Chapter 3
Eva
The yeti on the ground is definitely a human man, and he is definitely hurt.
His leg is bent at an angle that is, frankly, gross. Even in the growing darkness, I can see his face is twisted in pain. One arm is still outstretched toward my car, but now I realize it’s not menacing—it’s pleading.
I reach for the door handle. Hesitate. Reach again.
What would my sisters do? Esther would march out there with a knife in one hand and her cell in the other. Eden would probably stroke his hair soothingly. Eila, for all her chaos, wouldn’t leave someone hurt and alone.
I can’t either. Even if he did scare the absolute poop out of me.
I open the door slowly, keeping one hand on my phone, which has no service. “Are you okay?” I call out, my voice shakier than I’d like.
He tries to speak, but it comes out as a groan. Then, through gritted teeth…
“Climax.”
I freeze. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Take me…” He breathes hard between words. “Climax.”
My face instantly goes hot. “I… what? I don’t think—”
“Ugghhh,” he grunts, squeezing his eyes shut. “Take me to Climax.”
Oh my god. He can’t possibly mean that kind of climax, right? “Is that a doctor?” I venture, taking a tentative step closer. “A person named Max?”
He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles working.
I move closer now, committed despite my pounding heart.
When I crouch a few feet away, I can see him clearly.
He’s younger than I expected—early thirties, maybe, with dark hair and a scraggly beard.
And yeah, he’s huge. Broad shoulders, tall even lying down, and he seems jacked under his flannel and jeans.
“I’m Eva,” I say, because it seems important to establish we’re people, not just screamer and woods-creature. “Are you my neighbor?”
He manages a nod. “Asher.”
“Okay, Asher. Your ankle is definitely broken.” I state the obvious because my brain is frantically trying to figure out what to do. “Can you stand if I help you?”
“Maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “Gotta get to Climax.”
“Honey, I don’t think that’s in your stars today.” I pull out my phone and sigh. “I don’t really have service to call an ambulance.”
“Take too long.” The words come out sharp. “Just… help me to your car.”
I look at him, then at my car, then back at him. He has to be over six feet and built like he could bench-press my entire vehicle. I’m five-six in these Chelsea boots, and my main source of upper body strength is moving kegs at Esther’s bar.
But I’ve been hauling ale for two years now.
“Okay.” I stand up and brush off my jeans. “Okay, we can do this.”
I move to his side and crouch. “Put your arm around my shoulders. On three, we’re going to get you up.”
He looks at me like he’s not sure this is going to work, but he drapes his arm across my shoulders, anyway. His hand grips my upper arm, and even through my jacket I feel how strong he is.
“One, two, threeeeee—”
We creak upward together. He’s so heavy, but I brace my legs and take half his weight as he hops on his good foot. He sways, and for a second I think we’re both going down, but then he steadies against me.
“Okay?” I gasp, straining under his mass.
“Yeah. Go. Climax Hospital.”
I have to be missing something, surely. Or misunderstanding his accent.
We hobble toward my car in the worst three-legged race of all time.
He’s trying to keep his weight off me, but there’s no way around the fact that he’s massive and I’m puny.
My shoulder digs into his ribs, and I’m surrounded by him—the solid heat of his body, the smell of clean laundry and dried leaves and…
coffee?. He smells like undeniable masculinity, and my face heat all over again.
Focus, Eva. Injured man. Getting him to the car. Don’t think about how he smells.
“You’re stronger than you look,” he grunts as we reach the passenger door.
“I move kegs in my sister’s bar.” I yank the door open with my free hand. “Okay,” I pause, breathing heavily. “This,” pause, “is going to be terrible, but we need to get you in.”
Wedging him into the passenger seat would be hilarious if he weren’t in agony. He tries to lift himself up, but his injured leg keeps getting in the way. Every time it bumps something, he goes white and makes a sound that tears at my soul.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I keep saying, hovering uselessly while he manages to collapse into the seat.
“Not your fault,” he grits out, but his tone suggests he blames me a tiny bit.
I run around to the driver’s side and climb in, my arms weak as I start the engine. The interior of the car feels smaller with him in it; his broad shoulders take up space, his long legs awkwardly arranged to keep his injured ankle from touching anything.
“Sorry, I was lurking in the woods.” He chokes out the words, wincing. “Do you know how to get to Climax?”
“Yes?” The question seems a bit forward for our first meeting, but he’s said it about five times, so it’s clearly important to him. “I am excellent at orgasms.”
He leans his head against the seat, eyes closed. “Climax is the town. Hospital is there, twenty minutes away. Thirty if you drive like this.”
I bark out a laugh. “So Climax is actually a place? For real?”
“Turn right. Feel free to speed.”
We lapse into silence as I navigate onto the main road. The sun is setting now, painting everything in shades of orange and pink. It would be beautiful if I wasn’t acutely aware of the injured man beside me and the fact that I have no idea what I’m doing.
“I really thought you were being sex-positive or something,” I say, because silence feels worse. “Are there other towns around here with… interesting names?”
Despite his pain, the corner of his mouth twitches. “There’s Lick-Um over the border in Pennsylvania.”
“You’re making that up.”
“I’m not. There’s also Big Bone Lick.”
I grip the steering wheel harder, my face absolutely flaming. “Are you seriously talking about places called Big Bone while I’m driving you to Climax?”
This time he does laugh, short and sharp, then immediately winces. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Then stop saying things like Big Bone!”
