Chapter 7 Dom
DOM
The rain didn’t let up all night, and neither did Lulu’s snoring. Between that and keeping Autumn warm and hydrated, sleep hadn’t been much of an option.
As soon as the rain eased, I slipped out. Autumn needed the tent more than I did. She deserved the space, the rest. Lulu followed with a shake, then gave a big yawn.
I rolled my shoulder, stiff from hours of holding still. Behind the ridge, the sun cut sideways through the mist. No fanfare. Just presence. The kind that made you stop what you were doing.
Standing there, I let the light land on me. Nature had tested us, yet we’d made it through. Not because we were unbreakable, but because we hadn’t let each other break.
I ducked back to the tent and eased the zipper open. Autumn was still asleep, her face looking a little less washed out, the fever no longer stealing all the color from her skin. It was not perfect, but better.
We were getting there.
“All right, Sleeping Beauty.” I nudged her good shoulder. “Up and at ‘em.”
She groaned, burrowing deeper into the sleeping bag. “Five more minutes.”
I unzipped the tent, letting in a gust of air. “You already got five hours. You need a hospital.”
Another groan.
Lulu, ever the enforcer, padded over and gave her a lick across the cheek.
“Ugh, Lulu, why?” Autumn whined, scrubbing at her face.
I smirked. “She’s just helping.”
Autumn pushed herself upright. She took her time, but stayed balanced. That counted.
She blinked blearily at me. “I feel…not horrible.”
“Great. Let’s not push our luck.”
She took a deep breath, nodded, and let me help her up. My top drowned her small frame, hanging like a makeshift dress. The second she was on her feet, she wobbled, and I immediately caught her.
“Okay,” she muttered. “Maybe still kind of horrible.”
“Glad you’re catching up.”
She gave me a look. “I can walk.”
“Oh yeah? Show me.”
She took a step, winced, then took another.
I crossed my arms, waiting for her to be honest.
Finally, she sighed. “Okay. I can…almost walk.”
I eased her down to the grass so she could sit.
“Hey, you did well yesterday,” I said, crouching to start breaking down the tent.
“Which part?”
“The climb.”
She gave a tired smile. “Couldn’t let you do all the heavy lifting. Though, let’s be honest, you kinda did.” Then she added, softer, “You were the reason we made it.”
I wasn’t expecting that. The words weren’t flashy. She didn’t dress them up. But they landed somewhere deep.
I looked at her, really looked. When you were this tired, you didn’t offer compliments to play nice or gain favor. She meant what she said.
All my life, I’d fought for other people, not that I regretted it. I was good at it, and sometimes even proud of it. But most of the time, no one fought for me. Not without strings.
People like Susan Nolan had stood by me, sure. She’d stayed late at the firm and pulled favors when I needed them. But there was always an angle—her career, her legacy. There was a ceiling to that kind of loyalty, and I’d learned to live under it.
But Autumn? She was fighting for her life, but it felt like she was fighting for mine too. And she didn’t stick around for praise. She just let me take the spotlight.
That did something to a man.
I dropped my gaze, feeling the air change. She must’ve felt it too, because her focus drifted toward a trail sign not far from our tent.
She jabbed a finger toward the crooked plank. “I told you! The sign says that way!”
The sign said Buffaloberry River, all right. Only it was pointing in the exact wrong direction.
I walked over and gave the loose wooden plate a jiggle. The whole thing wobbled on a rusted screw. “No wonder.”
I crouched and pulled a multitool from my side pocket.
“What are you doing?” she asked behind me.
“Making sure the next person doesn’t end up speared because some idiot didn’t tighten a bolt.” I glanced over my shoulder. “You know, preventative heroism.”
Her laugh was small but palpable. I tightened the screw, gave the sign a firm nudge, then stood. This time, it didn’t budge.
She was still smiling.
And that felt better than finishing the fix.
Lulu had disappeared, hopefully off handling her business. After last night’s biological warfare, she owed us that much.
“I kinda need pants,” she said, eyeing the soggy pile outside the tent.
“Hang on.” I dug through my pack. “These’ll have to do.” I held up a pair of long johns. “Come on, I’ll help you get them on.”
