“Any chest tightness?” she asks.
Clover shakes her head against the pillow.
“My throat’s just sore,” she says softly. “Did I die?”
“No.”
Clover nods once.
“Good.”
Like nearly dying was mildly inconvenient and she’s glad we’ve moved past it. I bark out a humorless laugh without meaning to.
The sound surprises all of us. Ten minutes ago, I was kneeling in the dirt with the woman of my dreams limp in my arms, pine needles stuck to my knees, adrenaline roaring in my ears while I wondered how I’d survive if she stopped breathing.
Now she’s casually cracking jokes in the back of an ambulance like she didn’t just scare the shit out of me.
Lola sits in the corner, pulling out her phone and giving us a modicum of privacy.
Clover’s fingers shift against my palm, her eyes dropping to where I’m still holding her hand. I haven’t let go since we loaded her onto the stretcher. Respecting Lola’s authority in this space, I stayed out of her way, but I couldn’t bring myself to relinquish the sole physical connection I had to Clover.
Acknowledging that I’ve been entirely too forward with a woman in the middle of a medical crisis, I start to let go. Her blue eyes flare with panic and she tightens her grip.
My heart damn near stops.
Her fingers squeeze mine, and with my pulse stuttering I squeeze back.
“I remember you carrying me.”
I smile despite myself.
“Yeah.”
“How embarrassing,” she mutters.
“You were unconscious.”
She gives me a dry look that makes me feel ashamed.
“I was focused on getting you help. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Her expression softens instantly.
“You didn’t.”
Warmth spreads through my chest so hard it aches.
“I liked it,” she confesses.
Every coherent thought leaves my body. Gone. Vanished into the mountain air.
Lola coughs into her fist and Clover winces. I’m leaning over her before I can think.
“What hurts?”
“My leg.”
“The injection site?”
