Chapter 29 Connor
CONNOR
Alight breeze ruffles Cateline’s hair as a delicate rain shower starts. “And what’s that?” Cateline asks after my pronouncement that I’ve found something we both agree on.
My lips twitch with a knowing smile. “I want to kiss you and you want to kiss me.”
She nods. “I do want to kiss you.”
Like in the firefly field, but this time in the rain, our mouths crash together.
The world goes fuzzy. Yes, we’re alone in the woods, but we may as well be the only two people left in existence.
There are her lips and mine. My body and hers. Her breath and my inhale-exhale.
My hand curls around the back of her neck.
Her hand fists my shirt, pulling me closer.
My pulse drags deeply, as though dredging the river.
Hers rises to meet it like a wave.
I kiss Cateline like it’s the only thing that matters. She kisses like she cares profoundly. I do. I care so much.
Love swells in my chest. I’ve never felt anything quite like it as the kiss deepens. It goes to new places I’ve never been, depths I’ve never plumbed, and I never, ever want to leave.
Then, eventually, drenched, I trace a trail of kisses along her jawline to her collarbone to her hand before pulling her into a hug that’s so tight, so absolute, I want it to tell her that I’ll never let her go.
She cranes her head to meet my eyes. Emotion flickers there. It’s an answer to a silent question about us, our future. I think it’s yes.
I find a suitable camp for the night and make a fire. We eat dinner and swap stories.
After another long day, Cateline soon falls asleep, curled up on the bedroll.
She insisted I join her in the sleeping bag, but fell asleep before I could protest. Lying on the ground beside her, I figure the cold will only strengthen me.
Eventually, though, I give in because I don’t want her to get chilly.
I haven’t broken the playbook rules per se.
We’ve kissed, but it’s different because I want another.
A hundred more kisses with Cateline. I’ve never felt that way about a woman before.
Usually, I’d already have checked out, bye-bye.
Not inclined to see her again. But I want to see her every day for the rest of my life.
The outline of a future for us begins to take a hazy shape.
Her cheering me on at games.
Me treating her like royalty because she practically is.
I want to give Cat everything in life—take away her worry, make her smile and laugh, and listen to the rise and fall of her accent even when she prompts me to mind my manners.
The night is still and the sky is clear as I lie, looking up at the stars.
I’d give Cateline every single one if I could.
I glance over at her in awe. The smooth slope of her nose, her thick eyelashes, the fullness of her lips.
She tamed the wild in me, yet that makes me want to howl.
But I’d wake her up and that’s not a very polite thing to do, so I let myself drift to sleep.
Sometime later, someone shakes me softly at first. I imagine it’s Cain. My name floats to me through a dream. The shaking increases and the voice rises in panic.
“Connor, please. Please wake up.” It’s a French accent, smoky, familiar.
Cateline.
I shoot to sitting.
Her face is pale in the moonlight.
“What’s wrong? Is there trouble?” I scramble to my feet, ready to take on a mountain lion if I have to.
Her palm presses flat against her chest.
“Are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s my heart, I think.”
I test her forehead. She’s clammy like from a cold sweat.
“I’m dizzy and having a hard time breathing.” Her voice is thin.
I’ve seen the toughest guys injured and sick—on and off the field—Cateline isn’t a guy, but she is tough and just by looking at her, I can tell something is gravely wrong.
Shaky, she lies back down.
Anxiety rockets through me. There is no time to waste.
I grab my pack and pull out my cell phone.
Participants in the challenge aren’t supposed to have them and many of them don’t even own phones or other technology to begin with.
However, I brought it in case anything happened to me, like a broken leg, thinking Cateline would need help if I got injured.
I didn’t imagine anything would happen to her.
I dial for emergency and explain the situation, then send the GPS coordinates.
Gathering Cateline in my arms, I carry her to a nearby clearing. She’s light and limp. I hold her tight.
“Hang on, Cateline. Help is coming.”
She floats in and out of consciousness.
Adrenaline rushes through me. What happened? Does she have a fever? Did she have a preexisting illness she didn’t mention and needs medicine? I’m so stupid for taking her on the Enduro challenge.
