Chapter 13
thirteen
GENEVA
Today is the last day of the adventure part of our road trip. After a restful night snuggled against Peter’s warm body, I’m ready to go. We pack our tent, sleeping bags, and clothes back in the dry bags and secure them in the raft. Terry feeds us a hearty breakfast full of carbs that I wolf down without a second thought. Then we’re back on the water.
I close my eyes to take in the world around me. The water rushes under me, taking us toward the next rapid. Cold air caresses my face, turning my cheeks pink. Peter sits behind me with his paddle in his hand. His quiet strength reminds me nothing bad can happen as long as he’s near.
My eyes open to feast on the scenery around us. This is life at its best. It’s wild and free, and I want to live in this moment forever.
“Alright, rafters. Here we go,” Chuck shouts as we enter whitewater. We fight as a team to keep our raft in the middle of the river. We cascade over rocks as we work together to victory at the other end.
A cheer rises from us as we clear the first set of rapids. Even Peter has gotten into celebrating the small victories. His deep voice makes my body shiver as it washes over me.
It’s probably why I’m not paying attention as well as I should be when we enter the next set of whitewater. Everyone is tired today, even though we’re excited to be back out.
I don’t notice when Karen, one-half of the older couple, slips. The paddle comes out of nowhere. By the time I register it’s coming at my head, it’s already struck.
There’s a moment of pain that shoots through my head. Then I’m in the water. It fills my mouth and nose. My only thought is that I can’t lose consciousness or I won’t survive.
My life jacket is no match for the current. I struggle to the surface, but the water is too fast. I crash against rocks as I hurl downstream. Right when I think I can’t fight for even one more second, a strong arm wraps around me.
“I’ve got you.’ His warm voice soothes me. I know at that moment I’ll be okay. Even as the river tries to carry us away, Peter will protect me. I can give up the fight. Hand it over to him.
“We’ve got her,” I hear vaguely as my mind swims back awake. I must have passed out. My body is being lifted out of the water and back into the boat. Hands tug me into the middle of the raft. I’m rolled to my side as water expels from my lungs.
“Peter,” I rasp.
“I’m right here, sweetheart.” The raft dips. Then he’s pulling me into his lap. We’re both dripping wet. A survival blanket appears from somewhere and he wraps me in it. His strong arms encase me as I shiver. “We need to get to a hospital,” Peter growls.
“I’m so very sorry.” I hear a watery voice whisper. It was an accident; I know that. “What can I do?”
“Get us down the river, now.” Peter hugs me tighter. I can’t seem to get warm no matter how hard he’s trying. “Stay awake for me,” he urges. It would be so much easier if he’d just let me sleep.
“Keep us straight,” Chuck shouts. The raft suddenly picks up speed. I can’t fight it anymore. My mind drifts to sleep no matter what Peter does.
The next thing I know, I’m being lifted out of the raft. My eyes open long enough to see Peter step into an ambulance, still cradling me against his chest.
Men cover me in blankets and push a needle into my hand. Warm liquid floats through my body. A light is shining in my eyes. It makes my head hurt. My wet clothes are removed before I’m wrapped in fresh blankets. I drift off again.
The light above my head is muted when I wake again. My hand grazes a bandage on my head. There’s a noise at the end of my bed. A warm hand takes mine. I know the hand as well as I know my own.
“Peter?” I croak.
“I’m here,” he answers. I force my eyes open. He’s standing next to me in a pair of scrubs. “Fuck, Geneva. I thought I’d lost you.”
“But you came to my rescue,” I say. “Just like you always do.”
“Just like I always will.”
“What did Rand and I do to deserve you?” I ask.
“I always assumed I’m just another stray you kept.” He smiles. I would like to say something snarky, something very Geneva-like, but my head hurts too much. “You get some rest. The doctor doesn’t think there’s anything wrong, but he wants you to stay overnight just to be sure.” He straightens the covers over me. “I’ll be right here.”
I want to tell him to go back to the hotel so he can get some rest. That would be the smart thing to do. But I’m selfish. I don’t want him to leave me alone. I want to scream at him to stay with me forever.
When I hear him settle back in the chair at the end of the bed, I’m struck by something I guess I’ve always known. Peter isn’t going anywhere. Not without me anyway.
My mind plays tricks on me when I fall back asleep. Once again, I feel myself pulled under the water. No matter how hard I fight, I can’t reach the surface. I look down to see why. My ankle is chained to the bottom of the river. I can’t get loose. My lungs spasm as I try to hold my breath. It’s no use; I’m going to drown.
An otherworldly voice tells me to just give in. To take that last watery breath. I can’t, not yet. I still have too much I want to do. Too many mountains to climb. People I want to hug just one more time. I want my nephew to know who I am. I want to give Peter the chance at the love he deserves. But the river won’t turn me loose. My fight is in vain.
