The construction manager was at my side. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” I answered for her while she composed herself.
She leaned against my chest, and I could feel her short, warm breaths. If I thought about it too hard, I may forget how to walk. Or breathe. Or exist.
My back protested with each step, but I ignored it. We were almost back at the truck.
“Follow me. I’ll show you how to get to the cabin,” the construction manager said, and pointed at his car.
Without letting Elizabeth go, I managed to open the door of my truck and place her inside, mud and all.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m getting everything dirty.”
“Stop apologizing.” I climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Sorry.” She huffed out a soft giggle. “I mean…” She swiped at her face with the back of her sleeve. But it only put mud there. “I’m a recovering people pleaser.”
I reached into my cubby, my fingers grazing her knees as I grabbed a box of tissues. “You’ve got mud”—I gestured to her face—“everywhere.”
She smiled, and for a second, I could almost ignore the crippling pain flaring through my back. Between the work at my mother’s and my valiant attempt at getting Elizabeth to the truck, I seemed to have summoned trouble.
I wasn’t planning on going to the cabin today, but I was left with little other choice.
There was no way I’d be able to drive all the way home like this.
27
ELIZABETH
[57 weeks ago]
@theanswerisno:
Can’t play for a few days. It’s game night and then a work event tomorrow evening
@pancakesareelite:
Ahh yes. That’s awesome. Enjoy it!
@pancakesareelite:
Is it weird that I’ll kinda miss you?
@theanswerisno:
Yeah, it is weird
@theanswerisno:
But I’ll kinda miss you too
You matter.
That was what he’d said, and I’d started crying. There weren’t many ways I could explain why without offloading years of trauma.
But I didn’t care about any of that now. Because Lincoln Carden had carried me out of a trench and all the way to his truck, despite people watching, despite me being able to walk or at least limp, if I tried.
And I should have protested.
