She doesn’t relent, rolling her eyes and holding tighter to my arm.
“Couch,” she demands.
I let her move me deeper into the loft, because fighting her will only make her dig her heels in further.
She looks up at the ceiling. “Why am I always surrounded by stubborn men? Two hardheaded brothers weren’t enough, so the universe dropped a stubborn hotshot in my path too.”
I open my mouth, but it’s pointless. I can’t seem to make words work, and she’s quick to respond.
“That was rhetorical, and you’re very muchnotfine. Don’t even insult me by lying. I worked hard enough this week, and I’d really rather not have you pass out on me.”
I grunt my disagreement but stumble the last few steps to the couch before collapsing onto it.
Dots dance in my vision, and blinking them away proves useless.
Across from me, Aspen perches on the coffee table, close enough that a whiff of sweet mint hits me. Just like in the helicopter, it’s a shock to my system, but my lungs won’t cooperate. I can’t pull in enough air to calm me the way I want it to.
The shirt the hospital gave me sticks to me, and I tug the material from my body.
Aspen’s watchful eye catches the movement. “Are you feeling lightheaded?”
I am, but I shake my head, the motion sending me into a coughing fit.
Her hands move toward the hem of my shirt.
“You want it off.”
I nod, releasing the hem in defeat.
Nothing’s working. I can’t speak, can’t get my fingers to work right. My mind and body have me imprisoned.
It’s starkly different from the physical pain she’s seen me in. This is private—all the carefully hidden pieces of me I keep from the world. But my panic has me stripped bare and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
All I can do is watch as she swallows. I trace the movement of her throat while she lifts my shirt—deliberate and careful. She works my arms through the holes, then I lose sight of her while she eases it over my head.
Each inhale comes easier with it off.
She scoots closer, taking my hand and flipping it, her fingers finding their home inside my wrist.
“Your pulse is elevated.”
“Probably why my heart feels like it might explode,” I mutter, more to myself than her.
“It’ll settle once you rest a minute; you probably just overdid it.”
She’s not saying what we both know—it’s not just over-exercion. She’s trying to spare me because she sees how her being here is killing me.
I pull my hand back.
Her touch is too much when I’m this out of control.
If that bothers her, she hides it, setting her palms on her thighs and straightening, giving me space without moving from her spot in front of me.
I do the same, resting against the couch.
It helps—some.
“You stayed.” Her face scrunches up like she’s trying hard to figure out how to say what she’s thinking without offending me. “I didn’t expect you to stick around Timberline Peak.”
