The Plight Before Christmas(54)

I can do it, but it’s not necessary.”

“I just watched you fly off the side of a fucking mountain cliff and crash land. I’ll decide what’s necessary.” Pulling her pants down, I inspect her legs, front and back, before removing her jacket and the three layers of shirts she has on beneath.

“Shit, your hip is bruising up good, so is your back.” I cover every inch of her and pause at her clavicle, which seems to have taken the brunt of it. I apply some pressure, and she jerks away and whimpers.

“Sorry, sorry. But I’m going to press some more, okay? Just to make sure.” I run my fingers along her collar bone and apply more pressure. “How’s this?”

“Hurts a lot, but it’s bearable.”

“Good, nothing broken.”

A knock on the door has us both turning toward it.

“I’m not decent!” Whitney shouts. “Give us a second.”

Silence on the other side has Whitney backtracking for better word choice.

“I mean, I’m decent but not fully clothed.”

“I don’t think that sounded any better,” I grin.

“We’ll be right out when we’re finished. Eli’s working me over!”

Full-blown laughter bursts from my lips, and more panic subsides as I sit her back down before pulling a washcloth from the towel rack. Wetting it with warm water, I bring it to the cut just above her ear and begin to clean it as breath escapes her in a hiss. I mimic her wince. “Shit, sorry.”

It’s when her eyes find mine, searching my face, that I pause, realizing just how close we are and how undressed she is. Silence ensues for a couple of sloppy seconds before I get my shit together as she shifts on the seat, and I keep my eyes trained on her, refusing to drop my gaze.

“What’s your pain level like?”

“I feel like I got my ass kicked, but I’ll survive.”

“Keep talking.”

“Why?”

“Because slurred speech is a sign of a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion.”

“Did you blackout at all?”

“It’s not a concussion.”

“Whitney, just keep talking, damnit.”

“Fine. What the hell was that? Everyone else went down just fine.”

“That’s because they were going down the bunny slope.”

“If there were different slopes, there should have been some indication. You know, like a sign for Easy Street or the fucking Highway to Hell.”

It wouldn’t have mattered; you took a hard right on the valley of the shadow of death.”

We grin at each other briefly.

“I want to check on Peyton.”

“Peyton is fine. You’re the one who’s bleeding.”

“I could have hurt him.”

“You didn’t.” I wipe the rest of the blood away to reveal a small cut. It’s then my pulse finally begins to even out, and breath comes easier. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

Out of nowhere, a nervous laugh bursts from her.

“How was my form?”

“Terrible.”

“And my landing?”

“You looked like a penguin sliding backward after you lost the pan, but that baby save was fucking epic.”

Chest bouncing, she begins to full-blown belly laugh as nerves, the adrenaline crash, and embarrassment take over, and it’s the fucking sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. I can’t help my grin as she explodes into another lengthy fit helping the rest of the stinging panic fall away.

“Jesus,” I shake my head from memory. “You were just as insane in college. Always leaping before looking.”

“I’m taking snow sports off my list,” she says with a grin.

“Wouldn’t be a bad idea,” I say, returning it. “But honestly, you don’t have to feel bad anymore for all the birthday bucket extreme sporting you missed out on. I’m pretty sure you just covered it all in one go.

I see goosebumps cover her chest as her laughter slows. It’s then I realize I’m cupping her face, sliding my thumb along her jaw. Instead of withdrawing my hand, I share breath with her as her eyes slide up and down my face before finally connecting with mine. Breaths mingling, we simply stare at the other as I continue to caress her with my thumb, getting lost in a place we created years ago and knowing she’s there, with me. I feel the break just before her eyes drop.

“Who says I was feeling bad about it?”

“I do.”

“Well, maybe I’m just a lot more cautious now. Thank you,” she says, pushing at the wrist holding the washcloth away from her. “I think I’m good.”





Feeling like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck, I sit in the recliner as my family takes turns waiting on me while Eli keeps me from dozing by attempting to lure me into conversation.

“Sing the UNC fight song,” he orders the second my eyes close.

“I will do no such thing,” I retort, not an ounce of fight in me as all my limbs scream in protest. Thatch enters the living room eyeing the iPad screen in Peyton’s grip just as Simba is presented to the kingdom. Thatch chuckles holding out a mug full of hot tea. “Pose look familiar, Whit?”