“Shhh.” I hear through the nightmare. “I’ve got you.” The bed dips, and strong arms wrap around me again. Peter pulls me against his chest, and I press against him as the last vestiges of my dream evaporate.
“You’re okay.” He tucks the covers around us. My mind finds peace this time as I drift back off. For once, I’ll let him be strong enough for both of us.
* * *
“Good morning,” a doctor says, pushing through the door. I sit up, rubbing my sleepy eyes. The space next to me in the bed is empty. I find Peter standing across the room sipping on a coffee. “How are you feeling this morning, Miss Randolph?”
“Better,” I admit. He listens to my lungs, checks my pulse, and shines his penlight in my eyes.
“Excellent. I think we can get you out of here. There isn’t any damage, save for a small concussion. You’re very lucky, Miss Randolph. Every year, people drown while rafting that river. I’ll have the nurse bring your paperwork.”
The doctor turns and shakes hands with Peter. They walk out together. Peter returns in a few minutes with another cup of coffee and hands it to me.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“Not really. I’m just ready to get back to that rainshower.” He pulls clothes from a sack and places them on the bed. “How are these clean?” My previously wet, filthy clothes from yesterday are now freshly washed.
“I paid one of the orderlies to do it after his shift.”
“Peter Winsloe. Making it rain and resourceful all at the same time.”
He smirks at me.
“You couldn’t exactly go home with your ass hanging out of the back of that gown,” he says.
“Did you peek?”
“Of course.” We grin at each other. Everything is going to be fine. “I’ll wait outside while you dress.”
I climb off the bed. When the door closes behind him, I quickly peel off the hospital gown. My leggings feel amazingly warm as I pull them on. I choose the heavy sweater to pair them with. He’s even managed somehow to dry my boots. How much did he pay that orderly? I’m tying my last bootlace as the door swings open.
“Looks like you’re ready to go,” a nurse says, stepping inside. Peter is on her heels. She goes over the paperwork with us. After a couple of signatures, we’re out the door.
I settle in the passenger side of the SUV to wait for Peter to walk around the hood. He wouldn’t hear of me opening my own door. Or hooking my own seat belt, for that matter.
“I booked us another night here,” he says. He starts the car, and we pull away from the hospital. “I think we can use a day off after that.” I nod as I turn to stare out the window. I’m already sleepy again. Nothing sounds better than laying around our suite for a day. Peter thinks of everything.
We travel back in silence. Reaching the hotel, we climb the stairs to our room. The only thing on my mind is washing the river away with a long, hot shower.
I leave Peter on the couch. Turning the water as hot as I can stand it, I step into the spray. It beats down on my sore muscles, cuts, and bruises. I must look like a nightmare.
When the water has shriveled half my body, I step out. There’s a mirror that runs the length of the wall behind the sink. With just a towel wrapped around my body, I stop to study myself in it. I’ve got new bruises on top of old ones. There’s a scar where I had emergency surgery as a teenager. Several tattoos grace my torso, arms, and legs.
“I’m a disaster,” I say to the man who’s now leaning against the doorjamb. I was so anxious to get into the shower, I didn’t close the bathroom door. “I mean, look at me. Who gets a mouse tattooed on their shoulder? Pathetic.”
That was always my father’s favorite word to describe me, pathetic. If you hear it enough, you begin to believe it. I let it harden me into someone everyone is scared of. I truly did become pathetic.
There’s a growl behind me. In two strides, Peter has his hand wrapped around my throat. I’m pressed against the counter, looking in the mirror. He looms over me from behind. His head ducks to kiss the mouse sitting on my shoulder.
“Is this the mouse I trapped in your apartment while you stood on the table?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Is this a quote from the book of poetry by Robert Frost I gave you on your eighteenth birthday?” He holds up my arm so I can see the script that runs down my forearm. “I thought you said it was stupid?”
“Not so stupid.”
His other hand traces a spot under the towel on my hip.
“Is this the boat we hid in from your father that night?”
I nod.
“And did your father teach you that word? Pathetic?” I try to look away from the mirror, but he tightens his grip on my throat. It’s not enough to bruise, but it catches my attention. “Look at me.” Reluctantly, I do.
“Do you want to know what words I see you as?” He waits until I nod again. “Beautiful, smart, fierce, strong, brave, sexy. Do you need me to keep going?” I shake my head. “I will keep telling you what I see until you believe it yourself. Who do you think knows you better, me or your father?”
“You,” I whisper.
“Damn right, me.” He leans down until his lips are almost touching my ear. “Now, my beautiful, smart, fierce, strong, brave, sexy woman, get dressed so I can feed you.” He releases me and sweeps from the room.
I take a moment to regain my equilibrium. How does he do that? How does Peter send me so off balance I can’t remember which way is up?
“Now, missy,” he barks from the living area. I jump and quickly pull on my clothes.
He doesn’t realize it, but I can’t get the smile off of my face. It’ll take years for him to make me believe his words. But I’m beginning to think I’d like to stick around until he does.