Chapter 6 Dom
DOM
I knew how to test limits—courtrooms, sports, life in general. But I also knew when to stop. There’s a line between surviving and self-destruction, and I’d learned not to cross it.
And Autumn was standing right at that line.
I hadn’t told her how bad the swelling in her calf was. The signs pointed to infection, and I was almost certain now. It was catching up to her. She was barely coherent, her movements sluggish, her fingers twitching every time she reached for me. I didn’t like it.
“Hey, easy.” I caught her as she nearly collapsed.
Her muscles had gone soft with exhaustion. Her breathing was shallow, and her skin was hot. She wasn’t just injured. She was burning up from the inside out.
It wasn’t pity that hit me. Pity keeps you at a distance. This was something else. It was a pull in the gut. A certainty. I couldn’t just get her out. I had to get her through.
“Dom,” she whispered, her voice paper-thin. “Leave me here. Get help, then come back for me.”
Defeat clung to her words, and I hated it. I didn’t blame her. Hell, I’d be a wreck in her position. I’d dealt with plenty of broken clients and held them up when they couldn’t stand on their own, even when I felt just as hopeless inside. But this wasn’t a client.
This was her. Autumn.
And somehow, she already meant far too much.
“Not a chance,” I said. She had a point, but there was no way in hell I was leaving her alone. “We’re getting out of here. Together.”
She didn’t need a hero.
She needed someone who wouldn’t make her break to prove she could keep going.
I pressed my palm to her forehead again. Worse. Her fever was spiking, and she needed warmth, dry clothes, and food—actual care.
And I was going to make sure she got it, whatever it took.
Which meant I had to move. Now.
A crack split the air, and a chunk of land sloughed away, disappearing into the void below.
I ground my teeth. Time was up.
Not far off, Lulu maneuvered across the terrain. She had somehow mastered mountain goat levels of navigation. Then she gave me a look.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re very talented.”
The dog practically smirked before hopping onto a narrow ledge like she was born for this.
I shifted my focus back to Autumn and the steep slope ahead. If only she had four legs, Lulu’s mountain-goat balance, and none of the hesitation. But she was human—tired, feverish, and vulnerable. And if I was going to get her out, she had to do one thing.
I barely knew her, but she’d pushed herself past breaking, all to prove she could handle it. Maybe she wanted to be Superwoman. Maybe she already was.
And I trusted her.
Not to climb, not to haul herself up on her own, but to hold on to me.
If she went limp, if she panicked, if she lost herself in exhaustion, she’d be dead weight. I could force us up, but the harness wasn’t built for two people who weren’t working together.
She had to stay present.
And I had to believe she would.
Once again, I turned my shirt into makeshift gear, tethering myself to the harness she wore. Then I tipped her chin up.
“Autumn, I need you to listen carefully.”
Her lashes fluttered. Dazed. But still with me. Still fighting.
“I’m going to get us up there. But you have to hold on. Tight. You don’t have to climb; just don’t go dead weight on the rope. Can you do that?”
She didn’t say a word. She just gave a small nod—shaky, but sure. And in her eyes, I saw it. She wasn’t checking out. She was in this. With me.
“Let’s do this!” I tightened the straps, locked the carabiners, and wrapped my hand around the rope.
With her tucked securely against my chest, we moved up. Her breath hitched as I pulled her close, her arms weak but curling inside the harness.
I wasn’t waiting for her to find her strength. I was her strength.
I gripped the rope, bracing my stance before testing the tension. Thank God she had nothing but a small crossbody bag. If we’d been weighed down by her big pack too, wherever it was, this climb wouldn’t be happening.
It had started to drizzle. No big deal. I just needed the downpour to wait until we got to the top.
I kept moving. It was not a careful ascent. I hauled us up, muscle by muscle, grit scraping through every inch. The rope wasn’t doing the work. The harness wasn’t lifting us.
I was.
And she was with me. God, she was with me. One good arm, one torn-up leg, and still she fought beside me as she’d promised. Not deadweight, never that. She pushed when I pulled and moved when I shifted.
She murmured something, maybe a grunt, maybe my name, but it didn’t matter. She was still fighting. And so was I.
