Ten Below Zero(58)

He held me tightly, pressing his lips to my hair, over and over. We stood there, in ankle-deep water, for what felt like an hour. My heart rate was slowing, and my trembling was subsiding. And he continued to hold me. That’s when I felt something throb painfully in my chest. In causing me to feel, Everett was healing me. He was showing me how to live. But the healing, the living hurt. They hurt with the knowledge that Everett was still dying.

He pulled back and put his hands on my face. “You ready to continue on?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.

My hands found his wrists and I closed my eyes, briefly. “Yes,” I whispered, opening my eyes again. I took a step, but my left ankle was weak, sore from the fall. Everett wrapped an arm around my waist. And then he handed me his shoes.

“Here,” he said before putting an arm behind my knees and lifting me up, carrying me through the water.

“I’m fine!” I protested.

“Stop wiggling,” he said, eyeing me sternly.

“I can walk,” I protested again.

“Shut up and let me carry you, Parker.”

I did just that, grateful for a reprieve from the emotions I’d felt when he was hugging me.

Everett carried me all the way to the car and set me on the passenger seat so he could better examine my ankle. “It’s a little swollen, but I don’t think you sprained it or anything.”

I huffed. “I didn’t. I’m fine.”

Everett opened up the backseat and put some ice in a plastic cup and then grabbed one of the stolen towels. He returned to me and started wiping away the water from my legs. “Everett,” I said, trying to grab the towel from his hands. “I’m fine.”

He looked up at me through the hair that had fallen over his forehead. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just drying you off. And then I’m going to have you prop this leg up on the dash and ice your ankle.”

I sat back in the seat. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It could’ve been,” he returned. His eyes met mine. “Just let me do this, okay?” There was something about the way he said it, the way he looked at me to make sure I understood. He wasn’t just doing this for my benefit, but also for his.

When he was done, he poured the ice from the cup into the towel and set it on my ankle on the dash.

“I’ll drive the rest of the trip,” he said, buckling me in and closing the door.

I watched him round the vehicle to the driver’s seat. Everyone was already in their vehicles and I was a little embarrassed to know that the entire convoy was being held up by me. Everett climbed back in and buckled up. “We’re going to go to the Dolores Mission and cemetery next,” he said, putting the vehicle in drive and following the car in front of us. He reached behind and came back with a water bottle. “Here, it’s getting hot out there.”

I took the water bottle but stared at Everett. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

He kept his eyes forward, focused on the vehicle in front of us. He shrugged. “Everyone needs a little help sometimes, Parker. Don’t be ashamed to ask for it.”



The Dolores mission was established in the late 1800s by a group of eleven families from New Mexico. Most of the mission itself had long deteriorated, but there were several ruins standing, crumbling brick buildings, and beyond that, a cemetery. My ankle was still sore, so Everett and I waited in the car while the rest of the group toured the ruins. It reminded me of the ghost town we’d visited in Arizona, so I wasn’t all that bothered to miss out on the tour.

“After this tour is over, I thought we’d head down to Texas. We’ll have to stop somewhere overnight, but I want to visit Texas next.”

“What’s in Texas?”

“Lots of stuff. And some people I should probably see.”

I scrunched up my brow. “Who?”

He ran his hands over the steering wheel. “My family.” He was uncomfortable.

As much as I didn’t relish the thought of meeting his family, I knew it was something he’d need to do before this trip was over. So I just said, “Okay.”



The trip ended at a ranch, but Everett and I stayed in the car again, as my ankle had swelled up even further, rendering me unable to do much exploring. When we returned to the trailhead, it was already late in the afternoon. Everett immediately took to the road, heading south.

When we pulled over that night, we had made it to Amarillo, Texas, which was a few hours from our final destination in Texas.

As we walked through the lobby of our hotel for the night, Everett grabbed my hand again. Something had changed for us in Colorado. Everett reached for my hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, but more surprisingly, I reached for his too. After checking in, we passed the bar to the bank of elevators. I looked at Everett after looking at the bar.

“I prefer being clear-headed with you,” he said, answering the question I hadn’t spoken. “Even if it means a little more pain.” He looked down at me and gave me his little half smile. “I don’t want to forget.”

I squeezed his hand, gently, understanding that though the pain he referred to was due to the cancer in his head, I was feeling the same pain, but in my chest.

“Is your ankle better?” he asked, pressing the button for our floor. He didn’t let go of my hand.