Puck Blocked (VANCOUVER KNIGHTS #4) by Kylie Kent EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Kylie Kent
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Present
My lashes feel like they’re glued shut, my lids heavy as I try to pry
them open while something hammers around inside my brain. I
choose the option of keeping my eyes closed for a minute. I just
need another minute.
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As I lie here, the sounds of machines humming and beeping, the smell
of antiseptic, and the coldness of the air let me know I’m in a hospital. They
also let me know I’m still alive. Although these days I’m not sure if that’s a
good thing or not.
It’s not that I want to die exactly. I just don’t want to live. When living
is filled with nothing but pain, what’s the point? I’ve been trying. I thought
I was doing really well.
I thought wrong.
When I hear footsteps enter the room, I slowly blink my eyes open,
needing to see who it is, needing to know if it’s him. My body relaxes and
the breath I was holding comes out in a whoosh of air the moment I realize
it’s a nurse. It’s not him. I’m not surprised, though. He’s never visited me in
the hospital before. I doubt he’d start now.
“Hey, darling, how are you feeling?” the nurse asks. The voice, it’s one
I recognize, one I’ve heard all my life.
“Mrs. Jameson? What happened?” I ask while bringing my hand to my
head. It hurts. Badly. Much worse than usual.
“You were brought in last night, sweetie. You were in a car accident. Do
you remember any of it?”
“A car accident?” Of course I was in a car accident. I do my best to not
roll my eyes.
“Are you in pain?” Mrs. Jameson offers me a soft smile.
I nod. Because, honestly, right now I’ll take whatever she wants to give
me if it means the pain will stop. Although, there isn’t a pill to stop the real
pain, the dull ache deep within me that hasn’t left since my brother died.
Since I lost Sean and…
Nope, I will not even think his name. He doesn’t exist anymore.
Sometimes I wonder if he ever really did. I like to pretend that I made him
up in my head, some fantasy a teenage girl created to escape her reality. But
then I look at Mrs. Jameson, his mother, and know that’s not right either.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask about him. How is he doing? Is he
still hurting as much as I am? Does he miss me? Does he even think about
me?
I don’t, though. Instead, I close my eyes and count to six. It’s my magic
number, and I’m not going to analyze why it’s that number in particular that
seems to calm me whenever I’m at my worst.
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