The pain is too excruciating for me to think straight any longer. I grab my phone and pray that the water hasn’t fucked it up, as well as me.
I quickly find his contact and press the call button. Now is not the time for my ego to get in the way.
“Hart?”
“Caleb,” I say, breathless. “I’m sorry. I might need your help. I went for a walk in the forest and got lost and?—”
“I’m working, Hart.”
Shit. Of course.
His tone drops. “Are you okay?”
I take one look down at myself, the blood on my hands, and think about the time he can’t afford to waste at the moment.
“Okay. I’ll take that as a no. I’m on my way.”
“You don’t even know where I am.”
“The forest,” he says. “Check the coordinates on your phone. I want you to send them to me now, and hold tight.”
“God, I’m so sorry. I know you’re working.”
“Sitting at the station waiting for a job to open up is hardly working,” he says. “Send me those coordinates, Hart. I’ll be right with you.”
What. The. Fuck?
I plop down on a fallen log and bring up the compass app on my phone. After screenshotting the page and sending it over to Caleb, I decide to take off my shoes and assess the damage. There’s no blood—a good sign. But the pain isn’t going away, and my whole foot is now starting to throb.
I rip off my sock, see swelling, and know I’ve fucked it up even more than before. What was I thinking? Good question—I wasn’t.
I wanted to clear my head of regret from letting down Jess, and from last night with Caleb. Being friends with him is going to be a real challenge, and I’ve faced some difficult ones in my life that I’ve never managed to overcome—like, for example, trying to getoverhim.
I think it’s safe to say I never fully did that.
Which is why, when he materializes through the trees, I tense up like a high school girl in the presence of her first crush. The possibly broken toe doesn’t concern me as much as how much ofa mess I’ve made myself look in front of him. First the fire. Now this.
“Jesus Christ, Hart. What the hell are you doing out here?”
The thick silence answers that question for both of us.
Trying to clear my head,is what I want to respond with. But I can’t. He doesn’t need to know that my head is foggy from last night.
He embraces me with strong arms, the officer behind him carrying a few rescue tools just in case.
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
“You cut yourself.”
It really isn’t necessary for him to touch my face with his giant, gloved hands. Or is it? It’s kinda his job to rescue people and ensure they’re okay.
His concerned gaze shifts down to the foot I’m having trouble moving. “I can radio paramedics.”
“No. It’s not an emergency. I don’t need them. But I’ll pay the hospital a visit later this evening just in case.”
“You hikers are overly ambitious and need to be more careful. I rescued an old man from here not even a week ago.”
Ah, yes. I vaguely recall.
