Chapter 32
HAILEY
“Look out!”
Lively's warning came a second too late before my foot caught on a root and sent me sprawling on the forest floor.
But that wasn't even the end of it—the ground had a sharp slope that I hadn't even noticed in the dusk, and so, I was tumbling down the incline, my body a helpless thing at the mercy of gravity and momentum, branches and dry leaves slapping against my skin as I tried to catch myself with flailing hands.
“Shit—!” The curse died in my throat as my body finally slammed to a stop at the bottom of the slope, landing in some kind of shallow ditch. Pain shot through my ankle, like lightning, white-hot and immediate, and I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper to keep from crying out.
The humiliation of falling like that in front of him was punishment enough without adding whimpering to the mix. Stupid trail. Stupid dare. Stupid Lively Summers . Stupid me for even agreeing to this hike in the first place.
“Oh shit, you okay, Hailey?” Lively's panicked question came from somewhere above me, his voice pitched higher than usual with worry.
I grunted in response, trying to catch my breath. Dirt clung to my palms and knees, and I could feel my hair sticking to my face with sweat. Great. Just great. Not even thirty minutes into this goddamn hike, and I was already eating dirt.
Irritation clawed its way up my throat like a living thing with teeth and claws, what's the worst that could happen, huh? Murphy's Law was having a field day with my sorry ass.
“Hailey?” Lively's tentative call came again, and I looked up to find him squatted down at the edge of the slope, his face tight with concern even in the fading light.
The twilight painted his features in soft blues and purples, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrow between his brows.
Why did he have to look so worried? It wasn't like I was dying down here.
“I'm fine,” I bit out, dusting down my pants with angry swipes that only seemed to grind the dirt deeper into the fabric. The bitter teeth of irritation were already grating on my nerves, so there was an added bite when I said, “Just fucking peachy.”
I caught him wince once before he stretched his hand out to help me out of the ditch.
I wanted to snap at him that I could do it myself, but when I locked eyes with him, I saw the naked fear in his eyes, blue irises wide with genuine concern.
Not pity, not amusement at my clumsiness, but real worry.
That gave me pause, soothing the sharp edges of annoyance poking at the walls of my throat.
I deliberately ignored it, not wanting to know why seeing that look in his eyes affected me so. Instead, I grabbed his hand, and he pulled me up like I weighed nothing.
“Oof!” We both grunted as he heaved me up out of the ditch.
The momentum caused me to fall directly on him, and we both went down, with me straddling him, my thighs on either side of his hips, our bodies colliding in a tangle of limbs.
In a snapshot of a second, I registered every point of contact between us—the hard plane of his chest beneath my palms, the solid weight of his hands gripping my waist, the heat of him seeping through my clothes.
And just how close his lips were to mine. I could literally feel his breath against my jaw. If I leaned in just a fraction, our lips would touch. His breath hit my skin, and—
I could kiss him right now.
The thought came uninvited, like a fever dream with teeth and, in the same instant that sheer horror punched through my chest, his eyes caught mine.
Held . It was like every single one of my senses were suddenly on high alert.
I could feel every inch of his body solid beneath mine; all hard muscle and radiating heat even through the layers of our clothes.
I could feel every breath he took, the rise and fall of his chest beneath my hands, the quick flutter of his pulse that matched my own frantic heartbeat.
What… What the fuck?
“Ack!” I tried to shove off him, heart hammering and skin crawling at myself more than him. What the hell was that? Where the hell had that come from?
“Easy now,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest and into my palms that he was currently holding hostage like an electric current. The sound sent a shiver racing down my spine that had nothing to do with the cool night air or my recent tumble.
I definitely don't like that. No.
“Hey, asshole, let me go already.” I hissed down at him, but he just kept looking up at me with that goofy-ass grin on his face again, blue eyes dancing with poorly disguised delight.
Of course, the asshole would be delighted; I was literally straddling him, with my palms all over his chest, and I could feel his fingers like hot brands around my waist, steadying me.
Scrambling off of him, I fell back on my ass, trying to ignore the way my pulse was drumming against my skin like hummingbird wings.
"What's the worst that could happen, huh?
" I mumbled when he sat up, his hair disheveled from our fall, sticking up in tufts that caught the moonlight filtering through the trees.
