Chapter Fourteen
In which this just sucks.
Sloan…
This sucks. So much.
Not the surroundings, even though I think we spend more time detouring around jagged granite boulders than forward momentum. This mountain, though. It’s beautiful. The dark grey cliffs give way to meadows like a sweet reward for all our hiking, and there’s crystal clear water from the river that we’re following.
Even though my ribs scream every time I take a deep breath, the air is wonderful; crisp, and clear like when my father used to take me on those adventures to Nantucket and the sea air would sweep in, salt-tinged and pure.
It’s too bad all my summers at camp didn’t involve more of this actual camping. I feel like a burden and I know Ethan could make double time with those long-ass legs of his. He never shows impatience though, even as he searches the sky. Once, we heard the drone of an engine and he pulled me under a stand of pine trees. It was a commercial jetliner, based on the size and too high to see us.
Back to why this sucks.
My ribs hate me. It might be more than two broken ribs because my right side is on fire, and by the time we stop for the night, my skin feels ready to peel off my bones.
“I wish there was another way, darlin’.”
Ethan’s fingers carefully navigate the angry purple bruise over my ribs that’s turning black. I know my skin’s inflamed but there’s nothing to do about it.
After stopping for the night, we’re crouched near the campfire, and he helps me unwrap my chest. I’m too tired to care that my lack of a bra (screw you, vintage Dior!) means he can probably see everything.
He already did, my mean little voice reminds me,nothing new here.
His long fingers brush the underside of my breasts, but I don’t think it was intentional. He keeps his gaze firmly on my ribs.
“Well, you said we have another day or two,” I say, not moving because I don’t want to flinch and make him feel bad. Though I don’t know why I care. “I can do it. We just keep walking until we’re picked up and then…” I sigh rapturously, “I want a long spa day and fried chicken and pie.”
Taking his hands away from my skin - something I note with some regret - Ethan chuckles. “Fried chicken andpie?”
“Well, not at the same time,” I say, “I eat pie first like a civilized person. What about you?”
“I’m not much of a beer drinker, but a cold bottle of Tennants lager sounds grand right now.” He settles his back against a pine tree, poking at the fire with a stick.
“Well, thanks to you, my culinary horizons have certainly expanded.” And they have, he brought me wild blackberries foran afternoon snack, the rabbit, and a handful of roots that tasted like potato chips.
“Now, ya see? A positive development,” he grins.
“How do you know so much about this stuff?” I ask, “I know your clan is ridiculously wealthy. Didn’t they send you to fancy schools?”
“Aye. But there’s so much ya must do for yourself. Ya must survive and so ya always have a Plan B. And a Plan C and D. There’s a lot to be said for experience. Our fathers dropped my cousins and me in the middle of the wilderness more than once to teach us to work together.”
“That sounds like the team-building exercise from hell.”
He laughs, “Aye, but it worked.”
Ethanreeksof competency. He can make a controlled crash landing in the mountains, patch wounds and catch rabbits, and do all that manly shit. With his five o’clock shadow growing out and his broad shoulders straining the cloth of that Henley, I can easily picture him chopping wood or like, wrestling bears.
“So, what is your specific job description in the MacTavish clan?” I ask, “I know just enough to be clear that you’re Mafia.”
He gives me a strange smile. “I find desired objects and people.”
I wait for more, but that seems to be it. “Okay…” I want to know more, like how did he find me? He’s ended the conversation by putting our sleeping spot together with a generous pile of pine needles and laying the blankets out over it.
“No pillows tonight.” He sweeps his hand toward the bed. “You’ll be as comfortable as I can make ya though.”
“We’re doing pretty good, all things considered,” I try to sound optimistic. Easing myself down on our pine needle bed, I realizehe’s going to have to snuggle me to make us fit. Sucking back a pathetic whimper, I carefully turn on my left side. The throbbing in my ribs is a relentless drumbeat at this point. The events of the last two days have left me as nothing but a bruised bag of skin, I’m really hoping the pain will dull enough to let me sleep. He’s folded a sweatshirt for a pillow for me, which is so oddly touching, so when he curls up behind me I don’t say a word.
