His leg is bent at an angle that is, frankly, gross. Even in the growing darkness, I can see his face is twisted in pain. One arm is still outstretched toward my car, but now I realize it’s not menacing—it’s pleading.
I reach for the door handle. Hesitate. Reach again.
What would my sisters do? Esther would march out there with a knife in one hand and her cell in the other. Eden would probably stroke his hair soothingly. Eila, for all her chaos, wouldn’t leave someone hurt and alone.
I can’t either. Even if he did scare the absolute poop out of me.
I open the door slowly, keeping one hand on my phone, which has no service. “Are you okay?” I call out, my voice shakier than I’d like.
He tries to speak, but it comes out as a groan. Then, through gritted teeth…
“Climax.”
I freeze. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Take me…” He breathes hard between words. “Climax.”
My face instantly goes hot. “I… what? I don’t think?—”
“Ugghhh,” he grunts, squeezing his eyes shut. “Take me to Climax.”
Oh my god. He can’t possibly mean that kind of climax, right? “Is that a doctor?” I venture, taking a tentative step closer. “A person named Max?”
He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles working.
I move closer now, committed despite my pounding heart. When I crouch a few feet away, I can see him clearly. He’s younger than I expected—early thirties, maybe, with dark hair and a scraggly beard. And yeah, he’s huge. Broad shoulders, tall even lying down, and he seems jacked under his flannel and jeans.
“I’m Eva,” I say, because it seems important to establish we’re people, not just screamer and woods-creature. “Are you my neighbor?”
He manages a nod. “Asher.”
“Okay, Asher. Your ankle is definitely broken.” I state the obvious because my brain is frantically trying to figure out what to do. “Can you stand if I help you?”
“Maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “Gotta get to Climax.”
“Honey, I don’t think that’s in your stars today.” I pull out my phone and sigh. “I don’t really have service to call an ambulance.”
“Take too long.” The words come out sharp. “Just… help me to your car.”
I look at him, then at my car, then back at him. He has to be over six feet and built like he could bench-press my entire vehicle. I’m five-six in these Chelsea boots, and my main source of upper body strength is moving kegs at Esther’s bar.
But I’ve been hauling ale for two years now.
“Okay.” I stand up and brush off my jeans. “Okay, we can do this.”
I move to his side and crouch. “Put your arm around my shoulders. On three, we’re going to get you up.”
He looks at me like he’s not sure this is going to work, but he drapes his arm across my shoulders, anyway. His hand grips my upper arm, and even through my jacket I feel how strong he is.
“One, two, threeeeee?—”
We creak upward together. He’s so heavy, but I brace my legs and take half his weight as he hops on his good foot. He sways, and for a second I think we’re both going down, but then he steadies against me.
“Okay?” I gasp, straining under his mass.
“Yeah. Go. Climax Hospital.”
I have to be missing something, surely. Or misunderstanding his accent. We hobble toward my car in the worst three-legged race of all time. He’s trying to keep his weight off me, but there’s no way around the fact that he’s massive and I’m puny. My shoulder digs into his ribs, and I’m surrounded by him—the solid heat of his body, the smell of clean laundry and dried leaves and… coffee?. He smells like undeniable masculinity, and my face heat all over again.
