Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The sudden sound of splintering rocks causes Jack and I to flinch away from one another, and I scream in terror when bits of stone and pebbles shoot off the nearby outcrop in tiny bursts.
He curses, gripping my shoulders and pulling me back in at the unmistakable crack of a bullet lodging itself into the rockface.
A sting pierces my arm and then my forehead as shards of rock are sent flying with another two shots. A breath later, Jack slams onto the ground, caging my body with his.
We’re going to die.
Someone is shooting at us and I’m going to die. Jack might survive because he has the skills, but this place already has it out for me, and I’ve been chosen as a sacrifice.
“I think we’ve skipped a few steps in our relationship,” I mutter, trying to focus on the comforting weight of his pressing against mine.
My mind latches onto a tiny snag in the collar of his T-shirt, and I almost lift a hand to brush at it, curious to know whether it’s rock debris or a thread that’s been hooked in the fabric.
“Willow! Are you listening to me?”
“Mm-hmm.” I roll my lips in, nodding as my heart pounds.
It’s going to explode in my chest.
“Liar,” he scoffs, glancing at me before issuing a command filled with the authority of a man experienced in tactical training. “Stay down.”
What if Jack dies and I’m left alone out here?
A stress sweat cools my skin, the clamminess stifling.
I’ll never survive this on my own, and I’ll never forgive myself if Jack dies protecting me.
My eyes move to the small freckle on his neck. It seems crazy to let my mind dwell on such trivial things at a time like this, but that freckle is both a distraction and an anchor right now.
New goal unlocked: get permission to kiss that freckle.
Jack surveys the area, looking to identify which direction the bullets came from while lifting the hem of his cargo pants to pull a gun from an ankle holster.
“Have you had that hidden there this entire time?” I ask in a harsh whisper.
Where else is he hiding weapons?
He shushes me and gestures for me to stay low as he stands and moves to disappear into the belly of the canyon, leaving me to contemplate my sanity and the resentment I now harbor toward the bullet that just ruined an almost perfect first kiss.
Fixating on tiny, irrelevant details continues to be my coping mechanism as I lie here, dusty, terrified, and low-key panicking over our most current developments.
Why is my heartbeat so loud?
The sounds of the canyon, comforting and deceiving, compete against the drumming in my ears. Every scratch or snap prolongs my paralysis as I question the source of each noise.
I wonder where else Jack is hiding a gun…
I should probably crawl to shelter rather than lying on my back, obsessing over all the places he might have weapons strapped against his muscles.
I’m clearly in shock. Either that or I’ve just discovered I have a thing for a man who’s competent in danger.
Pebbles dig through my jacket and into my forearms as I leopard crawl behind a two-foot shrub that looks like it’d shrivel into a pile of dust if it received so much as a mean look. But you can’t be picky when desperate for the illusion of protection.
My arm stings with every pulse of my racing heart, and the many faces of the mountain snicker behind eerie shadows, whispering that in a place like this, it would be so easy to be forgotten.
Time shifts into slow motion when I realize that I’m truly alone for the first time since I started this adventure. Every question about why I’m here wrestles its way to the front of my mind, a swirling string of words flickering before me.
What if Jack doesn’t come back? Will I survive and find my way out on my own?
Why am I still here? Is this the time to quit?
Why is my arm on fire?
I shift onto my knees with my feet tucked under me and bring a hand to my left arm, wincing at the sting.
A wetness coats my fingers as I remove the ruined jacket.
My panic grows when a tingling sensation travels down to my fingers.
It’s so dark, only hints of cobalt blues cling to the horizon, and soon they’re swallowed into the night, making it impossible to gauge the state of my wound.
A fiery burn radiates throughout my arm, and I curse the stupid piece of rock that must have nicked me when I glance down to find my jacket looking truly good and ruined.
This really hurts. And that seems like a lot of blood on my jacket sleeve for a small scratch…
My head swims, the canyon rocking as I get a glimpse of the dark streaks running down my arm. The sight of blood has always made me woozy, but this is no time to fall apart. Adding another head wound from passing out would send Jack over the edge.
Jack.
That tremble in my hands from earlier is back with a vengeance as tremors overtake my entire body. This may very well send Jack into DEFCON 1. He’ll blame himself and pack a thousand bricks around that rugged chest of his.
I can’t claim to be of sound mind at the moment, but I want to get past his defenses badly enough that I’m contemplating hiding this from him.
I shuffle over to my sleeping mat, using my uninjured arm to feel around for my mini lantern, the one that Jack laughed at earlier because he said it looked like something I stole from a garden gnome.
I switch it on the lowest brightness level, and my breath comes out in a stuttered exhale as I look down to survey the damage.
Another wave of dizziness hits me, along with a surge of nausea that threatens to bring up all that delicious lasagna from earlier. The stark whiteness of the lantern makes the thick line of blood trickling down my arm appear a morbid, dark crimson.
Crap.
This was not what I signed up for.
I manage to pull Marigold off the tree branch with a lot of grunting and puffing, rummaging for my rudimentary first aid kit. Jack’s fancy one would be better, but this one should have a bandage I can use to wrap my arm and slow down the bleeding, at least for now.
But how do I hide the evidence of all this blood from Jack? We’d better get out of this darn canyon tomorrow. I don’t think I can keep this a secret for very long.
I growl and end up emptying my backpack, not having the energy to patiently sift through the contents. If I can clean up this wound well enough before Jack gets back, I’ll play it down as a little scratch and tell him a kiss will make it all better.
Perched on my knees, I use my teeth to rip open a gauze packet because my useless hands won’t stop shaking. But it’s like mopping up a gallon of milk with one square of toilet paper. The gauze is soaked within seconds, and all I manage to do is make a bigger mess by spreading blood around.
