Jack helps me ease my head a little forward between my legs. “So I guess that’s why it feels like an alligator has been clamping down on my arm,” I muse, trying to keep myself awake, but he doesn’t laugh.
I’m a huge baby, okay. Successfully hiding this from him is the most hilarious thing I’ve ever considered in my life.
“Keep your head down while I finish cleaning and wrapping this,” he soothes. “Then I’ll get you some pain meds and antibiotics.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I’d also like to get back to what wewere doing before all this happened, so if you could hurry it up, that would be great,” I squeak before rolling my lips together, breathing slowly through my nose to avoid whimpering.
“That shouldn’t have happened.”
Ouch.
Somehow, that stings more than the actual gunshot wound in my arm.
I sniffle quietly and try to hide a rogue tear by wiping it away with my uninjured arm. He’s pulling away. Showing the most tender care, but the tightness in his shoulders announces that his reasons for not allowing anyone to get too close are stacking themselves into a nice, new wall right now.
He finishes wrapping my arm, then tends to the cut on my forehead and the one on my cheek. I sniff again, wiping my nose and feeling the loss of not even being able to enjoy his nearness while I’m focused on breathing through the pain. He cleans up all the waste and hands me a few pills along with my water.
“These are strong, but you’ll need them for when the shock wears off.”
“Thanks.” I nod, swallowing the pills while he stares at my arm with that brow creased and the guilt shining in his eyes.
“Did you get a look at who was shooting?” I ask, deciding to focus on the practicals and hoping he won’t become too introspective.
He clears his throat, jerkily returning things to his backpack. “They were too far ahead. We’ll move into a nearby outcrop. I’ve used it before during the rain. I’ll set up a perimeter line so I’ll be able to tell if they come back.”
I move to stand, and he jumps up to help me upright with a gentleness that makes my chest ache. I’m desperate for him to hold me again, but the fear of rejection has me smiling politely instead. My heart crumbles another fraction when he pulls his hands away like I’ve burned him.
He turns away to repack Marigold, and I stand and wait helplessly as he rolls our mats and sleeping bags. “I can carry something. I still have one good arm and two working legs,” I joke.
But all I get in response is a grunted, “Not happening.”
A heavy weight hangs on his long inhale before he slowly walks us to the outcrop forming a five foot canopy about a hundred feet away. I hold onto his backpack, grateful for the steadiness that saves me from tripping. The contact also soothes the worst of the anxiety swirling in my stomach.
He sets out our sleeping mats and sleeping bags, frowning as he turns and catches the shiver that runs over me. My jacket is officially a write-off.
“Sit.” He tips his head, the word coming out like a command.
The sleeping bag rustles as I lower myself with a sigh, and Jack approaches to crouch down in front of me. He’s holding his forrest green hoodie, making a circle with the opening like he’s about to dress a small child. I want to make a snippy remark, but I swallow my words at the look on his face when I realize he’s seconds from shattering his jaw. I lean into the opening, allowing him to guide his hoodie over my head. He groans after I let a moan slip out when sliding my arms through.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
His scent surrounds me, and my eyes fall closed as I breathe it in.
He’s never getting this hoodie back.
“Get settled while I set up a perimeter. You need anything?” he asks, casting me a pained look that makes my chest feel like it’s cracking open. He’s not taking this well. There’s still a tremble to his hands, as if he’s the wounded animal in this scenario.
“I’m good.” I give him a soft smile. “Go.”
“I won’t be long.”
I chew my lip, staring after him until a weight of exhaustion drapes over me.
My pitiful Walmart sleeping bag provides little comfort as I remove my shoes and climb inside, an icy chill clinging to my bones. I’m not sure if it’s truly cold or if I’m finally allowing the shock and sadness to course their way through my body.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I close my eyes for what feels like two seconds before jumping awake when Jack whispers my name. My eyelids feel like they’re fighting against a gravitational pull as I squint at him, concern etched on his brow.