Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck.”
My thoughts exactly. “You are ruining my Christmas vacation.”
“Not having a great time myself.” He gives another of those short, huffing not-laughs. “What was already a shitty day has just gotten shittier.”
I eye him warily, because he’s got his arms draped over his upraised knees with his head hanging between them. “Are you going to puke?”
His throat works as he swallows once, then twice. Finally he says, “Not sure.”
“Maybe you should be lying down?”
His grunt in reply sounds like agreement. Reluctant, but agreement. He doesn’t make a move toward the bed, though.
I watch him for a long moment, struggling against my own reluctance. I don’t want to help him. Anyone else in the world (excluding his father), I’d have already grabbed the first aid kit and started tending to the wound on his head.
I know what the right thing to do is. I never thought I’d be so slow to do it—and I hate myself for not taking the high road more readily. Reed Knowles is a garbage human being, no doubt. But I thought better of myself.
It’s not as if I have to be nice to him, though. I just have to help him not die. Then he can get gone, and I can get back to having the best Christmas ever.
So I relent. Reluctantly. My heavy sigh as I give in to my better angels is probably more suited to a tantrum-throwing three year old, but I don’t care. He already thinks I’m vicious—I’m not, normally, but I’ll admit to making an exception with him—and what else did he call me? A goody-goody Walker? I’m not that, either, though my mom and sister try to be, in their own special ways. I also know that, four years ago, he cautioned Harris not to hire me, telling my boss that “Those Walkers will throw shit in your face then say it was your own damn fault. They never take responsibility for the damage they do.” So a sullen sigh isn’t going to make Reed Knowles think any less of me than he already does. And I don’t give a damn about his opinion, either way.
“Can you make it to the bed under your own power?”
“Think so,” Reed says, though he doesn’t sound too sure.
“If you can’t, we’ll deal with it. But take off your coat and boots first, so you don’t drip all over the floor.” I switch on a battery-powered lantern and carry it into the bathroom where I stored the first aid kit. A passing glimpse in the mirror reminds me that I haven’t put on pants yet—no biggie, since my pajama shirt hangs to mid-thigh—and that I also haven’t taken a shower today, or done more than finger-comb my hair. Also no biggie, since Reed Knowles can kiss my unwashed ass.
In the short time I was gone, he managed to get his jacket off, but isn’t doing so well with his snow boots. He’s still sitting with his back against the door, but when he leans forward and reaches for the laces, his fingers fumble and pain hisses through his clenched teeth. After a moment Reed pauses, closes his eyes and leans back, then tries again. He fumbles and hisses and I can’t take it anymore.
“I’ll do it.”
I bat his hands away from his snow-encrusted boots. My fingers are freezing by the time I dig through the layer of ice and loosen the laces, then end up falling on my ass when I haul his boot off his giant foot. Of course I land right on top of a melting glop of snow, and frigid water soaks through my underwear. Scrambling up into a crouch, I grab his left foot, lifting the boot from the floor. This time his sharp hiss of breath tells me that he might have injured more than his head.
“Is it your foot or your leg?”
“Leg.” He gestures to the outside of his thigh.
I keep unlacing his boot, though more gingerly than before. “Another branch?”
“The same branch. It hit me, I blacked out. When I came to, I’d rammed the snowmobile up against a tree. I must have whacked my leg, though I don’t remember doing it.”
Ah, that’s right. He’d said he had an accident. I can’t help needling him. “I guess you should’ve worn a helmet.”
“I figured my head would be hard enough,” he says, so dryly that I almost smile.
Almost. The day Reed Knowles makes me smile is surely the day hell freezes over. “Do you think you broke anything?”
“Only the snowmobile. I walked the rest of the way here. Probably couldn’t do that if the bone was fractured.” He grimaces as I slowly tug his boot free. “The muscle must be stiffening up now that I’m not moving.”
I hope so. Anything worse, and there’s no way to help him. “So I win, then.”