CHAPTER 46
Evander
I turn away from the burn on my arm. Not because I don’t want to see it, but because I don’t want to see the concern etched across Phoebe’s face.
I’d prefer that she doesn’t worry about me. Ever. It wouldn’t be right. I never want to be a burden to another person. And I have no interest in lugging around someone else’s unease about where I am or whether I’m safe.
But I peek down at her small, skilled fingers, and how she’s bent over me in concentration, and decide that what I prefer no longer matters.
In the last few days, Phoebe and I have carried one another. We’ve taken on the responsibility for the other’s welfare and comfort. And pleasure.
I feel her capable hands on me. She did her best to wash off the burn with snow melted over our pitiful fire, all the while lecturing me on the dangers of cleaning a burn with water that’s either too cold or too warm.
And now she’s doing what she can with what we had left in the first aid kit—one pair of nylon gloves, one sterile gauze bandage, two antiseptic wipes, and a small bit of antibiotic ointment. We do have those four jumbo-ass rolls of medical tape, though, which still bugs the shit out of me.
I should have checked and double-checked what was in the first aid kit before I took off. True, I threw a bunch of extra items into the ATV locker just for the hell of it, and they probably helped save Phoebe’s life, but I wasn’t as relentless about safety as I should have been.
Because it was just me. I can survive anything.
But if I’d even suspected that Phoebe would be counting on me…
fuck. I’d have checked and rechecked every component of the vehicle, every expiration date on every packet of food, every battery level in every device.
I’d bring along the most sophisticated tech I could get my hands on, too, along with lots and lots of extra warm clothing.
I long ago learned that you can’t be a lone operator and a member of a team at the same time. SEAL training drummed into my head that working together saves lives and leads to mission success. Favorable outcomes spring from supporting your teammates while owning your own shit.
I think it’s time to own my own shit when it comes to Phoebe. I’m confident that we’ll get out of this alive, but I see no reason to delay it. Life is precious. Every moment I’ve had with her has been precious.
“This will tug at the hair on your arm,” she says, taping the bandage to my skin.
“No problem.”
“But it needs to stay covered.”
“Tracking that.”
“If I had another suture needle and thread I’d mend your sleeve.”
“It’s okay.”
“But I’m going to tape it up, all right? At least the wind won’t get in there.”
I smile, watching her carefully pull together the melted fabric and use a small bit of tape to hold it in place. Then she proceeds to wrap me up like a mummy.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” She orbits the tape roll around my arm. “We’ve done everything backwards.”
“In what way?”
“Out of order. You know, no texting. No meeting for coffee. No actual dates. You saw me naked. I saw you naked. And then we just jumped right into the wild sex and intense conversation.”
This woman makes me smile, even when there’s fuck-all to smile about.
“Not that I’m complaining. I’ve enjoyed both those things a lot.”
“Hey, Phoebe?”
“Yeah?”
“I was angry at myself today, not you.”
The tape roll stops in mid-air.
“I was angry because I allowed you to get close enough that you could reach the only button I’ve got, and baby, you smacked it hard.”
Phoebe slowly raises her eyes to me. In the dying light from our only lantern, the gold and greens of her irises take on an ethereal glow. She looks like an otherworldly sprite, a faerie in a ski mask and parka hood.
“I don’t like to admit that anything terrifies me.”
She nods. “I know you don’t. I’m terrified of heights. Did I ever tell you that?”
“No.”
“I’m fine with flying for some reason. I actually enjoy it! But the other stuff? Not so much.” She shakes her head. “I tried bungee jumping into the Rio Grande Gorge near Taos. Big mistake. And then I almost barfed during a fancy dinner in a restaurant at the top of the Sears Tower.”
“This is all helpful background to have.”
“I know what you’re going to say, Evander. Your button is letting something happen to someone in your care.”
“Close, but not quite.”
Phoebe keeps her eyes on me as she bites off the medical tape, then looks down to smooth the edge to my sleeve.
She removes the surgical gloves, tucks away the first aid supplies, and slips her hands back into her snow gloves.