The hum of a helicopter grows louder as the long minutes pass. The rest of the challengers aren’t going to be happy and I’m automatically disqualified, but I won’t risk Cat’s health or safety. Then I realize I already did. Guilt makes her heavy in my arms.
A searchlight sweeps the mountains and trees. I grip Cateline tightly. She’s silent and still. If something happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.
Moments later, the chopper lands, flattening the long grass with the buffeting wind from the blades. It lights up the night as a pair of EMTs rush out, ask a few questions, and take Cateline into their care.
“Are you her husband?” one asks.
“Fiancée,” I answer, praying she’ll forgive me. Praying she’ll be okay. If I weren’t in a helicopter, I’d drop to my knees and beg God for mercy.
Soon we’re back in the air, moving toward the nearest city.
The next twelve hours are the longest and most agonizing of my life. I don’t know how to contact her family. Not knowing the no-phone rule of the Enduro, or even what she was getting into, Cat’s cell phone died the first day. I plug it in. Unfortunately, I don’t know the password.
I alternately pray and watch the door opposite the waiting room, hoping someone will exit and give me more information.
She’s in critical condition.
She’s in surgery.
She’s out of surgery.
That’s all I know.
Finally, the doctor appears. He gives me an appraising look. At first, I assume it’s because he recognizes me. Then I realize I look like a caveman. I smooth the beginnings of the beard that has grown in the last several days.
“Mr. Wolfe, explain to me the circumstances of the patient’s arrival.”
“We were camping—the End of the World Enduro challenge. It was several days in. She woke me up, saying she was having a hard time breathing and her chest hurt.”
“Surely you know that someone with her condition shouldn’t have been doing that kind of activity.”
“What condition?”
“A heart condition.”
I frown. “She never mentioned that.” Regret melts my defenses. I had no right bringing her out there to the woods. To me, it was a tough challenge—manly. To her, it was probably awful and as it turns out, life-threatening.
The doctor nods. “There’s a solid chance she didn’t know about it either. The good news is she’s going to be okay. We were able to successfully stent the valve that was causing trouble. She’ll be waking up soon and when she’s ready, we’ll need to ask her some questions.”
“Thank you, doctor.” Relief, unlike any I’ve ever known, sweeps through me. Tears well in my eyes.
“In the meantime, why don’t you go home and shower?”
I look down at myself. I’m filthy, covered in dirt and grass stains.
Thankful that Cateline is okay, I check into a local hotel, shower, shave, and put on a new T-shirt and a pair of jeans. I’m exhausted, but there is no way I’ll spend any more time away from Cateline than necessary. But the Jeep, with her luggage, is back in the woods.
My mind whirs while a car service brings me over. What did the doctor mean that she had a preexisting condition? Does she have medication she forgot to take?
I get the Jeep and return to the hospital. The nurse at the desk does a double-take. “Were you the fellow sitting in the waiting room all night and day?”
“That was me. Muddy, sweaty, and covered in bug bites.”
“My, oh my. And I thought you were some kind of very tall vagrant. Were you trying to go incognito or something?” She must recognize me.
“No. We were camping and—” I grip the back of my neck and hang my head. “Is she okay?”
“She will be. Thankfully, you got here when you did. The doctor will explain more. You can go in now.” She points to a metal door. “Fourth on the right.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Hang on.” She comes around to the other side of the desk and lifts onto her toes. “You’ll just have to take a selfie with me so I can show the girls who I met. Stacy, down in the NICU, is a big Boston Bruisers fan. Oooh. She’s going to be so jealous.” Her phone snaps the photo as she smiles.
The glimpse I catch of the picture is of a haggard, worried man.
The unit is relatively quiet except for the beeping and whirring of machines. The lights were bright in the hall but dim behind the curtains that cordon off the patients.
Cateline lies in the bed with wires and tubes coming in and out of her small and fragile-looking body.
Why had I ever taken her out there? I move closer to the bed, desperate with worry.
Her hand rests on the sheet. After lowering into a chair, I take her slender fingers in mine and watch her sleep peacefully. I came so close to losing her. What if I hadn’t brought my phone? What if there wasn’t service? What if I’d been too late?
I rest my forehead on the edge of the bed and my shoulders shake. I cannot let anything happen to Cateline or lose her. I can’t imagine life without her.