Chapter Sixteen
Amelia
I slid a few feet down the slope. A wave of nausea rolled over me, and I clenched my teeth so hard I could hear them grinding together as I tried not to puke.
Footsteps slid to a halt beside me. “Amelia, are you all right?”
Rory’s face swam before me. I blinked hard, shaking loose the tears, and he came into focus. “It hurts, Rory,” I gasped. “My knee…”
“Take her pack, Tommy.” Hands brushed impersonally down my front, unclipping the straps. My pack was tugged from my shoulders, and then Tommy sat beside me, his arm around my back.
Rory took my hand. “Deep breaths—in through your nose, out through your mouth.” His voice was calm, soothing, and I instinctively obeyed. “Good. And again, slowly—that’s it. Look at me.”
I stared into his eyes, soft gray-green, like the sea during a rainstorm. There was no sign of his earlier anger. “I’m going to examine your knee. It will hurt, but I have to do it, okay?”
I nodded, bracing myself for even more pain.
“Here, hold my hand,” said Tommy. I let go of Rory and clutched Tommy’s hand.
Rory knelt in front of me and rolled up both my pant legs to above the knee. At least I shaved my legs last night, I thought, stifling the more-than-slightly-hysterical giggle that threatened to break free at the absurd thought.
He thoroughly examined my knee, moving it back and forth, up and down, side to side, then did the same actions on my other knee for comparison.
All through those excruciating minutes, he kept telling me to breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. That’s it. You’re doing great.
My hand hurt from crushing Tommy’s fingers. “I’m sorry,” I gasped, after one particularly hard squeeze.
“Don’t worry, love, squeeze as hard as you need to.”
Something cool and metallic pressed against my lips. “Take a sip, lass—just a small one,” said Rory. Liquid filled my mouth, and I reflexively swallowed. It burned slightly going down, leaving behind a smoky, not-unpleasant taste. Whisky. “One more sip.”
I felt warm all over, and the pain receded a bit. I opened my eyes. Rory knelt beside me, a silver flask in his hand, his eyes worried. That can’t be good. “What happened?”
I licked my lips, brushed away the tears. “I…misjudged the distance as I stepped down, and my foot jammed into the rock. My knee gave out. And it felt like a hot knife was being stabbed into it.”
He nodded, unsurprised. “I’m pretty sure you sprained one of the ligaments in your knee. Without an MRI, it’s hard to be sure.” He pulled out the first aid kit from his pack. “I’m going to wrap it.” His hands fast and efficient, he wrapped an ACE bandage around my knee and secured it, then rolled down my pants legs. “Take these.” He dropped three pills into my hand.
“What are they?”
“Just ibuprofen. Here.” He handed me a half-full bottle of water. “Sorry—this is mine, but it’ll be easier than using the tube from your CamelBak.”
I swallowed the pills with a swig of water and handed the bottle back to him. “Thanks.”
“Let’s see if you can stand.” He nodded to Tommy, and with the two of them supporting me, they got me upright, with my weight on my left foot.
“Can you put any pressure on your right foot?”
Steeling myself, I slowly placed my right foot down and shifted some of my weight to it.
Pain shot through my knee, and I staggered. Rory caught me. “Here, lean on your poles and try again.” He handed me the left, which I planted in the grass. “Now the right. It’s okay, I’ll hold on to you.” His left arm came around my shoulders.
Slowly letting go of him, I took the right pole and dug it into the ground. “Now see if you can stand on both feet.”
I leaned forward slightly, supporting myself on the poles, and put my right foot down. My knee hurt—a lot—but I stayed upright.
“Good. Try taking a few steps, using your poles for support.”
I shook my head. “I can’t.” What if I fell again?
“I promise I won’t let you fall. Go on now, nice and easy.”
His strength gave me confidence, and I hesitantly took a step with my left foot, and then my right. More pain, but I did it. And then another step. Left, then right.
“Good!” he exclaimed. I flicked my gaze to him.
He was smiling. Okay, it wasn’t a real smile—not even a grin, just a curve of his lips. But still. Figured that it took me fucking up my knee to make that happen. And I’d do it again if he’d smile for real. I shifted slightly, and my knee screamed. Okay, maybe not.
