more. He wanted to smile more, too, because she thought his smile was good. But he was so tired, his lids heavy, and so he closed his eyes. And again, he slept.
Back. Forth. Back. Forth.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A knock sounded on the door just as Lennon was tying the robe around her waist. She considered ignoring it, but what if her mom had decided hearing her voice over the phone wasn’t good enough—even though Lennon had downplayed her injuries—and headed over with a dose of herbs and tinctures that would wipe away both her bruises and her memory? She’d gladly swallow it down, every drop. She knew she was one of the lucky cops, as she hadn’t had any serious injuries since she joined the force. That streak had ended with the painful punch to her face.
She shuffled to the door and looked through the peephole, her heart stuttering when she saw Ambrose’s face filling the small oval. She was both surprised to see him and also not, and before she could even consider it, she found herself unlocking her door and pulling it open.
He stood there, his hair still slightly wet from what must have been a recent shower, because she’d been home since right before noon, and there hadn’t been a drop of rain all day. “Hi,” he said. His gaze went to her eye that was now just red and slightly swollen but would likely be black and blue in the next few days. “How’s the eye?”
“A little blurry, but otherwise okay. The boss is insisting I take the next few days off.”
“Good.” He was holding a bowl with foil over the top, and she had a momentary flash of all those neighbors and friends who’d shown up at her parents’ door so many years ago carrying a casserole or a potato salad or a Bundt cake meant to feed their hearts as much as their bellies. She pushed those old memories away and stepped back so he could enter.
“I talked to Lieutenant Byrd. He says he spoke to you already and that you seemed okay, but . . . well, I thought I’d check for myself, because I missed you at the hospital. And I brought you this.” He presented the bowl, and Lennon looked down at it for several beats before taking it from his hands.
“What is it?”
“A fruit salad.” Her gaze held on the shiny foil cover. Oh. He’d brought her a fruit salad. It made her smile and oddly want to cry.
“Brave,” she said. “After my fruit salad tirade.”
“No guts, no glory.”
She pressed her lips together, stifling a bigger smile, and she was honestly shocked that she could smile at all today. It had been over twelve hours since the attack, and she still felt shaky. “Come on,” she said. “I was just going to make some tea, and I’ll check this situation out.”
Ambrose followed her to her kitchen, which was just a few steps past the small entryway, and she set the bowl on the table, carefully peeling the foil back so she could assess this fruit salad that he’d made. “Plenty of berries,” she said. “Watermelon—a good choice. And, oh”—she met his eyes, her heart squeezing—“you cut it into stars.”