I’ve seen my fair share of dramatics. I can discern what’s real and what’s bullshit. She turns toward Maximoff. “I can’t…” She tries to produce tears that don’t come.
“You’re going to be okay,” he assures her. He wraps his arm around her shoulders in a side-hug. Then he hands me the soft ice pack.
I don’t even touch the pack to her ankle before she winces.
“On a scale of one to ten,” I ask, “what’s your pain like?”
“Nine point five.”
Okay. Sure.I felt enough of the area to know the bone’s intact.
Maximoff looks seriously concerned. “Maybe we should just be safe and call an ambulance?—”
“No, no, no.” She raises her hands. “Really, it’s not that bad. I could…walk on it…or try to.”
I place the ice pack in her hand. “Use this for your head. I can wrap your ankle, and we can find you crutches if you need them. How about that?”
She nods vigorously. Then bites her lip at Maximoff. “Would you…could you stay with me for a bit?”
My brows spike.
“Of course,” Maximoff says, sincere and offering another side-hug. I dig through the bag for a wrap, and then I glance up.
In earshot next to a drink station, a group of white guys in their early twenties talk shit about Jane. She’s chatting to a few girls further in the forest.
“Jane Cobalt is disgusting,” a guy says. His familiar angular face and aquiline nose sparks my memory. The red-marked sheet of possible threats. He’s on it. His name is Tyler.
“She wants to get banged so badly. It’s kind of pathetic.”
“I’d fuck her. But I’d have to tie her down first.”
They laugh.
My nose flares, jaw tight.
Maximoff is busy listening to Ella, but his cheekbones are sharpening.He hears.
I glare at them as I search through the first-aid bag.
“The BDSM shit is such a lie,” a blond says.He’s also on the sheet.Brad. “Anytime she gets shoved in this capture the flag game, she practically has an orgasm. Just watch her.”
Fuck you.
Oscar starts approaching the guys. He clicks his mic. “These yellow T-shirt twats need to be watched. I’m going to keep an eye on ‘em.”
I turn my head and whisper into my mic so Ella can’t hear. “Give them afuck youfromme.”
“We’re all thinking it,” Oscar says.
I rip plastic off a wrap and return to the girl. “How are you feeling, Ella?” I ask before I touch her ankle.
She shrugs uncertainly.
Maximoff drops his arm off her shoulders. That was odd for him.
I set the wrap down and near him, my hand on his bicep. “Maximoff?”
He palms his collar, rubs his throat, struggling to breathe—and I know.