His hand tightened on my arm. “All right?”
I nodded. “Let me try by myself.” He let go, and I took a few more steps, leaning heavily on the poles. My knee hurt, but the leg held.
“You’re doing great, Amelia. Can you carry your pack?”
“I think so?”
He helped me slip it on. I tightened the straps across my chest and waist and took a few more steps. The weight of the pack made it more difficult, but I stayed upright.
He shrugged on his own pack. “Okay, let’s get you down this hill.”
The ground was relatively level at first, and the going was slow, but steady. Then we reached a downward slope. I took a tentative step, and my knee buckled. “Shit!” I said as Rory caught my arm and kept me upright. I tried another step, but it was too much.
“Tommy!” he called. Tommy was up ahead, catching up to the group. He trotted back to us. “Can you take her pack and poles?”
“Of course.”
I unclipped the chest and waist straps and Tommy eased the pack from my shoulders and set it on the ground. He secured my poles to the pack, scooped it up, and strode off as if it weighed nothing.
Before I could blink, I was swept off my feet. Rory’s right arm was around my back, his left arm under my knees. I gaped at him. “What are you doing?”
“Your knee isn’t stable enough for the descent.”
“You’re…going to carry me down the hill?”
“Yep,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“With your pack on your back?” Mine had to weigh thirty pounds or more—and he had more stuff than I did.
“Yep.” He started walking, and I tightened my arms around him, hanging on for dear life. If he stumbled…
He stopped. “Amelia,” he said, his breath soft against my ear. I turned my head to look at him. “You’re strangling me. Relax.”
“If you lose your balance—”
“I’m not going to fall,” he said, interrupting me, “and I’m not going to drop you. Trust me.”
I looked into his eyes. They were calm and steady, confident. I loosened my death grip around his neck and let my weight settle against his chest.
“That’s it. Just relax.”
He started forward again. The rhythmic left-step-right-step motion of his body was strangely lulling, and I leaned my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. If I didn’t see what he was doing, maybe it wouldn’t freak me out.
With my eyes closed, my other senses were amplified. I heard a cuckoo calling, somewhere to my right, and the swish-swish of Rory’s pack as he moved. I felt his strong arms around my back and under my knees, his even breaths against my face. I smelled the citrusy scent of his soap, the coffee he’d had with breakfast, the not-unpleasant scent of his sweat.
Then my body started to tip. I gasped, tightening my arms around his neck, my eyes shooting open. “It’s okay. We’re at the bottom, and I’m just setting you down.”
We were at the bottom already? I blinked, then looked around. We were on flat ground. Rory led me to a boulder and helped me sit. Tommy gave me my poles and set my pack at my feet.
The others gathered around, looking worried, asking if I was all right.
“Rory thinks I sprained one of the ligaments in my knee.” He stood a few feet away, conferring with Tommy, their voices too low for me to hear.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Pat whispered, taking my hand. “That’s your trek ended.”
My trek, ended? I’d been so focused—first on the pain, and then on praying that Rory didn’t drop me—that I hadn’t even thought about what the injury meant.
No. It can’t be.
“Hey guys, go have your lunch while we get Amelia sorted,” said Rory. When they scattered, he knelt beside me. “I’m going to call Scarlet to come get you.”
“No!” I clutched his arm, hard enough that his eyes widened in surprise. I heard the hysteria in my voice but couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop now. “Please don’t call Scarlet. I can’t quit now.”
“What are you talking about? You need to get to a doctor and have your knee looked after. I’m sorry, but—”
“I need to finish the trek!”
His eyes were sad as he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Amelia, but you can’t.”
No! All the sorrow and guilt and self-loathing I’d stuffed down inside me for the last three weeks welled up, and I started sobbing.
Rory gently squeezed my shoulder. “I know it hurts, but it will start to feel better once you get some ice and rest it.”
“You don’t understand! I have to finish the trek. I have to!” I shoved him back and lurched to my feet, needing to prove to him I could walk—but as if to spite me, my knee buckled again, and I went down.