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Amberley nodded. No time to argue. He laced his fingers in hers and together they slid and stumbled through the howling tempest. The streaming air launched debris at them, hard bits of wood whizzing fast enough to strike with maximum impact. When a trail marker sign winged at them, she didn’t spot it fast enough to duck and it bashed straight into her forehead, sending her to her knees. She clutched her stinging face, and her fingers came away a sticky, blurred red.
She felt dazed. She shook her head to clear it, but the move only shot a bolt of pain through her. Without a word, Jared scooped her up in his arms, held her tight to his broad chest, and jogged down the trail until the outline of the old schoolhouse appeared. She grasped her thrumming head, afraid it’d either fall off her shoulders or explode if she didn’t.
Without pausing, Jared kicked open the door, shoved it closed behind them, strode inside the dark interior, then lowered to a tottering wooden chair at the front of the room. All at once, the world muted itself. The now-muffled rain snare-drummed softly on the roof. The fangless wind batted against the rattling windowpanes. The dank, musty space closed in. Their ragged breaths mingled. Beneath her ear, Jared’s heart galloped and the hands smoothing up and down her back shook.
She’d never sensed Jared flustered a day in his life, and for some reason this scared her as much as anything.
“Shhhhhhhhhhh,” he murmured, low in her ear. “I’ve got you, darlin’.”
She stiffened.
“You’re safe,” he crooned in a rumbling, husky voice.
Enough. She didn’t want to be safe. Least of all because of someone else rescuing her or seeing her at her weakest. Even worse, that person was Jared.
She wriggled free of his arms and faltered back a couple of steps. Her hands groped the emptiness behind her, a new habit, to feel for what she couldn’t see. Frustration and helplessness brewed in her belly, toxic and nauseating. When her fingers encountered the soft edge of an old desk, she leaned on it, testing her weight partially, before trusting herself to sit atop it.
“Let me.” Jared brushed back the hair sticking to the gash on her forehead. Something dripped from her temple. Warmer than water.
She’d never fainted in her life. Yet suddenly, a light-headedness stole over her, and she grasped the edges of the desk with both hands.
“Stop.” She jerked away and nearly cried out from the pain. A red drop splattered on the dusty floor.
Jared pivoted with her. “Hold still.” He flipped off her hat, grasped her chin in one strong hand and studied her. A deep longing to see his amber eyes seized her. Yet if they held pity, she’d rather not know. “This is going to need stitches.”
She started to shrug and realized that even the slightest movement made her head whirl and her stomach revolt. “A flesh wound,” she said, trying to joke, a reference to one of their favorite Monty Python movies, but her voice cracked like a thirteen-year-old boy’s.
“Not funny, Amberley,” Jared growled. “You could have gotten yourself killed out there.”
He pulled something from his back pocket, wrapped it around her head and tied it in the back. It smelled like him, she thought, breathing in the crisp cotton, clean soapy smell. His lucky bandanna, she guessed.
“So what if I had?”
He knelt in front of her and gathered her hands in his. Though she tried to stop them, tears of pain welled. She didn’t cry easily. In fact, she could count the number of moments on one hand. The time her glasses got knocked off and she’d had to crawl around on the playground looking for them while other kids laughed. And once when she’d dislocated a shoulder during a barrel racing accident. Then the day they’d buried Daddy.
“Well, if you’d gotten yourself killed, then I would have lost my mind,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, almost a croak.
Her frog prince. Back.
Only she didn’t want him anymore.
She didn’t want anyone.
Not even herself.
At least not who she was now.
She screwed her eyes shut. Jared brushed at her damp lashes with his thumbs, the gesture so tender it ached. “Your mother told me about your eyes.”
A painful lump formed in her throat.
“Amberley, talk to me.”
She stood. Halting steps carried her to the window. Although she couldn’t see much in the writhing darkness, she imagined the tumult and wished it’d sweep her away, too.
“I want to go home.”
Jared joined her. When his fingers laced with hers, she jerked her hand away. “Charlotte told me you’ve been having trouble for a while now. Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”
She shrugged.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to.”
Because I couldn’t bear for you to think less of me.
To pity me.
“Why? I’m always here for you.”
“I can manage on my own,” she fired back.
“But you don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
“We’re a team.”
Only when they were both equal. But those days were over. “Not anymore.”
“Just tell me what I can do, Amberley.”
“This isn’t about you, Jared,” she snapped.
“The heck it ain’t.” She flinched at his suddenly angry tone. In all their years, they’d never fought. Not seriously. Sure. They’d had their share of good-natured arguments from time to time. Squabbles. Bets. Competitions. Rivalries. But this? It was foreign and felt every kind of wrong.
Still. She’d rather he be angry than sorry for her. Angry meant you mattered. Pity? That rendered you inconsequential.
“We’ll get through this.”
“Get through this?” She pressed her burning forehead against the cold glass. “I’m going blind, Jared. I’m never getting through this.”
He cupped her shoulders and turned her slowly. “There’s got to be a cure,” he insisted. “Surgery. A donor list. Didn’t I hear once—something about cadavers...”
