Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
I love you, Atlas. I'm so sorry I got us lost. Please don't die.
Jesus Christ. The porch collapsed? She had to dig me out of the rubble? No wonder everything hurts. I fell through a fucking porch and the damn thing came down on top of me.
I don't even remember it. But that's not what worries the fuck out of me. It's the rest of her message that sends fear shooting through me. She hiked out on her own to get help because she's afraid I'm going to die. She's a nurse. If it's serious enough for her to be that concerned, it's serious. But that's beside the point because she hiked out on her own.
She's out there by herself, defenseless and unprotected. Even if she finds someone, there's no guarantee they'll offer the kind of help anyone would ever want, not way out here where no one would ever think to look for her body. That shit happens to women all the time. They go for hikes and run into the wrong kind of person. No one ever sees them alive again.
Even if that doesn't happen, there are wild animals all over this forest, and we're so goddamn deep into it she could easily get lost if she strays off the trail we drove in on.
She's my priority. Not my head injury. Not my future in the AHL. But her. If anything happens to her, I won't survive it. I won't want to survive it. She's become vital to me. In just a few short days, she's become everything.
I force myself to my feet, her safety the only thing I care about. I made a promise to her brother that she'd be safe with me. Hell will freeze over before I break it.
She loves me. Not even the meanest motherfucker in this forest is going to take her from me now.
I stumble toward the door, determined to find her.
Chapter Thirteen
Gabbi
"Are you sure you're okay, hon?" The old farmer asks for the third time since he nearly ran me over. Everyone keeps asking the same question since he drove me down to the nearest ranger station an hour ago. I wasn't that far from it. Had I only gone in the other direction at the fork in the road, I would have found it within the hour.
Luckily, Mr. Meechum knew exactly where it was. As soon as I managed to explain the situation to him, he brought me straight here. The rangers—Chaz and Steven—are already on their way to the cabin to bring Atlas back here.
The sheriff's department and an ambulance are on the way.
I still feel like there's an anvil sitting on my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. I don't think the weight will lessen until I know that Atlas is going to be okay. Right now, he still isn't. He still needs help.
"I'm fine," I lie, pacing back and forth in front of the desk. I can't sit still. I wanted to go back to the cabin, but they wouldn't let me. They wanted me here to meet the ambulance and police. I think they're worried about what they're going to find and just don't want me there in case…in case….
God, I can't even think it.
I don't want to think it. I just found him. I can't lose him now. He doesn't even know how I feel about him.
"You should call your family, hon," Mr. Meechum says. "They're probably worried sick."
He's right. I pull my phone from my pocket to call Jordan, but I still don't have reception. As soon as I get back to Silver Spoon Falls, I'm changing phone companies because this is ridiculous.
"Uh, Meechum? If you can hear me, I need you to pick up the radio behind the desk."
I spin toward the crackling radio as Ranger Steven's voice comes through.
Mr. Meechum hauls himself to his feet, slapping his cowboy hat back on his head. His boots thump across the floor as he circles around behind the desk to the radio hanging there.
"This is Meechum," he says into the radio, pulls it away from his mouth, frowns down at it, and then tries again, pressing a button on the side. "This is Meechum."
"Can you ask Miss Sterling if she's certain her friend has a head injury?" Ranger Steven asks.
"Positive. He had CTs in Silver Spoon Falls confirming the initial concussion just a few days ago," I say without hesitation. "He has a gash across his forehead and his pupils are slow to react. He also lost consciousness. He hadn't regained it by the time I left to get help for him."
"She says she's positive. Sounds like she knows what she's talking about, Steve."
"Well then, we've got a problem."
"What kind of problem?" I ask, gripping the edge of the desk for dear life. Please, God, don't say he's dead. Please.