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June inhaled laboriously, letting the breath out with a painful squeeze. Although she was breathing deeper, each inhale crackled and wheezed.
I now had the impossible task of getting her to medical care without triggering another—possibly fatal—asthma attack. My phone had no service, naturally.
I stared down at her, slack in the circle of my arms and restless as she gasped and coughed in her sleep. Her braid had loosened in the commotion, springing auburn curls all down her long neck and shoulders. She had a round face peppered with freckles, and the contrast to her willowy neck and shoulders honestly did something to me. It made me want to kiss her cheeks and then lead her in a dance.
A dance. Seriously?I shook my head, drawing some oxygen into my lungs and considering the situation from a rational point of view.Take June out of it. What would I do if she was just a patient?
I had to leave her, I realized. The safest thing would be to climb down the tree and run back along the trail until my cell got service. Then I could call for medical transport. June would stay safe, and she’d get medical attention fastest that way.
But the thought of leaving her tore me apart. I rubbed my eyes.Okay. Buck up, Brady. This is the best course of action, so detach and let’s go.
I sat up, shuffling June and trying to wake her gently. “Hey, June,” I said, my voice just above a whisper. She let out a harsh gust of air, and then her spine stiffened. “Hey,” I said again. “You’re safe. Relax.”
She cleared her throat, looking around the tree and getting her bearings. “So-orry,” she gasped out.
I rubbed her arms to ward off the chilled air under the shade of the tree. “Listen, you need to get to a hospital.” She opened her mouth to protest, twisting in my lap. “Which,” I added before she could get anything out, “is not negotiable.”
She scowled.
“And listen, the only way to do that safely is if I go back down the trail until I can find cell service.”
June twisted all the way around, her knees scrunching up. She looked absolutely stricken. “Take me,” she wheezed. “With you,” she struggled to force out between increasingly shallow respirations. “Take me… with you.”
I placed my hands on both her arms. “Stop that. Breathe.”
Her breath shuddered as she struggled to draw it into her lungs.
“This is exactly the reason I have to leave you. You aren’t stable enough to go hiking down a mountain, and you need help.” I pointed to her chest to punctuate my point. “You need oxygen and medicine. The fastest way is if I leave to get help. You’re safe hereas long as you stay calm.”She shook her head, her eyes reflecting the vibrant greenery around us. I moved my hands to frame her face. She was going to seriously shatter my heart with that look. “This is not a good time for you to wilt, Matthews. You’re strong. You’ve got this.”
Her lips pressed together, trembling. I traced my thumb under her full lower lip, wondering what her mouth would feel like if I bent down a few inches.
Her breath hitched.
I tweaked her nose instead, trying to lighten the mood. “I didn’t take you for a delicate, fainting maiden, Matthews.” A scowl slammed down over her verdant gaze. I loved that her eyebrows were a darker, duskier auburn than her hair. It gave her an intractable edge. I pinched her chin between my crooked forefinger and thumb. “You got this?”
Her throat bobbed. Finally, she nodded. “Okay,” she mouthed.
“Okay.” I gathered the things I had dumped out of my bag, stuffing them all in the main pocket, and then handed her the backpack. She had left hers back on the trail. “I’ll run, and as soon as I get a hold of someone and give them the coordinates, I’ll come right back for you.” I gave her a mocking grin. “We barely made it a mile, anyway. I’ll be gone twenty minutes tops.”
She clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes. “Buh… blockhead,” she growled before coughing hard, her lungs vibrating with mucus.
I patted her back, smiling at her use of insults I had provided earlier. “Deep breaths, June. You got this.”
She nodded, wiping her mouth on her shoulder. “Got it.”
I adjusted our positions so she sat with her back in the curve of the tree trunk. Then I gave her one last look over my shoulder before I lowered myself to the branch below. “Time me,” I grinned to hide my fear.
She grabbed her phone, swiped twice, and then held up a stopwatch. With her eyes holding a challenge, she tapped the start button.
I booked it.
Running downhill went blessedly faster than it would have been the opposite way, and with six miles under my belt every morning, and a clocked time of 6.23 a mile, I knew I could make short work of the distance. I ran carefully, watching my feet to make sure I didn’t crack an ankle, and every hundred yards or so, I slowed to check the bars on my phone.
No luck.
My mind wandered back a few months earlier to when I’d been making dinner at home. I’d been trying a new recipe—beer can chicken—and I’d forgotten to grab the roasting pan after I’d already precariously balanced the whole chicken over an open can of beer. I’d dashed away, only to leave it teetering on the counter while I scrambled to grab the pan before it could fall over.
Multiply that by fifty times in intensity, and that was exactly how I felt leaving June in that tree. If I didn’t hurry, she was going to tip over some edge, and I’d lose her.
