My legs buckle.
I don’t fall—Milo catches my arm before I can—but it’s a near thing. My knees feel like jelly and my whole body is shaking and okay, maybe I’m not as fine as I thought I was.
“Satisfied?” Ben’s voice is flat. “You proved your point. Now can we carry you before you freeze to death?”
“I just need a second?—”
“You need to stop being stubborn.” Milo’s grip on my arm is firm. “Sweetheart, your lips are blue. Your hands are bleeding. You’ve been out here for over an hour. Let us help you.”
“I don’t need?—”
“Yeah, you do.” Ben steps closer, blocking the wind with his body. “You called us, remember? You asked for help. This is us helping. So either you let Elijah carry you, or I throw you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Your choice.”
I want to argue. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to fight, to prove I can handle this, to be the person who doesn’t need anyone.
But my legs are shaking. And I can’t feel my fingers. And they came out in this for me.
“Fine,” I grind out. “But I’m not happy about it.”
“Noted.” Ben’s mouth twitches. “Milo, blanket.”
A thick wool blanket appears from somewhere—Milo must have had it wrapped around his shoulders—and then it’s being tucked around me, swaddling me like a burrito before I can protest.
“There.” Milo steps back. “Now you won’t freeze on the way back.”
“I look ridiculous.”
“You look warm. Elijah, she’s all yours.”
Elijah scoops me up, blanket and all. This time I don’t fight it. I’m too cold and too tired and too angry at myself for being too cold and too tired.
This is humiliating. This is absolutely humiliating.
The rope connecting Elijah to the others tugs as we start to move.
“You don’t have to do everything yourself,” he says quietly.
“So I’ve been told.”
“Multiple times, apparently. And yet.”
Is that... sass? From Elijah?
“I had it under control,” I mutter.
“You were stuck in a snowbank for an hour.”
“I was formulating a plan.”
“What plan?”
“I was still working on it.”
He doesn’t respond, but I swear I feel his chest shake. Like he’s laughing. Silently, the way Elijah does everything.
I close my eyes and let myself lean into him. Just for a second. Just because I’m cold.
He’s so warm. His arms are like bands of iron around me, steady and sure, and he carries me like I weigh nothing. Which is ridiculous because I am not a small woman, but apparently Elijah Smith could carry me up a mountain without breaking a sweat.
