Page 7 of The Last Love Story
“Great. We’ll send everything along to your insurance company for prior approval. Sometimes they need to see proofyou’ve tried other alternatives before they agree to pay for it. If that’s the case, just give us a call and we can send them more paperwork.”
“I can do that. Thanks.”
“Have a good day.”
Pushing out of the chair, I make my way toward the waiting room where my dad is sitting. He insisted on driving me so I don’t stress my wrist out more.
He stands when he sees me, always moving a little slow when he first stands up. His brow furrows.
“What did he say?”
“Surgery.”
“Sweetheart—”
I wave my hand, stopping his words. “Not here.”
He nods in understanding, but rests his hand soothingly on my upper back as we walk toward the elevator.
Once we’re safely out of the hospital and back in his car, tears burn in my eyes.
It’s probably going to be fine, but I’m terrified it won’t be. I’m terrified this will derail me when I’m finally on track. I’m continuously growing. And I almost have enough saved up to start audiobooks for the Mariano series. Hopefully, I can keep growing and record more of my backlist from there. But if my income starts crashing and I can’t release more books?
I bury my face in my hands as I cry. All this is threatening a part of who I am. Maybe that’s ridiculous. Plenty of people have successful careers with much worse situations than what I’m in. I know that. But I have to feel my emotions and let them out or they’ll eat away at me.
“Hey, we’re going to get through this,” Dad says gently. “We’ve gotten through worse. Remember the time we got stranded in that tiny cabin in the woods because a tree fell over the road, then we both ended up with a stomach virus and had to share that tiny pot of a toilet?”
I sit up, laughing through my tears. “You went outside one time because you couldn’t wait.”
“And it was pouring.”
His deep brown eyes, that are just like mine, twinkle with mischief.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. What do you say? Brunch before we head home? We can go to that café you like.”
I smile at that. “Sounds perfect. I need all the comfort food.”
After a nice brunchwith my dad, I’m lounging on the couch, catching up on the latest season of my guiltiest pleasure,Virgin River. It’s not a guilty pleasure because it’s aimed toward women or because it’s drama and romance heavy. Nope. References to those things as guilty pleasures can be left in the past. It’s my guilty pleasure simply because it’s somessy. Sometimes not in a good way. But I’m addicted, and I can’t look away.
Tomorrow I’ll finish the final chapter of book eight and write the delicious cliffhanger I’ve been waiting to type for three books now.
Part of me wants to write it today, but I’m tired. My hand is already tingling without doing much, and I want to pout and wallow. Tomorrow I’ll get back at it, then I’ll start my read through—and take a serious look at my schedule and how I think it’s going to be affected by my surgery. There’s no way I can comfortably bang out book nine beforehand, especially with my hand so sensitive.
Maybe I’ll wait to start it… even though that might kill me.
I’m about to spiral down a rabbit hole of dictation software when my stomach rumbles.
If I’m going to doom research things, it’s better to have coffeeand some of my dad’s homemade chocolate chip banana bread while I do.
I head for the kitchen and get my little comfort snack before returning to the couch.
All it takes is one delicious bite of the banana bread to improve my mood a little.
My dad is a great cook—so great he runs his own YouTube channel teaching people how to cook simple but comforting meals. He does it alongside his part-time job as an accessibility consultant to contracting companies.
My dad worked in the contracting industry for years until he was involved in a forklift accident that left him with chronic pain and some limited mobility in his left leg. He took all that and turned around and became an accessibility consultant. My dad has never been one to let life get him down, and he’s a big part of the reason I chased my dream as an author.