I crouched beside her and helped ease one leg through, careful not to pull too hard. When we got to her injured calf, she winced. There was no way I was forcing it.
“Give me a second,” I said, grabbing my pocketknife. I made a clean cut up the seam, then rolled the fabric wide enough to slide around the swelling. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked.
“There,” I said, settling the waistband gently. “Custom fit.”
She looked down, then back at me, her lips still curved from before. This time with a little smitten tucked inside.
I quickly busied myself with folding the damp clothes. Because if I didn’t, I might’ve done something extremely stupid.
There were three or four miles of rough terrain standing between us and safety. I took stock of what I could realistically carry. Between first aid, supplies, and extra gear, my load was already pushing it. And if I had to carry her too…
“I’ll leave some of this behind,” I said, grouping a few things into a pile.
For a second, something sparked in her, fast and urgent. She twisted toward me. “No.”
I squinted. “No…what?”
“Don’t leave anything behind.” Her voice was too sharp for someone half-delirious. “Not even the small stuff. Just…take it all. Come on, give some of it to me.”
I frowned. “Autumn, it’ll slow me down.”
“I don’t care.” Her words tumbled out quickly. “Just trust me. Keep everything.”
Her fingers clenched and unclenched at her sides, her eyes refusing to meet mine.
“The animals might get to it,” she snapped.
She didn’t even glance at the pile of wet clothes and folded tent, nothing but junk to a bear, really.
Lulu trotted back from wherever she’d disappeared to and sniffed around the pile.
“Please, Dom,” Autumn murmured. “Just pack it all.”
I repacked, shoving everything inside with the finesse of a man stuffing a pillow into a case two sizes too small. Autumn helped, her movements more sluggish than they should’ve been.
Even with half the load, I’d be slow. I was built for endurance, not hauling an entire survival kit and a woman across a mountain.
Carrying her over my shoulder would keep her weight centered, but with my pack front-loaded, I’d be off balance and struggling for breath. I could do it, just not for long.
And not nearly far enough.
I abandoned packing for a moment and watched Lulu disappear into the brush, only to pop out of the same spot. The dog knew something I didn’t.
Frowning, I pulled out my phone and checked the map.
Damn me.
It wasn’t a path, but about a mile north, if I cut through the brush, we could reach a small village. I turned, assessing the terrain. It was overgrown, and pushing through the vegetation would test every leg press I’d ever done, but at least it was flat.
By the time I returned to packing, Autumn had nearly finished it herself.
I tightened the straps, clipped the buckles, and gave her a look. “There. You got your way. Which means, from now on, we’re doing this my way.”
She huffed. “What does that mean?”
I handed her the crossbody bag. “You can carry this.”
“Of course.” She slung it over her shoulder.
I hoisted my pack into the bushes, hiding it. “I’ll come back for this baby.”
Autumn just stared.
Then I crouched, offering my back. “Hop on.”
Her expression twisted like I’d just suggested she ride a camel through Montana. “No way.”
“Fine. You can try limping through the sagebrush, or you can make my life easier and let me carry you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You love carrying me, don’t you?”
“I love not having to drag your unconscious body off the trail, yeah.”
Her gaze flicked to the incline we’d originally planned to take. She sighed.
Wordlessly, she stepped toward me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders as I lifted her onto my back.
“Hold tight,” I said, securing my grip on her legs. “I’m not dealing with you falling again.”
“You act like I’m a flight risk.”
“Autumn, you tumbled off a steep slope. Hell, let’s just call it a cliff if that wasn’t clear enough.”
She muttered something under her breath, but then settled against me as I started moving.
Sunlight pressed in now, its heat finally biting through the leftover chill. We kept moving through the brush. Lulu trotted ahead, occasionally getting distracted by sniffing something useless.
After half a mile, I let Autumn walk with support, keeping her weight off her bad leg.
Just short bursts of movement with rest breaks in between.
I could feel her frustration, the way she wanted to push harder and move faster.
Every time she stumbled, I caught her, and she leaned in just a little more.
I checked the map. Less than a mile to go.
“You wait here, okay? I’ll grab my pack.”