But the tension eases, and I feel lighter driving through the Catskills from Fork Lick to a town with an even more unfortunate name, with a man who will be my neighbor if I stick around.
I keep talking, partly to distract him and partly because silence lets me think too much.
“One time when we were kids, my sister Eliza fell out of a tree,” I hear myself saying.
“Broke her arm. Compound fracture—bone sticking out and everything. Our mom was who knows where. So my sister Esther, who was like fourteen, had to get all of us together and figure out how to get Eliza to urgent care.”
Asher opens his eyes and turns toward me.
“Esther called a neighbor, made up some story about our mom being at work, about how we just needed a ride. Esther was so calm, so in control. She lied well enough that nobody called social services. And at the clinic, she sat with Eliza while they set the bone, holding her hand through all of it.”
I don’t know why I’m telling him this. Maybe because moving his weight, helping him to the car, brought back that memory. How helpless we felt. How important it was not to fall apart, to be capable, to handle things ourselves because there was nobody else to handle them for us.
“Esther sounds like a good sister,” Asher says quietly.
“She is. They all are.” I swallow hard. “My sisters taught me how to be useful. How to help when things go wrong.”
“How many sisters?”
“Four,” I tell him, smiling and then relaxing when I see a sign for Climax Hospital ahead on the right. “I miss them so much. Even though I’ve only been gone since this morning. God, that’s pathetic.”
I focus on the road, willing myself not to cry. This is not the time for Storm sister trauma. This is the time to get my injured neighbor to the hospital and prove that I, too, can handle a crisis.
I pull up to the emergency entrance at the hospital and throw the car in park.
“Stay here,” I tell him, already climbing out. “I’ll get help.”
I run inside and grab the first nurse I see. She follows me outside with a wheelchair and another nurse, and together they get Asher out of the passenger seat with significantly more grace than I got him in. He sinks into the wheelchair with visible relief.
“You don’t have to stay,” he says. In the harsh fluorescent light of the ER entrance, I can see how much pain he’s in. His face is pale, jaw tight, but there’s something else in his eyes. Embarrassment, maybe.
“I’ll park and come in,” I say. “Make sure you’re okay, if that’s okay with you.” I don’t have anywhere to be except the weird motel, and I’m curious how this guy will get back to his house.
He studies me for a moment, then nods. The nurses wheel him inside, and I climb into my borrowed car.
My phone explodes with messages the second I put it in park:
Esther
DID YOU DIE?
Esther
ANSWER ME
Esther
EVA MARIE STORM I SWEAR TO GOD
I text back quickly:
Long story. I’m at a hospital. Not hurt, helping neighbor. Will call later.
I look at myself in the rearview mirror. My hair is a disaster, half falling out of its clip. There are leaves stuck in it and dirt smudged on my cheek. My jacket is filthy, and I’m pretty sure I’m still shaking. Have I eaten?
What a first day of property ownership.
I take a deep breath, fix my hair as best I can, and head inside.
I give my name at the desk and learn that Asher is waiting to see a doctor.
I sink into a plastic chair in the waiting room, pulling out my phone to distract myself.
I should post something—my followers are probably wondering where I’ve been—but what would I even say?
“Day one of rural living: met my yeti neighbor as he broke his ankle, dragged him to the car, took him to Climax. Living my best life!”
I’m drafting and deleting a much more boring post about “exploring my new-to-me property” when a nurse approaches.
“Miss Storm? Mr. Thorne is asking for you.”
This surprises me, though I’m not sure why. If he had someone else to help him, he would have mentioned them by now, right?
I follow her through a maze of hallways to an exam room. Asher sits on the table, his ankle already wrapped in a temporary splint while he clutches his shoe to his chest. He looks exhausted and miserable… and somehow younger without the woods and darkness around him.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“Hey.” He attempts a smile. “We’re waiting for imaging. But it’s definitely broken. Maybe surgery, they think.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. I was the creep in the woods, lurking.”
So he was peeping on me. I guess I’d be curious, too, if I lived alone and heard me spouting my nonsense outside. “I still feel terrible.”
A doctor bustles in before we can continue. She confirms the break, explains the casting process, talks about crutches and non-weight-bearing and follow-up appointments. Asher nods along, but panic flashes across his face when she says, “six to eight weeks.”
The doctor leaves, and silence falls between us. I should probably go. I’ve done my good deed for the day. But he’s also sort of stuck here.
“Do you live alone?” I ask instead.
He nods.
“But… you’re going to need help,” I say, horrified at the thought of going through something like this alone.
“I’ll figure it out.”
“How? You can’t drive.” I nod to his injured right leg. “You can’t carry things with crutches.”
He opens his mouth and closes it.
“I’ll help,” I blurt. “Whatever you need. Rides, groceries, whatever.”
“My sister lives next door,” he says gruffly.
I recoil. “You have a sister next door, and you hopped in a car with a stranger instead of calling her?”
He closes his eyes and leans on the gurney. “She and her husband are out of town on a ‘sanity break,’ whatever that means.”
I cross my arms, trying to look more confident than I feel. “Well, I’m staying in town for a few days. I can check in on you. Be neighborly.”
He stares at me for a long moment. I can’t read what’s going through his head, but finally he says, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Thank you,” he adds, saying it as if it were a huge concession on his part.
Mom left us to fend for ourselves more times than I can count. The Storm sisters learned early that we help our sisters because nobody else will. We step up because that’s what we do.
I can’t help but extend that to this grumpy woods-hermit. After all, I did take him to Climax today.