By the time I heaved us over the ridge, my arms were toast, my back burning, but we were up.
I collapsed onto solid ground, rolling just enough to keep her safe.
Lulu appeared a second later, practically prancing.
I gave her a look. “Show-off.”
She licked my face. I shoved at her wet fur, half out of breath, half relieved.
I had three priorities.
One: Get Autumn out of immediate danger. Done.
Two: Get her warm, hydrated, and treated. Working on it.
Three: Figure out how the hell we were getting back to town.
That last one? Not looking great.
But I’d carried her out of hell once. I’d do it again.
I glanced at the sky. The real storm was coming, with the wind slicing through the trees and making it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.
The path was nothing but slick mud and hidden roots waiting to send me flat on my ass.
Even if I were fresh, carrying Autumn out of here would be stupid. I’d get us both injured—or worse.
So I found the thickest canopy I could and eased her down. Heat radiated from her skin, her fever rising fast. Carrying her to Buffaloberry Hill wasn’t happening. Not yet. She needed warmth, rest, and hydration. Now.
Which meant we were camping here for the night.
I pulled my rain jacket from my pack and draped it over her. She barely reacted. She just let her head slump against the rock, her eyes slipping shut.
I crouched, brushing damp hair from her face. “Autumn.”
Nothing.
Shit.
I gave her arm a light shake. “Hey. Stay with me.”
She made a low sound, more of a breath than a response. But it was enough.
“I’m setting up camp,” I said. “We’re staying here tonight.”
No argument. No sass. No protest. Just the smallest nod before her head lolled against my jacket.
That was all the confirmation I needed.
The tent was up in minutes, my hands moving on autopilot. Despite Noah never trusting my hiking skills, I could set up a tent half-conscious if I had to.
I unzipped the entrance and shoved my backpack inside before the rain really picked up.
Now, her.
“Autumn, you need to change out of those wet clothes.”
She mumbled something incoherent.
I hesitated for all of two seconds before deciding, politeness be damned, that I was keeping her alive.
“Hang on, okay?” I peeled off her damp jacket. Her body was sluggish and burning up, but the moment I touched the hem of her soaked shirt, she made a weak sound of protest.
“Hey, we just need to get you dry before heading inside,” I said. “I’ll help you change once we’re in the tent. No funny business, I swear.”
Her head lolled against the sleeping bag. “You better not—”
That was all the fight she had left.
I worked fast, carefully, and respectfully, stripping away her wet shirt and boots. Thankfully, her pants were loose enough that I could ease them down without jostling her injured leg.
I hoisted her inside first, then bundled Lulu in a towel before making sure she got in too. Then I stripped down to my underwear and followed.
The moment I zipped the tent closed, a fresh crack of thunder rattled the sky.
“Autumn, how’re you doing there?” I asked, reaching for my pack and yanking out a dry tee.
She barely stirred.
Not good. Not good.
Her skin burned under my fingers, but her body felt ice cold.
I pulled the long-sleeve tee over her head. It swallowed her frame, but it was warm. That was all that mattered.
Lulu whined beside me, watching my every move.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I muttered, pulling the sleeping bag over Autumn. “I’m working on it.”
Finally, I yanked on my own dry clothes, exhaling hard. But I couldn’t stop. Not yet.
Keeping her warm was one thing, but she needed fluids badly.
I shifted, careful not to jostle her too much, and reached for my pack. There was a small camping stove and a single can of soup I’d packed for what was supposed to be a peaceful, self-reflective hike.
So much for zen.
As I propped her up against my chest, her head lolled to the side, barely conscious.
“Let’s see if we can get some fluids in you,” I murmured, more to myself than to her.
Outside, rain hammered the tent in a relentless rhythm, the wind tugging at the fabric. With the three of us packed inside, it was tight, but it held. And it was warm.
I got the soup going, heating it in a small pot over my camp stove. The smell of chicken broth filled the space, and I could’ve sworn I saw Autumn’s nose twitch like she smelled it too.
That was a good sign.
I carefully filled a collapsible cup and held it near her lips.
“Autumn,” I said, nudging her cheek with my knuckles. “You gotta have something.”
She made a weak noise but didn’t fully rouse.