She glanced around before nodding. “Okay.” Lowering herself onto a mound, she patted Lulu’s side. “Stay.”
I ran back to retrieve my pack. Everything was intact. Hauling it over my shoulders, I hurried back. But the second I saw Autumn, my stomach clenched.
She was struggling to stay upright.
Her fever was creeping back, her breaths shallow and uneven. Maybe the hike, short as it was, had taken more out of her than I’d realized.
I crouched beside her, rubbing her back. Her fingers weakly gripped my sleeve.
I didn’t like this. She was slower to respond and fading, leaning heavier into me. All signs that the infection had taken a turn.
Four hundred yards to the village.
I could do this.
I lifted her into my arms, adjusting her carefully onto my back. She let out a weak protest, but I didn’t care.
“Hang on. But easy on that left shoulder.”
I shifted my pack to the front, tightening the straps. The weight hit, yanking my center of gravity forward. My knees locked for half a second before instinct kicked in and my muscles caught up, straining under the load.
Jeepers, that was heavier than I’d accounted for.
I bent, adjusted my stance, and took a step. Fire licked up my calves. My ribs pressed in, and my breathing became shallow fast.
Barely a hundred yards in, and my legs were already shot. My pack chewed into one shoulder while Autumn clung to the other. Every uphill step ground my teeth tighter. How much longer could I keep this up?
Then his voice echoed in my head, “Weakness wears a face. Yours.”
Always right when I was a hair from buckling.
I huffed. Not today, old man!
Because weakness didn’t stay behind in a storm. Weakness didn’t carry someone else when they could barely carry themself. And whatever face I wore now, it wasn’t his.
Funny thing was, I’d struggled harder yesterday and climbed like hell. But that voice? It hadn’t shown up once.
Because my mind had been full of her. Autumn.
She made the noise fall away.
“Autumn, you okay?” I asked, needing her voice.
She shifted against me, her grip tightening in answer. “I’m okay,” she murmured. “Are you?”
“Never better.” The words burned coming out, but saying them gave me a second wind.
The brush thinned, and there was less drag, which helped. I locked my arms tighter around her legs and found the rhythm. Step. Adjust. Breathe. Again. And again. I wasn’t letting her fall.
Then, through the ache and the branches, she stirred.
“Hey, Dom?”
“Yeah?”
“You ever think about how weird this is?”
I huffed. “Which part? The part where you got shanked by a shrub, or the part where I somehow became your Uber?”
She snorted. “The fact that you found me.”
“Lulu found you.”
“But you followed her.”
“Good instincts,” I said, panting. Sweat slid down my temples, but I couldn’t even swipe it off.
“Or fate.”
I didn’t answer. I just grunted. But that hit like a hand on your back when you didn’t know you needed one.
We kept going.
By the final stretch, she was barely holding on. Her grip had slackened, and her head tipped into my shoulder.
Then I saw it, the road.
“Autumn,” I said, my breath sawing in and out, “we’re almost there.”
My spine screamed. My lungs were shredded, but I let out a laugh anyway, rough and cracked, the sound a man makes not just from surviving the fight but winning it.
The narrow road marked the edge of the village. Still and quiet.
I set my pack down, then Autumn, too. I lowered her onto the grass as gently as my shaking legs would allow.
And finally, finally, I let myself breathe. Air surged erratically, and I braced my hands on my thighs, my head dipping forward as I fought to steady it. In. Out. Again.
My ribs still ached, and my lungs barely caught up. But I hadn’t forgotten why we were here.
I pressed the water bottle to Autumn’s lips, tilting it carefully as she took quavering sips. Her fingers barely curled around it, too weak to hold it herself.
“Easy,” I murmured.
She slumped against me, heavier now. Maybe her body had finally given up on pretending to be fine. Her skin was too warm, her breaths uneven.
Lulu settled beside her, tail flicking, her ears twitching at every sound.
“All right, Lu. Stay like that,” I said, easing my arm out from under Autumn. I let her lean into Lulu’s side. “Good dog. Stay.”
“Where are you going?” Autumn asked as I stood.
“I’m calling someone. Wait here.” I shifted my phone, scanning for a signal, and walked farther down the road. When a single bar flickered to life, I made the call.