16. Ariel Cambridge
Chapter sixteen
Ariel Cambridge
“I hate him,” I huff as I wind my way through the forest. “Okay, I don’t hate him, but he’s driving me nuts. Why is he the way he is?”
The sound of my tennis shoes crunching on rocks and roots is the only reply.
When I first bought this place, the seller showed me a private trail leading to a nearby mini waterfall.
She told me that she’s never seen anyone on the trail.
The first time I came out here on my own, the silence freaked me out, so I started talking to stop myself from overanalyzing every sound of nature.
It also became a great opportunity for me to vent about things either too ridiculous to bother Sutton with–though she’d likely say otherwise–or things I can’t share with her.
Like the fact that sometimes I want to punch her brother… and sometimes I want to kiss him.
“All I’m trying to do is help the man, and what do I get as a thank you?” I throw my hands in the air. “Criticism! Can you believe that?”
I stomp down the trail, not enjoying the scenery, instead, using every step to get out my anger.
“And another thing, what in the world was that moment in the hot tub?” I jump over a large root. “I mean, he looked like he might kiss me. Then he offered to be my fake boyfriend. Only to wake up this morning a total jerk.”
I stumble to a halt. “Brock doesn’t like me, right?” The trees sway. A laugh bursts out of me. “What a ridiculous thought. His heart is shriveled up, and what’s left of it is dedicated to his job.”
I shake my head to dislodge the thought, then carry on down the trail.
My words die off as I approach the waterfall.
I close my eyes and focus on the sound of water crashing.
Instead of my worries melting away, though, they just pile up like sediment on a river bed.
I let out a frustrated growl. Why did I bring him to my happy place?
Now all of it has been tainted by his attitude.
Determined to get something good out of this trip, I walk down further.
Dipping my toes in the cool water will help.
It always helps. I carefully maneuver around the more jagged rocks and meander down to the base before toeing off my shoes and socks.
A contented sigh pulls itself from my lips as soon as I wade in.
I go up to my knees, soaking up the peaceful feeling.
After staying in the water long enough for my anger to subside, I make my way out. I lose my balance halfway there. My feet slip against the slick bottom, and I let out a cry when I fall forward. The water, though shallow, breaks my fall enough to not seriously injure me.
I push to stand, only to hiss as a stinging sensation shoots up my arm. When I finally get to my feet and out of the water, I reach for my socks and shoes. Bright red liquid splashes onto the white fabric.
I hold my arm up and try to inspect it. Sure enough, a jagged rock must have sliced into the side of my forearm.
It’s not too deep, but it’s bleeding a lot.
I manage to get on my shoes, though they’re now stained with blood.
Then I tug off my tank top to hold to the wound, leaving me in shorts and a sports bra.
I take a deep breath, then set off for the cabin.
There’s no reason to call Brock. It’s not a far walk.
Not to mention the fact that I don’t know if my phone will work after my accidental dip in the water, or if I even have reception out here.
The walk back is much quieter than the one away. It’s difficult not to think of the stinging in my arm. The sight of the cabin at the end of the trail is a relief. After the adrenaline of the fall and seeing the blood, it will be nice to rest.
I balance the tank top on my arm long enough to type in the door code, then walk inside. Brock looks up from his laptop when I come in.
“What happened to you?” He throws his laptop to the side and rushes toward me.
“I’m fine, it’s just a scratch,” I say.
“Just a scratch? You’re covered in blood!”
I pull away the tank top to reveal the wound. “See? It stopped bleeding once I put pressure on it. I probably don’t even need stitches. Just some alcohol and a Band-Aid.”
He rakes a hand through his hair. “We’ll see about that. Come on, I’ll help you clean up. Where’s your first aid kit? If you’re friends with Sutton, I know you have one.”
I laugh under my breath. He’s not wrong. “Under the sink in the bathroom.”
I head that way, and he follows me. Once inside, I sit on the toilet seat while he pulls out the kit.
“How did this happen?” he asks as he riffles through supplies. Sutton would smack him on the back of the head for how he’s moving everything out of its little categorized section.
“I was coming out of the water and fell. I must have cut my arm on a rock.”
He pulls out a few alcohol pads and rips one open. “You went swimming by yourself? What if something worse would have happened and you drowned?” His words tumble out like snow in an avalanche.
“Relax. I only went up to my knees. It’s not a big deal. I do it all the time.”
“That doesn’t make it any better. What if you would have hit your head?”
I stay quiet. He gently takes my arm in one hand and begins cleaning it with the other. I wince a time or two, but his touch is surprisingly soft. I watch him work, studying his furrowed brow and concerned gaze.
“You’re right that it doesn’t look deep enough for stitches. Though I’m tempted to call Sutton to double check.”
My head rears back. “And say what? Ariel got hurt—oh, and by the way, we’ve been staying together. ”
He shrugs. “If that’s what it took to make sure you’re okay. I’m guessing the nearest hospital is an hour away.” His head tilts to the side as he places a butterfly bandage over the cut. “I’ve seen enough injuries like this from hockey to feel good enough to not call her though.”
Our eyes meet. I try to discern what’s behind his, but come up short.
“You’d sell yourself out over a cut?”
He huffs out a laugh. “If I was worried, yeah. I care about you, Duke. I’m not a monster.”
“Could have fooled me this morning,” I say before I can take it back.
His jaw clenches. He stands and goes to wash his hands in the sink, then bends down to get a washcloth from the stack in the cabinet. Once the cloth is damp, he hands it to me. I start to wipe the streaks of blood away from the spots I can see. He leans against the counter and crosses his arms.
“I’m sorry,” I say while cleaning splotches off my thigh. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s sweet of you to care about me.”
“I’m sorry too,” he says in a low voice. “I shouldn’t have said those things about the doctor guy. I hope it works out between you two.”
I look up at him. That indecipherable cloud of emotion is still hovering around him, but I choose to ignore it. We’re friends. I don’t want to mess that up by poking the bear even more.
“Thanks, that means a lot.”
He nods, then holds his hand out. “You’ve got some–let me help you.”
I hand him the cloth. He lowers himself to one knee in front of me, then softly brushes my cheek.
“I didn’t know I had blood on my face. I must have looked like a horror movie poster.”
He laughs softly. “I thought you’d been attacked by something. In the span of time it took you to explain, I’d already begun concocting a plan to go out there and kill whatever or whoever it was.”
A smile stretches my lips. “And I thought Sutton was the one with the overactive imagination.”
“A family trait, I guess,” he says with a smirk. “You’re all set, but it will probably take a shower to get all of this off.”
I scrunch my nose. “Considering I’m covered in dirt and leaves as well, I agree.”
He stands, then helps me stand. “I’ll leave you to it.”
I smile. “Thanks, Carolina.”
“I’d say anytime, but I’m hoping this never happens again.”
We laugh together.
“I can’t promise I won’t go out there by myself again, but I will stay away from the water.”
He looks like he wants to argue with me, but he doesn’t.
“That sounds good. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will. Thanks again.”
He shoots one last smile over his shoulder on his way out. I find myself mirroring the expression as I wash off all the dirt and grime. Maybe things between us aren’t so bad after all.