“I’m fine,” I grit out, trying to pull away, but as soon as my foot touches the ground, the throbbing makes me hiss.
Bash doesn’t let go. “You’re not fine. Sit down before you make it worse.”
I reluctantly lower myself onto a nearby log. The girls circle around, distress written all over their faces.
“Keep going,” I tell them, trying to sound casual. “I’ll catch up in a few minutes.”
“No way,” Vi says, frowning.
“Logan’s group isn’t too far ahead of us. I can still hear them. Can you all go get him together?” Bash asks before I can protest. “Tell him what happened and see if he’ll turn around. I’ll stay here with Romilly.”
Angelina and Taylor give me a sly look, but thankfully say nothing before they all continue up the trail.
Once it’s just the two of us, Bash crouches in front of me, gently cradling my ankle in his hands. “You always do this,” he murmurs.
“Do what?”
“Pretend you’re fine when you’re clearly not.”
“I’m used to powering through.” I shrug. “There’s not usually anyone around to catch me.”
He looks up at me then, his brows drawn together as his gaze slices through me. “Well, I’m here now.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I look away. I try to focus on the way the morning light filters through the amber leaves, or the way the breeze carries the faint scent of pine and smoke. Anything but the pain in my ankle.
“Let’s check out the damage.” He rests my foot in his lap with surprising care. His fingers are warm against my chilled skin as he slowly unlaces my boot. The confident but gentle way he touches me sends tingles racing up my leg.
“You really did a number on yourself.” He brushes some leaves from my knee. “I should’ve carried you from the start.”
I roll my eyes even as my cheeks flush. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe.” He smirks and looks up at me. “But you’re smiling.”
I try to fight it, but he’s right. I am.
He slips off the boot and carefully examines my ankle. “It’s not broken, but it’s definitely not safe for you to walk on.”
“Since when are you an expert on broken bones?”
“I’ve broken plenty myself, pumpkin. Trust me.”
Bash stands and, without warning, scoops me into his arms.
“Sebastian!” I protest, wrapping an arm around his neck for balance.
“Do you really think I’m going to let you hobble your way down this trail?” he says, already walking.
“I could lean on you,” I mutter.
“You could, technically. But this way, I get to carry you through the woods like a rugged, lumberjack hero. Let me have this.”
Despite myself, I laugh. Besides, the girls should be back by now and carrying me will probably get us to them faster. Knots form in my stomach at the thought of something happening to them.
As Bash carries me through the trees, the wind rustles the leaves above us until they fall like soft, golden rain. And even though I’m off my foot, the throbbing in my ankle continues. “I can’t believe you’ve had worse injuries than this and still want to be a fighter.”
He chuckles. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”
“Do you ever think about what you want in life, like, other than fighting?”
