Thirteen (Love by Numbers Book 4)
The Love by Numbers series
Thirteen
Thirteen...
Unlucky for some.
Including me.
The woman I loved left me on the thirteenth.
Thirteen months of living together and she walked out the door without looking back, straight into another man's arms.
She was kind enough to leave something to remind me of her: thirteen thousand pounds worth of debt.
Thirteen; the day I lost my nuts.
Well, I didn't lose them, cancer took them from me. Better to be a man without balls than one without life.
Still, thirteen sucked... until it didn't.
Until her.
Thirteen might just be my new lucky number.
Thirteen is book #4 in the 'Love by Numbers' series. It is interconnected but can be read as a standalone.
“
Never love anyone who treats you like you’re ordinary.
”
– Oscar Wilde
To G for being my soul mate and best friend; trust I seek and I find in you.
To L, G & A for inspiring me to be better.
To P for being the best big brother a girl could ever want. I miss you.
The whole ‘Love by Numbers’ series, including this book, is set in Britain and has been written using U.K. English. It contains euphemisms and slang words that form part of the British spoken word, which is the basis for this book’s writing style.
Please remember that the words are not misspelled, neither are any of the words that use U.K. spellings.
If you would like further explanation, or to discuss the translation or meaning of a particular word, please do not hesitate to contact the author. Contact details can be found at the back of the book.
C
onsciousness knocks against the back of my eyelids like an unwelcome cold-caller who is banging the shit out of your front door on a Sunday morning and trying to sell you double-glazing.
“Fuck off, leave me alone,” I mumble. Only the words never actually leave my lips. They rattle around the inside of my foggy brain, leaving me to wonder what kind of night I must have had, to emerge with a hangover like this.
I
slowly force my eyelids open past the dryness. The caked on sleep feels like little grains of sand, ones that are scraping against my sensitive eyes, with every minute blink.
Strip lighting.
Stark white walls.
The sterile smell of bleach.
I attempt to roll over and get a better view of my surroundings, but my limbs won’t move. Have I been tied down?
Oh, fuck!
I’ve been abducted by a sex-trafficking ring.
They are going to force-feed me poppers and Viagra and sell me off to a sadistic, wealthy old lady, who smells of mothballs and has a penchant for pony rides.
Oh, fuck!
She is going to make me her pony!
“B
rian, come quickly. He’s awake.”
The voice comes from somewhere in the blinding whiteness. It sounds familiar. Some fucker I know has sold me. Sold my body to the highest bidder.
Hang on, I know the name Brian, that’s my Dad’s name.
No. They wouldn’t dare.
A gentle hand brushes the hair across my forehead, and I can’t help but flinch at the touch. My parents have betrayed me. How dare she pretend to soothe me. Selling their only child to geriatric, sex perverts.
“Harry, how are you feeling?”
I don’t offer a reply, my eyes still can’t focus on her face, and my lips refuse to peel away from my teeth.
“Brian, get the nurse. His eyes are open, but he’s not looking at me. Something’s wrong.”
Movement from the corner of the room is what finally breaks through the haze. One more blink brings my mother’s face into focus. Her brow furrows with worry, and her usually smiling eyes are glassy.