I hated how the sight made my fingers itch to smooth it down.
Lively winced again.
“Way to jinx it, jerk,” I finished, climbing to my feet and trying to put weight on my ankle. The pain that shot up my leg nearly made me gasp, but I bit it back, refusing to show weakness.
His silence made me feel immediately guilty, a feeling that left a sour taste in my mouth. Ugh. “I mean, thanks,” I muttered grudgingly.
Lively's eyes raked my form up and down, the worry a barely concealed worm slithering in his attentive gaze. In the dusk, his eyes looked darker, more intense, missing that playful spark that usually lit up his eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and I waved him off, pushing past him so I didn't have to see the concern etched into the lines of his face.
But it was already too late: that naked worry in his eyes continued to bother me, lingering in my mind's eye like an afterimage, impossible to shake. Damn it.
When I went to walk, I felt a sharp lance of pain shoot up my leg, but I deliberately ignored the way my ankle protested with each movement. The last thing I wanted was having Lively Summers fuss over me. As it was, he was already trying to crowd me still.
“Back up, fuckface,” I griped out of habit, but his face only brightened into a delighted smile, as if he’d been expecting it.
God, why did he like it when I called him that?
And why was it feeling like some kind of inside joke between the two of us now, instead of the insult it has always been, to me?
“Are you okay?” He asked again, his blue eyes trained on my face, roving, as if trying to catch the slightest shift in my expression.
I arched my brow back at him. “Do I not look okay to you?” I asked him instead, hedging around the question, as I patted down my clothes.
He said, “You look gorgeous. But then, you always do.”
This bastard. He wasn’t going to quit that, was he? Flirting with me. I knew for a fact that I looked a right mess, and there were definitely twigs in my hair, and he still went and said shit like that. Did he think I was that easy?
Looks like you kind of are, though. Of course, that snarky part of my brain wasn't keen on letting me ignore the way my heart was pounding in my throat, or the warmth prickling at my cheeks. And to that, I ask, since fucking when?
Damn it.
Instead of showing just how much his words made my heart pound, though, I just rolled my eyes. “Let’s go already.”
We made it about ten minutes up the trail before he spoke again.
“You're limping.”
Agh, shit. I’d hoped he wouldn’t notice anything. I was doing my best to walk as normally as possible, too.
“No, I'm not.” I kept my eyes fixed ahead, pretending to be fascinated by a particularly ordinary-looking pine tree.
He stopped walking, forcing me to pause a few steps ahead. “Yeah, you are,” he said, arms crossed over his chest. “You've been favoring your right leg this whole time. Either you developed a sudden new walking style, or you're hurt.”
Damn it. Of all the times for him to be so damn attentive, it had to be now. But then again, he was the captain of a hockey team…plus, I knew he was also majoring in Athletic Training. It would be weird if he wasn’t attentive, wouldn’t it?
I exhaled sharply through my nose. “I'm fine, Summers. Just drop it.”
But of course, he didn't. Instead, he closed the distance between us in two long strides and suddenly crouched in front of me. Before I could react, he gently lifted the hem of my sweatpants, revealing my ankle.
I knew what he'd see—the slight swelling that had developed since the scrimmage. Not terrible, but definitely bad enough that I shouldn't be hiking on it. Lively exhaled through his nose, looking up at me. And, for some reason, he looked pissed .
“Hailey.” He said, quiet and firm.
The way he said my name—not teasing, not cocky, just serious —made something in my chest tighten.
He rarely ever used my actual name and the fact that he did now only showed that he meant business…
that he was really as pissed as he looked.
I hated how it affected me, this sudden shift in his demeanor.
“What.” I snapped back, trying to pull my foot out of his grip. “I can handle it myself. Besides, it doesn’t hurt all that much—” I screeched when he pressed down on my ankle, his eyes intently fixed on my face. This crazy … “Hey!”
“Doesn’t hurt, huh?” He murmured. “You're really bad at lying, Baleman.”
I looked away, jaw tight, suddenly fascinated by a bird flying overhead. I didn't know why this moment felt more intimate than a teammate holding a stupid sprained ankle should feel.
“Let me wrap it,” Lively said, already pulling a roll of athletic tape from his hoodie pocket.