I tipped the cup slightly, letting a few drops touch her lips. Finally, she stirred, her eyes fluttering half-open.
“There we go,” I encouraged. “Just a little. C’mon.”
Her lips parted, and I poured another sip into her mouth. She swallowed, barely, but it was progress.
“More,” she mumbled.
I huffed out a quiet laugh. “That’s the spirit.”
I took my time, coaxing her to take it in small sips, alternating between the soup and some water.
“You’re…really nice,” she murmured, slurring the words slightly.
I smirked, tucking a loose strand of damp hair behind her ear. “Don’t spread that around. I have a reputation to protect.”
Her lips curled faintly, but exhaustion pulled her under again before she could say anything else.
I watched her for a moment. She was still running hot, but at least she had some fluids in her. That was something.
I laid her back down gently, adjusting the sleeping bag around her. Lulu lifted her head, her eyes heavy with dog concern, before flopping back down at our feet.
The tent was filled with the quiet sounds of breathing—Autumn’s, Lulu’s, and mine.
Outside, the storm still raged. But in here, I had her.
The temperature inside the tent wasn’t nearly as bad as outside, but Autumn still trembled. Even bundled up in the sleeping bag, she couldn’t stop shaking.
I rummaged through my pack and pulled out the first-aid kit. There wasn’t much in there, just the basics, but I found a packet of fever reducers. Tearing it open, I fished out two pills and grabbed my water bottle.
“Autumn.” I nudged her. “You need to take these.”
She didn’t respond.
I shifted closer, tucking a hand behind her head to lift her just enough. “Trust me, these’ll help. Just open up.”
She made a reluctant sound but parted her lips enough for me to press the pills to her mouth. I guided the bottle after them, tilting it carefully until she swallowed.
“Good,” I murmured, lowering her back down.
I reached for my jacket, planning to layer it over the sleeping bag for extra insulation. But before I could, she pushed at the bag’s opening, a weak, fumbling effort like she needed out.
“Autumn? Hey, you need to stay inside.”
She didn’t answer. She just kept moving, her hand finding my sleeve and gripping tightly.
Something in my heart misfired.
She wasn’t trying to escape the warmth. She was reaching for me.
God, look at her. No logic, no caution. No briefs prepared me for this.
The bag rustled as she shifted again, pressing closer. Even half-conscious, she knew what she needed.
I unzipped the sleeping bag just enough for her to slip her shoulder out and reach for me.
Then I wedged myself beside her and stretched out on my side with my legs hooked around my pack and my shoulders brushing nylon.
No use pretending there was space. This was a roomy one-person tent.
Roomy for a solo camper, not an ex-lawyer, a woman, and a dog with satellite ears. We were human trail mix.
Still, I did my best to keep it honorable.
If there was a proximity clause in the gentleman’s code, I was toeing the line but not crossing it.
I hadn’t touched her on purpose. And I hadn’t looked where I shouldn’t. But hell, she was incredible. It was not just the way she looked, but the way she’d held on, fought through it, and let herself lean on me.
Soon, her head found my chest, her fingers still curled weakly around my sleeve. She wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
“Stay there,” I murmured, placing a hand on her injured shoulder. I’d reset the joint, but that didn’t mean it was good as new. The muscles were likely still sore and unstable.
Lulu flopped down at our feet with a heavy sigh, deciding she was part of this survival effort too.
The rain tapped steadily against the tent, our breaths the only sounds between us. Heat built between our bodies, chasing away the worst of the chill.
Then, out of nowhere, Lulu let out a long, low toot.
Jesus.
I coughed, grimacing. What the hell had she eaten? A rabbit? A rotting marmot?
Autumn stirred weakly. “Ugh…what is that?”
“Lulu just tried to kill us,” I muttered, pinching my nose.
Her lips twitched. It was not quite a smile, but close.
“Good thing she’s not a Tibetan Mastiff, or we’d be dead right about now,” I added.
There was no answer this time, just the weight of her head settling more heavily against my chest.
I adjusted the sleeping bag one last time, brushing my palm lightly against her forehead. It was still too warm, but at least she wasn’t shivering anymore.
She’d landed in my arms by chance.
But keeping her there wasn’t going to be one.