So much blood.
We may be dealing with more than a scratch.
Oh my gosh, what if I’m stuck here for days! I’m not equipped for treating gangrene. What if I lose an arm?
The murky sky begins to spin again, this time black dots creeping into my periphery.
A floating feeling washes over me before I’m suddenly cradled against a warm, hard chest.
“I’ve got you,” Jack’s voice promises, holding me close while his heart thumps rapidly against my ear.
I could get used to this.
But can he?
“You’re okay. I’ve got you,” he proclaims once more before easing me away and turning the brightness up on the lantern. “I’m so sorry, Lo.”
Here we go. Guilt coats his voice and drags his brow lower, making my heart sting, and I want to plead with him to take his unnecessary apology back and draw me closer again.
“I should have stayed with you,” he laments. His hands work frantically, and he empties his backpack until he finds his first aid kit. “You’re gonna be okay,” he reassures both of us, but he avoids eye contact as he hastily rips open another pack of gauze.
“Jack, I am okay. It’s just a scratch.”
Maybe.
Probably not.
He straps on a headlamp before pulling on a pair of gloves. I try to tell him again that it’s only a small cut, but he pierces me with a stern look that I only catch when I’m blinded by the sudden brightness of his headlamp aimed my way, making me snap my mouth shut.
I’m using every ounce of energy to stifle the winces and moans of pain threatening to erupt. He moves his head closer, using his more effective supplies to clean the wound on my upper arm, then he lets out a curse.
“This isn’t a scratch, Lo,” he rasps.
“Okay, a gash.”
“You were shot.”
“THERE’S A BULLET IN ME!?” I screech.
“It only grazed you. But it could’ve been worse…a lot worse.”
“Jack, I’m starting to feel woozy again,” I mumble through a ragged breath, hating that I can’t keep it together. The gangrene must be setting in. Poor Giorgio. He’ll be an orphan.
Jack helps me ease my head a little forward between my legs. “So I guess that’s why it feels like an alligator has been clamping down on my arm,” I muse, trying to keep myself awake, but he doesn’t laugh.
I’m a huge baby, okay. Successfully hiding this from him is the most hilarious thing I’ve ever considered in my life.
“Keep your head down while I finish cleaning and wrapping this,” he soothes. “Then I’ll get you some pain meds and antibiotics.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I’d also like to get back to what we were doing before all this happened, so if you could hurry it up, that would be great,” I squeak before rolling my lips together, breathing slowly through my nose to avoid whimpering.
“That shouldn’t have happened.”
Ouch.
Somehow, that stings more than the actual gunshot wound in my arm.
I sniffle quietly and try to hide a rogue tear by wiping it away with my uninjured arm. He’s pulling away. Showing the most tender care, but the tightness in his shoulders announces that his reasons for not allowing anyone to get too close are stacking themselves into a nice, new wall right now.
He finishes wrapping my arm, then tends to the cut on my forehead and the one on my cheek.
I sniff again, wiping my nose and feeling the loss of not even being able to enjoy his nearness while I’m focused on breathing through the pain.
He cleans up all the waste and hands me a few pills along with my water.
“These are strong, but you’ll need them for when the shock wears off.”
“Thanks.” I nod, swallowing the pills while he stares at my arm with that brow creased and the guilt shining in his eyes.
“Did you get a look at who was shooting?” I ask, deciding to focus on the practicals and hoping he won’t become too introspective.
He clears his throat, jerkily returning things to his backpack. “They were too far ahead. We’ll move into a nearby outcrop. I’ve used it before during the rain. I’ll set up a perimeter line so I’ll be able to tell if they come back.”
I move to stand, and he jumps up to help me upright with a gentleness that makes my chest ache. I’m desperate for him to hold me again, but the fear of rejection has me smiling politely instead. My heart crumbles another fraction when he pulls his hands away like I’ve burned him.
He turns away to repack Marigold, and I stand and wait helplessly as he rolls our mats and sleeping bags. “I can carry something. I still have one good arm and two working legs,” I joke.
But all I get in response is a grunted, “Not happening.”
A heavy weight hangs on his long inhale before he slowly walks us to the outcrop forming a five foot canopy about a hundred feet away. I hold onto his backpack, grateful for the steadiness that saves me from tripping. The contact also soothes the worst of the anxiety swirling in my stomach.
He sets out our sleeping mats and sleeping bags, frowning as he turns and catches the shiver that runs over me. My jacket is officially a write-off.
“Sit.” He tips his head, the word coming out like a command.
The sleeping bag rustles as I lower myself with a sigh, and Jack approaches to crouch down in front of me.
He’s holding his forrest green hoodie, making a circle with the opening like he’s about to dress a small child.
I want to make a snippy remark, but I swallow my words at the look on his face when I realize he’s seconds from shattering his jaw.
I lean into the opening, allowing him to guide his hoodie over my head.
He groans after I let a moan slip out when sliding my arms through.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
His scent surrounds me, and my eyes fall closed as I breathe it in.
He’s never getting this hoodie back.
“Get settled while I set up a perimeter. You need anything?” he asks, casting me a pained look that makes my chest feel like it’s cracking open. He’s not taking this well. There’s still a tremble to his hands, as if he’s the wounded animal in this scenario.
“I’m good.” I give him a soft smile. “Go.”
“I won’t be long.”
I chew my lip, staring after him until a weight of exhaustion drapes over me.
My pitiful Walmart sleeping bag provides little comfort as I remove my shoes and climb inside, an icy chill clinging to my bones. I’m not sure if it’s truly cold or if I’m finally allowing the shock and sadness to course their way through my body.