Page 111 of The Lies I've Told
“Fuck!”
Searing pain went through my entire hand. I’d missed the chisel entirely, my hand crushed in the process. Dropping both tools to the ground, I tried not to panic.
“Oh my God, Aiden!” Millie rushed to my side as I grunted in pain, pulling my hand to my chest. Her eyes widened as she took in the full extent of my injury.
“I’m calling Jake.” Her gaze tried to avoid my hand, which could only mean one thing.
It was bad.
Really bad.
I’d taken a swing or two at my fingers before but nothing like this.
Nothing with such force. Such power.
I’d been sure of my lines.
A random thought drifted through my brain.
The coffee cup.
The one I’d broken those first couple of days after meeting Millie. I’d been so sure I’d set it on the countertop.
I swallowed hard as I watched Millie run toward the house to retrieve her phone, the silhouette of her body so fuzzy around the edges.
I’d been trying to ignore it over the last few weeks, how much worse it’d become.
But the truth was as plain as the test results on that sheet of paper I still carried around with me. I was so frightened Millie would find it and discover the truth before I was ready to share it.
I was going blind.
Quicker than I’d imagined.
And, soon, the world would be nothing but an empty, black void, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about it.
Except for wait as my world came crashing down around me.
“We can take the ferry,” I argued, my head alternating from a very worried Millie to a somewhat equally worried Jake.
“No,” Millie replied, ushering me out toward the car.
Jake had been here in minutes after she made the call, confirming what we’d both already known. I needed to go to the hospital as soon as possible.
“We’re flying. I’ve already called Jimmy, and he’s agreed to take us.”
“It’s just a broken hand.”
“It’s more than a broken hand, Aiden,” Jake chimed in, both of us looking down at the alarming rate my hand was swelling. “I think some of those bones are shattered. I can set a bone, but if it’s shattered, that requires surgery.”
Great.
I could see the fear in her eyes as she helped me into the car, assisting me with my seat belt since my injured left hand made it difficult.
“Thanks,” I said a second before she pulled away.
Her eyes glistened, and her voice wavered. “I’m so sorry, Aiden.”
“Why are you sorry?” I asked, my good hand resting atop hers.
