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“I think it’s my arm, or maybe my hand. I don’t know. It all hurts.” I shift to my back, clutching my arm to my chest. The pain has started to throb and I know this is not good. He sits up next to me, holds his hand out in front of me so I can see what he’s doing, and then slowly pulls my uninjured hand away.
Leaning over, but never moving it, he examines my hand, wrist, and arm. The palm side of my arm is facing up and very tenderly he traces the piano keys I have tattooed across my wrist. “I think it’s your wrist. It’s already swelling and turning purple.”
My wrist. Oh no . . .
Reality slams into me. The panic and fear, the adrenaline and the pain. The shaking returns and I just give up. I start openly crying in front of this gorgeous guy and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Oh, Ava, I am so sorry. This is my fault.” His voice is hoarse and laced with remorse. I glance at him and he looks so distraught. He pulls the hat off his head and runs his hand through his hair.
“Do you want me to call someone? Emma?” His eyes are pleading for me to tell him what to do.
I shake my head no.
“Well, I think you should have this looked at. My house is right there.” He points to the house that’s up the trail next to us. “Let’s go get you a little cleaned up and then I’ll take you to a doctor. There’s a twenty-four-hour urgent care just on the other side of town. I think that will be quicker than driving you to Asheville to the hospital.”
He’s right, it needs to be looked at, and it’s best that I know what’s wrong before I send people into panic mode.
“Okay.” He scoots away from me just a little so I can sit up. Showing me his hand again, he slowly moves it to push my hair back off my face. It’s not lost on me how considerate he is in the way he handles me. Showing me his hands each time he goes to touch me, allowing me to feel and react first—no one has ever done this.
“I think if it’s just sprained, they’ll wrap it, and if it’s broken, they’ll still wrap it and send you to an orthopedic tomorrow.”
He’s right, I know he is, but I’m devastated this is happening to me. I was so happy last night and this morning, just thinking about him and how he gave me his phone number, and now this happens. Am I ever going to have a normal interaction with him that doesn’t involve me falling apart like a basketcase? My arm hurts, my heart hurts . . . this just sucks.
Ash stands and holds his hand out to me. Placing my good hand in his, he gently pulls me up off the ground and into him. My forehead falls onto his chest, and I moan out in pain, hugging my arm closer to me. Gently, he wraps his arms around me, and now twice this weekend I’ve found myself tucked up under his chin. Although neither time was for amorous reasons, right now, I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.
“Hey.” His hand wraps around the side of my head and he tilts it backward. His beautiful blue eyes roam my face, and very softly with his thumb, he begins to wipe away the dirt and grass.
Everything about this moment is overwhelming me and I begin to shiver. His hand drops to my shoulder as his other pulls on my hip to steady me against him. I take a deep breath and the smell of him fills my mind. I commit it to memory thinking he smells better than anything, ever. As his eyes stay focused on mine, his face changes from one of sympathy to complete seriousness. His gaze is so intense and piercing that I can’t look at anything else. His hand moves back to my face and his thumb rubs across my bottom lip as he lets out a deep sigh.
“Come on, darlin’, let’s go get you checked out.” He moves to wrap one arm around my shoulders, keeping me close, and together we walk back toward his house.
I FEEL LIKE the biggest asshole.
Oh my God.
Never in my life have I been fascinated by a girl like I am with her . . . and then my crazy dog happens. If I didn’t love Whiskey so much, there’s a good possibility I would give him to Clay and never look back. Unfortunately, I’m kind of attached to the fur beast.
As we walk back to the house, I’m shocked she lets me wrap my arm around her, but I’m so grateful at the same time. I wonder if she even realizes she’s letting me hold her or if she’s still lost from the panic and the pain. Replaying that entire scene in my mind, I shake my head in disbelief and pull her a little tighter next to me. Of all the people in all the world, Whiskey has to run her down. I’m wound so tight, the muscles in my neck feel locked up and I could break shit.
First off, I now know that whatever happened to her—to make her this way—somehow involved a chase. She was running from us, as fast as she could, and she may not have realized it, but she was whimpering from full-on terror. And as Whiskey’s paws hit her back, that scream spoke a thousand words. Lying in the dirt with her, watching her cry—those tears represented so much more than just the pain in her arm. I’ve never felt so helpless.
Step by step, we take the trail leading up the back deck and into my kitchen. My heart is still pounding, so I suck in some of the cold air to try and calm down as quickly as possible. She stops right inside the door and I look around for a towel to help wipe her off. My insides are screaming in complete chaos, but knowing she’s watching me, I’m trying my damnedest to appear calm.
“Ash?” The quiet sound of her voice is like an electric shock to my heart. I turn to face her, her expression full of pain and embarrassment. I did this to her and I feel horrible. “Can I please use your bathroom?”
“Of course, it’s this way.” I turn and she follows as I walk through the living room and to the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. This house is a four-bedroom and each one has its own bathroom. I start to lead her to the room next to mine, but Juliet left a few things behind last time she was here, so I pick the one across the hall.
“I’ll be in the living room when you’re ready. Don’t rush; take your time.” I slow my words hoping they calm her some.
Blue eyes blink back at me before she nods her head and closes the door.
Letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in, my forehead leans against the wall next to her door. I wanted to see her again, but certainly not like this, and now here she is in my house and I have no idea what to do. Running my hand over my face, I glance toward Clay’s room. His door is cracked, so I peek in, and see that all of his things are gone.
Last night he mentioned getting on the road early, but I didn’t expect it to be quite this early. There’s a sheet of paper lying in the middle of the bed, “Call you in a few.” Interestingly, the idea of him calling me doesn’t stress me out—like it would have last week—it makes me feel more like things are slowly getting back to normal. I’m not real sure what normal is yet, but being a recluse locked up in the mountains doesn’t have the same appeal now as it did leaving Phoenix.
Dropping the paper back on the bed, I head for my room to change. I’m covered in dirt too. Slipping on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and an athletic pullover, I grab an extra for Ava. She’s even dirtier than I am and it’s chilly outside.
The house is quiet as I walk back through to the kitchen. Whiskey is sitting by his dishes waiting patiently for breakfast. Tossing him some food and giving him some water, I turn around and find Ava watching me and looking very cautiously at Whiskey.
