The Gender End by Bella Forrest (the giving tree read aloud TXT) 📕

I looked up in time to see an older woman with brown hair, streaked handsomely at each temple, stalk in. She wore a modest dress, collared and long-sleeved, with a skirt that ran down below her knees—the very model of a Patrian female, except for the stubborn glint in her eyes and tilt of her head that said that she would control every room she walked into.

Scanning the room, her hazel eyes lit on Alejandro, and she began to march—not walk, but march—over to him, her arms pumping as she strode. “Alejandro Enrique Simmons, what fool thing did you go off and do now?”

Her voice was stern and filled with irritation, and I couldn’t help but smile as I took in Jennifer Wallens-Simmons, Alejandro’s wife of three decades. She slowed when she saw me and Mags, a soft, gentle smile wiping away the irritation that Alejandro had borne the brunt of for many years in his marriage.

“Viggo,” she exclaimed breathlessly, turning in her trajectory and coming over to me in a few short steps, her hands coming up to pat my shoulders and then cup my cheeks. “My dear boy, we were so worried for you—you barely come by to see us anymore!”

“I’m sorry, Jenny,” I said, gently pulling her hands from my face. “I’ve been pretty busy.”

“Completely understandable, all things considered.” She looked me over, her eyes narrowing, and she crossed her hands below her chest, a displeased look coming to her face. “You’ve lost weight. Have you not been eating enough?”

“I haven’t, ma’am, but there’s been a lot going on.”

She harrumphed, and then turned to Mags, who had come up beside her, her eyes lit up. She embraced the young woman, clearly taking pains not to hurt her. “You could do with some rest, darling. No one wants bags they could practically use to fill a dam under their eyes!”

“Ouch!” Mags said dramatically, but there was a broad smile on her face. “I know, Tía. I’m gonna grab a catnap before the meeting we’re having. Let me know how it goes with Tío!”

She excused herself and began walking to the door, a yawn splitting her mouth wide open.

“Dr. Tierney said you needed to stay in bed!” I called.

“She didn’t say where I had to stay in bed, did she?” she shot back over her shoulder as she made for the door.

Jenny and I watched her leave, and then Jenny turned, giving me her full and undivided attention. “How bad is his hand?” she asked, fidgeting nervously.

I hesitated, surprised she would be asking me this, but I realized she was trying to prepare herself for the worst. “It’s not good,” I supplied. “Dr. Tierney can explain it better, but he needs surgery—sooner rather than later—and he’s being exceptionally stubborn about it.”

She tsked, her eyes drifting over to where Alejandro was feigning sleep on the bed. I could tell he was faking it because periodically one blue eye would open just a slit before slamming closed, the muscles of his face going completely slack.

“That kooky old man will be the death of me yet,” she muttered before stomping over to the bed, intent on giving her husband a piece of her mind.

“That was Jenny?” Violet asked after she left, and I nodded.

Ms. Dale, who had been leaning quietly against the wall the entire time, stood upright and smiled. “I like her,” she said. “But maybe we don’t want to be here to witness whatever fight they’re about to have. Your room is only a few doors down; why don’t you get washed up and take a few minutes of rest yourself, and then meet us in the main conference room. I assume you know where that is?”

“I do,” I said. “We’ll see you there.”

She nodded and left, following Mags. “You guys should go,” said Quinn. “The drugs they’re giving Jay are enough to knock him out for hours, and you look exhausted. Tim and I can keep watch on him, and as soon as he’s up, we’ll let you know.”

Violet flashed a grateful smile to him, and leaned over and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Thank you, Quinn,” she breathed. “I’m glad to see that the stitches are out.”

“Me too—those things itched like hell,” Quinn replied dryly, and, having been on the receiving end of stitches before, Violet and I both shared a chuckle with him.

Then I helped her up. We said our goodbyes to Quinn and Tim, and together moved down the hall to go seek out a shower before the meeting.

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16

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Viggo

I showered slowly. I knew I shouldn’t have, but the hot water felt too good to rush away from as I let it soak into my tired and aching muscles. My time savoring the soothing warmth came to a whopping fifteen minutes, and by the time I made it back to the locker room outside the communal showers, Violet was there, getting into some clean clothes Ms. Dale had given her in the hall.

I averted my eyes as she drew a shirt over her head, and kept walking past her to the adjacent row of lockers, using them to obscure my view of her. I had meant what I said when I told her I was going to respect the sanctity of our future wedding night. It didn’t matter to me that I had seen almost all of her body when she was sick; it had been impossible to appreciate in that moment when she was in such pain. I couldn’t look at an injured woman, especially one I loved, and feel anything but concern and worry and fear.

Dressing quickly, I was just shoving my feet into my boots when Violet knocked on one of the lockers at the end of the row and then poked her head around.

“Boooooooooooo,” she jeered with a smile when she saw I was fully dressed. Her teasing brought a smile to my own lips as I drew the lacings of my boots tight and tied them.

“The towel wasn’t enough