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And we have to get her home.
I know Dean feels something for her when he doesn’t say a word about the mess she’s going to make of his pristine leather seats in her condition. We manage to get her into the back, and the fact that she doesn’t make so much as a sound is worrying, but she’s still breathing at least, if shallowly.
The ride back is excruciating. I look over every few minutes, convinced that Athena will have stopped breathing, that she won’t make it back. But she’s still alive when we pull into the driveway, and she’s still breathing when we get her upstairs and into the bathtub.
None of us argue or even talk much as we clean her off. She’s completely unconscious, not even making a sound as we wash the dirt and blood, and god knows what else off of her, cleaning the cuts that litter her stomach and breasts. There’s a tentative truce among us now, all of our focus on her, and I know deep down that it means something.
It means that we all feel more for her than we want to let on. And as we dry her off and get her into bed, agreeing to take turns checking in on her to make sure that she’s still breathing.
This isn’t just about the game anymore.
It’s about protecting our prize.
