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“I’m…” My lips tremble, and I want to tell him everything. That I’m scared, hurting, afraid to return to Corium, but also afraid of being out here and dying.
Holding me tightly to his side to keep the weight off my bad leg, he cups my cheek, the warmth of his hand making me lean deeper into his touch, and even though I can’t see his eyes because of the darkness, I can feel his next set of words.
“We’re going to survive this and make it back to Corium. I won’t let you die out here, Aspen. I promise, okay?”
“Okay,” I croak, my voice cracking, giving away my emotional distress.
Quinton pulls his hand away from my face, taking his warm touch with him, and then he takes a step back. I teeter on one leg, worried I’ll tip over at any second.
Before I get the chance to complain, he swoops down and grabs me by the hips, lifting me onto his shoulder. I land with a huff, my leg protesting with the movement.
“Hold on to me!” Quinton yells, and I grab his jacket, fisting the fabric in my hand as we move.
Quinton’s strides are huge and eat up a lot of space, but not fast enough. Each step he takes sends a jarring ache up my leg. I don’t complain, mainly because he’s carrying me the whole way to the truck in the pouring rain, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
Quinton lets out a grunt here and there, but nothing more to let on that he’s exhausted. Time slips past me, and the suffering from my leg slips to the back of my mind. I’m not sure how long we’ve been walking when I realize Quinton’s steps are slower now. I’m soaked to the bone with rain, so I know he is as well.
Lying over his back, I can’t tell if we’re slowing down because he’s tired or because we’ve reached the truck, but almost like he can read my mind, he stops.
“Are we here?” I yell, but instead of him answering me, he drags my soaked body down the front of his, gently setting me on my feet.
I’m disoriented and grab onto the nearest object, which is the side of the truck.
Quinton moves around me and opens the passenger door before scooping me up and placing me inside the backseat.
Inside the truck, I let out a sigh of relief and almost laugh. I’ve been through so much today; I can’t believe I’m even alive right now. The door on the other side of the truck opens, and Quinton climbs in, slamming it shut behind him. A shiver skates down my spine. We’re alone, more alone than we’ve ever been before, and while that should terrify me, it’s comforting. I spent the whole day thinking I was going to die out here, and then he showed up.
“I know it’s not the most comfortable of places, but we will stay dry in here and be safe from any animals.”
“It’s fine. It’s better than the rain, that’s for sure.” I try to smile, but for some reason, it’s still a frown.
Quinton makes quick work of his jacket, shrugging it off and hanging it over the driver’s seat. His dark eyes turn on me, and I start to undo my jacket, but my fingers are numb and trembling so much I fumble with the zipper. He brushes my hands away and undoes the zipper, helping me out of the jacket.
“Thanks,” I whisper, the moment feeling more intimate than it did before he carried me through the forest, for God knows how many miles.
“We have to get out of these wet clothes,” Quinton explains while continuing to peel the clingy fabric off my body. My shirt and bra are easy, but it takes some time and finesse to peel my pants off and over my leg.
“I’m actually impressed by your brace. Girl scouts?”
“No.” I smile. “TV.”
“I have to take this off. We’ll make a new one tomorrow.”
I try to hide how much every tiny movement hurts, but of course, nothing goes unnoticed by Quinton.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re not in pain. I know this hurts.”
“Did you ever break a bone? I never have before.”
“Yeah, a few times…” He trails off as he takes his clothes off and throws them to the front seat. “I broke my leg falling out of a tree once. I was climbing up to get my sister’s kite and slipped on the way down.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. Quinton rarely shares anything about himself with me. It’s not the kind of thing we do, so hearing him talk about something personal leaves me pretty speechless.
When he has stripped down to his boxers, he twists around and leans over the backseat, looking through the trunk of the jeep. A moment later, he pulls a blanket out, and I almost rip it out of his hands. It looks scratchy and uncomfortable, but when you are half freezing to death, anything that offers warmth looks great.
