Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
I stumble, my ankle twisting before I land on my ass in the dirt. For long moments, I just sit there, groaning. Trying to catch my breath. My ankle twinges. My arm hurts. And dammit all, maybe Trystan was right.
I am going home demoralized and defeated.
From the looks of it, so is Thanos.
"Come here, buddy," I whisper softly, calling him over to me.
He skulks toward me with his head hanging low and his tail between his legs before he crawls into my lap. His tongue licks all the way up the side of my face in a silent apology.
"It's okay," I murmur, burying my face in his fur. "It's okay, big guy."
He huffs quietly as if to say it's far from okay. And he isn't wrong. But that isn't his fault. He's just a dog, a frightened, anxious dog who spent too much time in a warzone and still hasn't figured out that he never has to go back again.
"What the fuck?" Trystan growls as soon as I limp into the kitchen. He immediately tosses his dish towel, hurrying toward me. Two plates rest on the kitchen table, his laptop nowhere in sight. The whole house smells like bacon. "What happened?"
"Cat in the park," I grumble.
"Jesus, baby. Did you get into a fight with it?" he asks, scooping me up to carry me to the table.
"What? No, of course not. It scared Thanos, and he took off running. He ended up dragging me. I twisted my ankle." I glance down at the dog, who is curled up on his bed, his head on his front paws. "My shoulder hurts too. But it's not his fault."
Trystan sighs softly, easing me down into a chair before kneeling in front of me. His fingers close around my ankle, lifting it onto his knee to examine it. I fight the urge to shiver as he traces a fingertip across my bare skin. "How bad does it hurt?"
"Not bad," I mutter. "It's definitely not broken." It's not even really swollen. It just aches a little. I'm sure it'll be fine in a few hours.
"You should get it checked out anyway."
"It's fine, Trystan. I just need to rest it for a few hours. Same for the shoulder." I shift my gaze from my ankle to my wrist. There's a very obvious leash-burn around it. "My wrist probably needs cleaning up, though."
Trystan's lips purse when he sees it. He immediately hops up, striding toward the sink to grab the first aid kit Wyatt keeps tucked beneath it. "You aren't walking him at the park alone anymore, princess."
"Obviously," I grumble. "I didn't think I was going to get him stopped for a minute there. Poor guy freaked out. Honestly, it was Donny's fault."
Trystan drops to his knees beside me, meeting my gaze. "What happened?"
"He texted me." I scowl at the reminder. "Can you believe he actually offered to give me back my job if I lied to his wife and told her that I made it all up?"
"What the fuck?" Trystan's expression goes stony. "Why isn't he blocked?"
"He is!" I cry, instantly annoyed at the assumption. "I blocked him right after he sent me those messages." I glare at Trystan as he dabs ointment on my wrist. "And even if I hadn't, that doesn't make it my fault he's harassing me."
"I never said that."
"You sure? Because that's what it sounded like to me. I know damn well that you were taught better than to victim-blame. I know your parents." Uncle Eli would crawl all over his ass for something like that.
"What the fuck? That's not what I was doing, baby. Of course, it isn't your fault. It never even crossed my mind to blame you. The only one responsible is the fucking asshole who decided being your boss gave him a free pass to try to get in your pants. He deserves to have his balls ripped out through his throat for even thinking the shit he sent you."
"You asked why I hadn't blocked him."
"It wasn't meant to be an accusation," he says softly. "I was just asking how he was contacting you because you shouldn't have to deal with that shit."
"Oh," I say, slightly mollified. "He used a different number. Probably a text app, which is honestly gross in and of itself." I pause. "I'm not lying for him."
"Hell no, you aren't," Trystan growls.
"I have to tell my dad." It's the only option I have at this point. As much as I don't want to risk him murdering Donny, if I don't tell him now, it'll only be worse when he does find out. And since Donny clearly isn't willing to let it go, now that I've told his wife, my dad is going to find out what really happened sooner or later. Honestly, I'm not sure why I ever thought I could keep it from him in the first place.