Crossing Into Brooklyn by J.A. Armstrong

Author:J.A. Armstrong
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Bumbling Bard Creations
Published: 2020-12-09T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

DECEMBER 10th

Fifteen hours. That’s how long I sat at the keyboard. I’m relieved to be finished with this novel. I’m also wiped—mentally, physically, and emotionally. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to click send on an email. Nell can exhale too. One more deadline met. One more story in the hopper. I crawled into bed at five this morning. I could swear I just fell asleep when my phone pings with a message from Nell.

“What’s on deck next?”

Is she serious? A break. That’s what’s next. I need a few weeks before I start thinking about tackling another novel. I’ll think about it after the holidays. I should be grateful for the message. Without it, I likely would have overslept. Brooklyn is due to arrive sometime around nine. That gives me half an hour to make myself look like something resembling a human—a human woman. Good luck. I pull myself out of bed and head for the bathroom. Lord, help me. I’m not sure who is looking back at me. I swear I’ve aged about twenty years in the last twenty-four hours. It’s going to take a lot more than a hot shower and a vat of coffee to remedy this mess. I don’t even think a pound of makeup will help. My eyes look like I spent an epic night smoking pot and drinking whiskey. I laugh. That’s probably what a few people think I do after they read my books. Laughing brings about an unexpected coughing fit. Fabulous. Hopefully, a hot shower will help. At least I won’t stink. “Realistic goals, Carter,” I tell myself as I step into the shower. “Take the small wins.” Can I go back to bed now?

***

I open the door for Brooklyn. She steps inside and sets down her bag.

“You look terrible.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Brooklyn presses her palm to my forehead. “Why didn’t you call me and tell me you weren’t feeling well?”

“I’m just over-tired.”

I watch as Brooklyn sheds her coat and drapes it over the chair. When she turns to face me again, her eyes narrow with worry.

“I finished the book.” I don’t have the chance to continue. A deep cough grips my chest.

“Carter.” Brooklyn grabs the coffee cup in my hand and places it on the counter. She takes my hand and starts to lead me from the kitchen.

“I’m fine,” I argue.

“You’re full of shit.”

I start to chuckle. I can’t even be amused without coughing.

“You need to go back to bed,” she tells me.

“No.”

“Then you should lie down on the couch.”

“Brooklyn—”

“Don’t argue with me. You don’t see you.”

I groan. I know she’s right. “We have things to do today,” I say.

“Oh, no, we don’t. I have some things to do. The only thing you’re doing is resting on this couch.”

“Brooklyn—”

Brooklyn settles me onto my couch and pulls a blanket over me. “Carter, I mean it. You have a fever.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Yeah? Well, I happen to know the password for your phone. Don’t make me call her.”

I laugh through fits of coughing.

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