Page 85 of Rescuing Mary

Truck shook his head. Yeah, he’d really screwed up by bringing insurance into things. Mary was proud. She’d never agree to marry him for his insurance.

He should’ve been freaking out that he’d asked a woman to marry him and couldn’t remember it, but the only thing he was worried about was if she’d finally given in or not. He kept reading.

* * *

I thought I was dying today. I hoped I was dying. I’ve never felt so terrible. Not even the first time I went through chemo. I couldn’t get out of bed. I haven’t eaten anything in two days. Nothing feels as bad as your body eating itself from the inside out. I have no idea if that’s what’s going on or not, but it feels like it.

I was lying there, praying for death, and all of a sudden Truck was here. My “perfect man” broke into my damn apartment (although I have to admit, it’s kinda hot that he can pick locks!). He used his medic training and told me I was dehydrated and had to eat. Duh.

He stayed with me all day. Forcing me to drink. Making me eat, even though twice what I ate came back up. (Good Lord, can I not throw up in front of the perfect man for once in my life?!?)

Then I broke.

He told me that he’d researched it and we could be married in three days. All he had to do was get the application and we could go down to the courthouse and get it done. Easy-peasy. He told me that his insurance would kick in immediately and I could start the chemo again.

That’s the last thing I wanted, but for some reason, I let him convince me. I’m just tired. Tired of fighting him. Tired of being sick. Tired of worrying about every-fucking-thing. Truck said he’d take care of me, and I believe him. He might be marrying me so I don’t croak, but I have no doubt that he’ll do anything necessary to take care of me.

I think I gave in because no one (other than Raynie, and that’s different because she doesn’t actually live with me) has ever given the littlest shit about me. Mama sure didn’t. Neither did all those uncles.

If I wasn’t so tired and sick, I know I probably would’ve stuck to my guns. Had some pride. But when you’re at rock bottom, what’s a little pride?

* * *

Mary agreed to marry him?

Holy fucking shit!

Truck put his head back on the couch and closed his eyes.

Had they gone through with it? He had to think they did, since she was still alive today. If she was that bad off, there’s no way she would’ve been able to beat the cancer without chemo.

He was married? Mary was his wife?

Eager to find out what happened next, Truck opened his eyes and read the next entry as fast as he could.

* * *

Well, it’s done. I married Truck today. It wasn’t exactly romantic, we were in and out of the courthouse in thirty minutes, but I’m now Mrs. Ford Laughlin. How did I celebrate? I barfed all over the bathroom floor. Again. FML.

Truck brought me to his apartment and got me in bed, then left to go to post and file the paperwork so I could get on his insurance. He’s been distracted because all the guys left to go out to Idaho. Something to do with Fish and his new woman. But of course I don’t know what’s going on because I haven’t talked to Rayne or the others as much as I’ve wanted to.

Then, while he was gone, I christened our married life by puking on the bathroom floor.

I’m pathetic.

And hideously ugly (it’s a good thing sex is off the table because Truck would take one look at my flat-as-fuck chest and run screaming from the room, saying he was no child molester).

And married.

Fuck. What did I do?

I married a man for love and he married me for pity.

Fuck!

* * *

Looking down at his ring finger, Truck had a distinct memory of Mary sliding a ring on it. Where was it now?