Nashville Boxed Set #1-3 by Bethany Michaels

Author:Bethany Michaels [Michaels, Bethany]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dragonfly Press Books
Published: 2014-03-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

The great mystery of the universe isn’t which came first, the chicken or the egg. It’s not where do we go when we die, or whether the whole New Coke thing was just a marketing stunt to get people all riled up so that the company could “bring back” Coke Classic and make a boatload of money. The greatest question of our time is why are hospital waiting rooms so damn cold?

Is it because they think a bunch of people under stress won’t spontaneously combust if they keep the temperature under sixty degrees? It is because they think we won’t notice how long we’ve actually been waiting because we’re too busy trying to find a place just out of range of the security cameras to start a fire to burn stacks of outdated magazines for warmth?

I mean, on the other side of the ominous double doors are people with decades of education and experience in one of the most complicated professional fields there is. Some of those people can operate on your brain successfully, but they can’t figure out how to run the HVAC system?

Or maybe it just seemed so cold because I was sitting next to my older sister. I loved her and all, but if we were not related, I wouldn’t have liked her. At all.

Sherri was older than me by four years and, to be fair, between Mom and me had more shit to deal with growing up than any pre-teen should have. That had been enough to piss anyone off for a good, long time.

We looked a lot alike, with the same dark chocolate-colored hair, brown eyes, and full lips. Her figure was a little fuller than mine, thanks to the two rugrats she’d popped out in recent years. She wore the typical mom jeans and conservative tunic tops, which didn’t help. Her wavy hair was tightly restrained in a low ponytail and showed gray hairs here and there, while mine flew free around my head. She was conservative and uptight. I was, well, not.

I checked the clock on my cell phone and sighed.

“Can you stop fidgeting, please?” She didn’t even look up from the wrinkled copy of Ladies’ Home Journal.

“I’m not fidgeting.”

“You are,” she said in the mom voice I hated—a little bit dominating, a little bit condescending, a whole lot irritating.

“Well, it’s been like three hours already. When are they going to let us back?”

Sherri looked up from her magazine. “As soon as they’re done suturing.”

I got up to pace the waiting room. I was angry and worried and totally pissed off all at once. I wanted to hunt down the latest dickhead Mom had been shacking up with—I couldn’t keep track of their names—and show him what happened when a woman with a backbone and a heavy-ass baseball bat came knocking at his door.

“God, I hope she doesn’t go back to that asshole.” I dug through my purse for quarters to feed the coffee machine.

“You know she will. Or find someone just like him.

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