She drops her hands in her lap, looks at me again, and waits for me to finish.
“I’m in love with you, Phoebe Travis.”
Her eyes flash.
“I’ve worked really hard not to let that happen because that’s my button.
I fear that I’ll do something—or fail to do something or that some sort of random shit will happen—that leads to the loss of the person I love.
I know it’s because of my mom dying when I was a kid, and then seeing how traumatic it was for Finn when his first wife died in childbirth. ”
Phoebe’s eyes widen. She nods.
“In both cases, there was such a heavy sense of helplessness. No one could do a damn thing to stop it, no matter how they tried.”
“It’s the most painful thing a human being can experience,” she says, her voice soft. “I know all about feeling helpless—with my patients, with my dad…”
“I know you do. Yet you stay cheerful and kind and loving to everyone you meet. Whereas I pull back and shut down.”
She frowns.
“My reasoning has always been that if I’m going to face helplessness when it counts the most, why set myself up for that shit? I told myself that if I never love anyone, I’ll never lose them.”
“But you’re lying to yourself,” she says, a divot forming between her brows.
“You already love a lot of people, and they love you back. Your family. Aunt Phyllis. Summer. Just look at Jasmine—that little girl is crazy about her Uncle Evander. Your eyes light up when you see her! So even if you succeeded in never loving a woman, you’re not protected from loss. ”
I go still.
“I know you took a big risk in choosing to love me, and I thank you for that,” she says. “I’ve known it for a while now, though.”
That’s not the reaction I expected.
“What I mean is… well, I’ve told you all about how I’ve loved you since I was twelve. But what I haven’t told you is what happened this past spring, when you were recovering from your surgery.”
“Oh, shit. What did I do?”
Phoebe laughs. I love the sound of that girl’s laugh. She scoots closer to me and climbs into my lap again, then grabs the two wool blankets and pulls them over our heads.
“Remember how I told you that my heart was waiting for you, just in case?”
“Yes.”
“I decided to do that for a reason. It began the night you finally agreed to take pain meds, which was the only way the surgeon would sign your discharge.”
“Right. That operation was bitch.”
“But you never let on, Evander. All you did was argue and complain and tell me you were fine.”
“I’m such a bastard.”
“Anyway, I bring you home that night while your dad’s having a barbecue. You insist on going there instead of your place. So that’s what we do.”
I nod. I vaguely remember this.
“You started doing wheelies in your wheelchair and took Jasmine for spins around your dad’s back deck. You ate your body weight in ribs, but you really did have a great time. I wouldn’t let you drink beer because of your medication, though. We nearly came to blows.”
I laugh. “I was just giving you shit, Phoebs.”
“Oh, I’m aware of that.”
“I had to do something to change the energy between us.”
She tilts her head and stares at me.
“Yeah. I admit it. It sucked being in the care of the world’s most capable, smokin’ hot virgin nurse. It was driving me fucking nuts wanting what I couldn’t have.”
“I see.”
“So I argued with you, bitched and moaned about anything and everything so that I could keep you at a distance and close the lid on my neat and tidy box.”
“Ah, yes. Your box. About that.” A crinkle appears between her brows. “You opened the lid that night. You ripped that sucker right off.”
“How’s that?”
Her eyes squint in a smile. “Well, the party was over. Your brothers got you home and I made sure you had your meds and were comfortable. I added water to the fresh flowers by your bed and I told you I needed to check the dressing on your surgical site one last time.”
“Okay.” I’m feeling slightly uncomfortable, just like when Phoebe reminded me of the Creamy Cone incident.
“As I bent over the bed, you leaned in and kissed my cheek.”
That’s not anywhere as bad as I feared.
“And you said, ‘Phoebe, thank you.’ And I said, ‘Of course. See you tomorrow. Sleep well.’ But as I turned to go, you grabbed my wrist. Hard.”
“This is why I hate taking any kind of narcotic. I hope I didn’t say or do anything else weird.”
She laughs. “Nothing weird. You said, ‘I think I love you.’”
I freeze.
“And then you said, ‘You’re perfect, Phoebe. Marry me.’”