“Stop.” She put her hands over her ears. “Just stop. Everything comes easy to you. Heck. You’ve never had to work for just about anything in your life, so I get your not understanding this. But I.” She poked a finger in his chest. “Am. Not. Getting. Better.”
“So you won’t even try?”
“I just want to be left alone.”
“What’s that mean? Holing up in your room? Hiding out from the world? Ignoring your friends?” He cleared his throat. “Me?”
“It’s not hiding. It’s being realistic. Facing facts.”
“About what?”
“That I can’t do anything anymore.”
“You can do plenty.”
“Not barrel race.”
She angled her head and viewed him from the corner of her eye, using her working, peripheral vision. Those perfect brows of his slanted over his straight nose, and white rimmed his golden-brown eyes all around. He appeared every bit as uncomfortable and confused as she felt.
And she couldn’t bear it.
He surrounded himself with capable, successful people. Winners. She couldn’t blame him for not understanding how to handle someone disabled like her. Disabled. She already hated the word. It meant not able. Who wanted to be known as that—even if it was true?
“You can’t see at all?”
“Not dead on. Everything’s a blur of color in the center of my vision. From the sides, I can focus some.”
“You can’t see my face?”
Her insides shriveled at the pained note that entered his voice. “Not all of it. Not at once. And soon.” Her voice fractured. “Soon I might not be able to see even that.”
He brought her hands to his warm, smooth cheeks. When he swished her fingers over his down-turned lips, she yanked free.
“Let me help you,” Jared insisted.
“Do what? I can’t compete anymore. Can’t ride. Can’t drive. Heck. I can’t even walk alone on my own. I don’t want to depend on anybody for anything. I don’t want to be reminded of—”
“Reminded of—” he prompted.
“Of how helpless I am.”
“No one’s saying you are.”
“But they’ll be thinking it. You’re thinking it.”
The beat of silence spoke volumes and hurt way more than she’d imagined it could. They’d never lied to one another, and she didn’t expect anything less than brutal honesty from her best friend now. Outside, the battering rain eased, then trickled. The thunder and lightning moved off to torment another mountain.
She glimpsed Jared’s chest rise, then fall with a long exhale. “You’re no quitter, Amberley. That isn’t the gal I—” he stumbled, fumbled for a word. “I care about.”
She flushed. What’d he been about to say? Oh. No matter. None of it did anymore. Jared liked being around her because she challenged him. Once it sunk in that those days had ended, he’d come around only out of pity. She didn’t believe for a second he’d abandon her. His decency and loyalty meant he never turned his back on his friends. But she wanted to be his equal, not his charity case. Better she cut things off while she still had her pride. Jared ran with a fast crowd and she’d only slow him down.
“Then stop caring about me,” she forced herself to say, “because that girl’s gone.”
“Not happening.”
She paused, thinking fast. She needed to get rid of him once and for all. For both their sakes. “So as my friend you’ll do anything for me?”
He nodded quickly. “Now you’re seeing sense.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Anything?”
“Name it,” he vowed.
“Alright. Then bring me home and don’t ever come around again.”
“Amberley...” he protested, his voice full of air like she’d sucker punched him.
She shook her head. Firm. “You promised.”
* * *
“AMBERLEY, PHONE!”
At her mother’s call, Amberley roused herself ever so slightly from the 24/7 stupor she’d fallen into these past few weeks. “Tell them I’m sleeping!” she called without opening her eyes. She turned and burrowed deeper under her covers, ignoring the slight bump up in her heart rate.
So far, Jared had kept his word and not called since that night on Mount Sopris, but a part of her, a lowdown, cowardly, traitorous part, still hoped, every time she heard the phone ring, that he hadn’t respected her decision...
Hadn’t given up on her.
She missed him. Missed her friend. Missed that smile. Not that she’d ever see it again anyways.
Oh. Stop bellyaching. It was for the best. If she cared about him, she’d let him go. She sighed and flopped over on her back, arms flung wide, her best thinking position.
What was the saying? “If you can’t fix it, you just have to stand it.”
She glanced over at the bedside table cluttered with cans of pop, bags of chips and dishes left over from eating meals in bed the last few weeks.
Or wallow in it...
Inertia. Another good word for her current state. Suspended animation. That summed it up, too. Maybe she should request to be cryogenically frozen. Least then she’d do something for science.
“Amberley!” shrilled her mother again.
She shoved herself upright, and her covers dropped to her lap in a messy heap. “Can you take a message?” From the corner of her eye, she spied the digital clock with the oversize display her mother had brought home recently. It read 1:20 p.m.
Outside her open window, the sky was a blue so brilliant even her eyes picked it up, the air was still washed clean from recent rain, and birds warbled from the two rustling maples that stood sentinel at the end of their drive. It was the kind of weather that usually woke her feeling elated, glad to be alive, wishing she could belt out some musical number like “Oklahoma” or the “Sound of Music.”
Not that she could sing a lick, but on days like this she’d always felt anything was possible. Even singing on key. Like maybe she could ride to the end of the earth and back before it’d even had a chance to circle the sun.
