I lie splayed out on the ground, staring up at the blue sky peeking at me through the jungle canopy. Is this rock bottom? This seems like rock bottom. I’m in so, so much pain.
Around me, the chorus of birds and insects goes deadly silent for a few seconds, then they start up, mocking me in my moment of pain and humiliation. At least no one was here to film it. If I had taken a header like that on the subway stairs, some dipshit would’ve gotten it on video and it would be going viral in about four minutes. I let out a whimper of pain, the kind of pitiful sound you can only allow yourself to make when you’re truly alone in this world. Like when you’re in the shower when you’ve been freshly dumped by the guy you were so sure was ‘the one.’ “Why me? Why me?” I whine, hating myself for doing it. “I’ve been a good person. Mostly.”
Mac’s face appears above mine. “It’s not a problem with your character. It’s because you weren’t watching where you were going.”
Jackass!“You’re supposed to be napping with the rest of the octogenarians.”
“I got in a good half hour. I feel very refreshed.”
“Oh, do you?” I ask, wincing at the pain coming from my left ankle. “Good for you.”
“Yup. I’ve been following you for a couple of hours now. I figured you’d rather have your privacy.” He crouches down to survey the damage to my knee. Letting out a low whistle, he says, “That’s one deep cut, New York. You okay?”
I lift myself onto my elbows and take my first peek. “Never better.”
Blech. Peeking was a bad idea.
Sliding his backpack off, Mac unzips it and takes out a first aid kit. “Let’s get that cleaned up. You don’t want to get an infection.”
I’m tempted to grab the kit from him and tell him I’d prefer to do it myself, only I reallywouldn’tprefer to do it myself. In fact, the sight of all that blood mixed with dirt and debris I picked up while I was somersaulting has me feeling a little queasy. I watch as he squirts some hand sanitizer onto his hands, rubs it in thoroughly, then pulls on some gloves. He opens a bottle of some sort of antiseptic liquid, then takes a syringe out of the packaging and draws out enough of the liquid to fill the syringe. “This won’t feel good.”
“Why would it? Nothing else has gone right since I left home.” I turn my gaze up to the sky to avoid watching, only to feel a searing pain spreading across my knee along with a cool liquid. He fills the syringe and irrigates the wound twice more, each time making me wince and grit my teeth to stop myself from whining. I refuse to whine in front of this man. Well, any more than I already have.
A few minutes later, he’s got the entire thing wrapped in a pressurized dressing to stop the bleeding. “You think you can walk on it?”
“This? No problem.” I wave off his concern eventhough the chances that I’ll be able to hike the rest of the way on what I’m sure is a sprained ankle aren’t all that great. He holds out his big manly hand and I take it, allowing him to help me up. As soon as I try putting pressure on my left foot, pain rips through my ankle, causing my leg to buckle.
Mac catches me with his hands on my waist and holds me up, and I don’t know whether to feel annoyed, embarrassed, or turned on.
“Whoa, what just happened there?” he asks.
“I think I may have injured my left ankle.”
He helps me over to a fallen log, where I sit down, then he crouches in front of me to take a closer look. “Whoa, that’s already starting to swell up.”
“Yeah, it’s not ideal.” I let out a sigh, wishing with everything in me that I could go back five minutes and not trip this time. Actually, if I could have a time machine, I’d go back several days, tell Guy to suck it, and take my original flight. I’d be jobless, but at least I wouldn’t be stranded and injured.
Mac unties my shoelaces and gently removes my runner. “I don’t have ice or a compression wrap, but I can use what we’ve got to wrap it.”
“You don’t have to fuss. I’m sure I’ll be able to walk on it in a few minutes.”
He raises one eyebrow at me. “Now’s not the time to be low-maintenance. We need to get you healed up as fast as possible for both of our sakes.”
We stare at each other for a second longer than would be considered polite, then I clear my throat and glance down, remembering how much I can’t stand this man. “Okay, yeah. That makes sense.”
I watch him while he removes my sock, my cheeks going hot at the thought that my foot might not exactly bespring daisy-fresh at the moment. He works quickly, wrapping the sock around my ankle, then, much to my surprise (and delight of my dormant lady bits), he places both hands on the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head, leaving his upper body in plain view of my very greedy eyes.
Oh my! Oh my,oh my. That is one manly set of arms leading to one muscular … everything. The sight of that is almost enough to erase how rude he is, as pathetic as that sounds. I gaze shamelessly while he quickly folds the shirt lengthwise, then carefully wraps it around my ankle. “Sorry about the sweat,” he mutters.
“Oh no, that’s fine,” I answer with a ridiculously breathy voice I don’t recognize. “We have to make do with what we’ve got, right?”
Am I touching my collar bone with my fingertips? Come on, New York, get it together.Oh my God, now he’s gotmecalling myself New York. I seriously must have heatstroke. Only it’s not from the sun. It’s from the heat coming off this man.
He glances up at me. “How does that feel?”
“Great. I mean, good, yeah. It … should do the trick.”
He lets out the tiniest smirk, then says, “It should feel fairly snug without it causing you to lose the circulation in your toes.”
