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Gabe’s brow hiked up. “Nobody else on the team saw any of that?”
“Not that they told me.”
“I’m assuming she was frightened. Resistant,” Carson added.
Wyatt nodded.
“How did you get her to come with you?” Gabe had the look in his eyes that he’d seen in some of his other trainers in the program.
Wyatt’s lips pulled into a hint of a smile. “She refused to leave the mountain. But she asked for ibuprofen. I didn’t know at that point that she was so ill. I only saw her wince in pain when she moved. I made a deal with her—if she came closer to our camp, I’d give her the pills…and some beef jerky.”
A few faces around the table cracked with amusement.
“Beef jerky.” Denver shook his head. “That’s what it took?”
Wyatt shrugged, warmth moving through him at the memory of her face lighting up over dried meat as if it was a five-star meal. In that single unguarded moment before fear closed her expression, he’d seen a glimpse of the woman Whitley really was.
Carson leaned back in his chair and focused on Wyatt, expression steely. “You’re going to stay close to her. For her protection. Until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
“Understood.” Wyatt didn’t need to fake the willingness in his voice. Before he was given the order, part of him already decided that he wasn’t leaving Whitley.
Carson eyed him. “Wait for more from us.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re going to let her rest and heal. But if she tells you anything else, Rhodes, you bring it straight to us.”
He gave a hard nod of acknowledgement. The meeting broke up, and Wyatt stood with the rest of the team.
Not his team on the mountain. A different one that he belonged to for now.
He didn’t know where he fit in, but for the first time—maybe in his entire life—he saw a clear direction.
* * * * *
Yesterday Whitley had been running for her life.
Today she had a vase of flowers and a single metallic balloon bouncing gently against the ceiling every time the air vent kicked on. GET WELL SOON was printed across it in glittery silver letters, both ridiculous and sweet in equal measure.
She sat up in the hospital bed in the private room Dr. Hitchcock moved her into. A magazine was open in her lap, but she hadn’t done more than look at the pictures.
She stared at the glossy pages and wondered, for the tenth time today, how exactly she’d ended up here.
She’d traded the hard ground and a sleeping bag for a bed with clean sheets. She hadn’t had a volleyball with a face to talk to, but now she had reading material to keep her occupied. The flowers in the vase were much hardier than the ones she’d found clinging to a warm spot on the mountain, and she’d totally forgotten things like balloons existed.
She’d slept hard all night, only waking when Dr. Hitchcock entered her room to hook up new bags to her IV and take her vitals.
She flexed her fingers against the blanket, testing the strength returning to them hour by hour, and let herself take a deep breath for the first time in months. For now, she was safe.
A small rap sounded at the door, and Wyatt stepped in, carrying a small cup with a plastic spoon sticking out of the top.
He looked around the room, taking in the flowers, the balloon…and her. A smile spread over his rugged face, and her breath suddenly caught at the way it transformed his face.
He crossed the room in slow strides. “Looks like you’ve had a busy day. Heard you had a lot of company. I hope you don’t mind one more visitor.”
He set the cup on the rolling tray over her bed. “I brought you dessert.”
“Ice cream.” She grinned stupidly even as stupider tears filled her eyes.
