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“Yeah,” he says. His attention shifts from her to the small brown orb beside her. He tips his head back, surveys the tree, gauges the height of the fall. “A fucking coconut.”
He picks her up and carries her over to their shelter. He gets her comfortable, then crouches in front of her. “Look at me,” he orders, checking her eyes. Her pupils are fine. “Do you have a headache?”
“No.” She wrinkles her nose. “My brain feels like mashed potatoes.”
“Yeah, well, it’s still in your skull.” He exhales, relieved. If she’s concussed, it’s minor.
“You sound glad about that.”
He lets out a strained laugh. “I am glad, Ash. I am very fucking glad about that.”
For a long second, he can barely breathe. This is his job. He’s a doctor, but this is almost more than he can take.
He strokes her hair. “Stay still, okay? Stay awake.”
Ash squints at him. “You are the tallest tree trunk I’ve ever seen. Did anyone ever tell you that? No, I suppose you’re too worried about being carved up into paper products.”
“Okay,” he says slowly, torn between laughing and crying. “We’re going to sit here.”
He props himself up against the rock and settles Ash between his legs, her back to his chest. Her skin is clammy, and it’s not from the sun. She has all the symptoms of someone in hypoglycemic shock. The crack on her head isn’t helping.
Leaning back against his shoulder, she looks up at him. “Should we make a swim for it?”
“With a head injury?” The thought fills him with amusement and pant-shitting fear. “No. Help’s on the way.” He pulls out the soda bottle. Tears off the cap and brings it to her lips. “I found this. I want you to drink it.”
Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Where’d you get that?”
“From the 7-Eleven on the hill,” he says. “Really doing a piss-poor job of bringing in business, if you ask me.”
She pouts. “I don’t want any.”
“Now,” he orders, staving off the frustration threatening to take over. Irritability and confusion are both symptoms of low blood sugar. “Right now, Ash.” He all but manhandles the bottle to her lips.
She gives in, takes a small sip.
“Good girl,” he whispers. “Good fucking girl.”
Ash stops and sighs, as if the effort’s exhausted her.
He’s holding her, heart beating fast, ready to pour it down her throat, when she whispers, “Nathaniel.”
“What?”
“Tell me, even dying, am I still an absolute fox?”
He laughs, low and rough. “You’re not dying. I refuse to let you.”
“Mmm. You didn’t…answer my question.”
“Ashabelle Keller, you are without a doubt the most stubborn, morbid, mean woman I’ve ever met.” He strokes her cheek, sweeps a lock of tangled dark hair back. He keeps talking, his blood roaring in his ears. “But you’re also a beautiful, brilliant pain in the ass.Mypain in the ass. You make this bullshit world better.”
“I do?” Her voice is soft, slurred.
“You do, beauty.”
“Why?”
“Because with you, it’s not bullshit. Because you are all I have ever wanted. You make six hours feel like ten minutes. And when you’re gone, I miss you. It’s absolutely ridiculous.” He smooths a lock of sweaty hair from her brow. “I think you’re the greatest thing to ever exist.”
