Page 140 of Roughing It

He doesn’t respond, so I pat his cheek. When that doesn’t work, the pat gains a little more force. It works, and his eyes lock onto mine.

Everything in me wants to crawl into his arms and let him comfort me, but this time, I have to be the comforter. The caretaker.

Smoothing his hair, I murmur, “First, this isn’t your fault. It was an accident. Your arm kept my head from smashing into the dashboard. Hear me?”

His eyes crinkle. The Hudson to human translator I’ve picked up over the past month tells me this is his way of saying he hears me.

“Second, does anything else hurt? Third, tell me what to do.” The last is a plea. I need him to stay awake long enough to get us out of here.

A smirk tugs at his lips before twisting into a grimace. “Knew you could follow orders.” His nostrils flare, and the war he’s waging against showing me how hurt he is plays on his face. “Splint. Stretcher. Cabin.” He grits out each word.

Cabin. There’s no way I can get us to the cabin. Even with Hudson at a hundred percent, I couldn’t navigate us back. But that’s future Blakely’s problem. Now Blakely has enough on her plate.

Hudson’s hand searches for mine. I lace our fingers together and bring them to my lips. “I’m going to take care of you, Bear.”

My mouth is dry, and my chest aches as I run through the massive list of things he’s taught—or tried to teach—me over the last thirty days: the first aid lessons, the basics of securing a campsite, and surviving overnight in the wild.

Fuck.

I climb back into the Jeep, snagging the emergency kit and my suitcases. After a lot of shoving and cussing, I get them out.I dig through one bag, then another, searching for painkillers. It’s over-the-counter stuff, but anything is better than nothing. Grabbing all the leggings and long-sleeved shirts I brought, and a flannel I stole from Hudson, I hurry back to him.

I’m only gone a couple of minutes, but even in that small amount of time, he’s worse. Struggling to stay awake. His breathing sawing in and out. He never answered my question about being hurt anywhere else.

I drop next to him, supplies in hand. “Open your eyes. I have some medicine for you.”

Carefully, I help him sit up, once again thankful for Hudson’s preparedness. Cracking open the bottle of water, I do my best to pour water into his mouth, followed by several of the painkillers. “I know you’re sleepy, but please, stay with me. I need you. Okay?”

The nod is almost imperceptible, but it’s there.

“I have a knife and rope. What else do I need?”

“Branches.”

I tip a little more water into his mouth and chase it with a kiss. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He huffs out a brittle laugh, but I’ve never heard a more beautiful sound. I pop two of the ibuprofen before draping the flannel over him and using my softest leggings to create a makeshift pillow. With one last kiss, I go branch hunting.

The good news about crashing the Jeep where we did is that branches abound. I collect a variety. Small brittle ones that will make good kindling, medium-sized ones I can use to fortify the fire, and large sturdy ones to help brace his leg and make a shelter.

It takes several trips back and forth until I have a sizable pile. Each time I come back to the Jeep, I talk to Hudson. He responds, though his words are getting progressively slower and garbled.

“Bear, walk me through this. We need to get your leg set.”

Hudson’s hands tremble, and his freckles stand out in stark contrast to the pallid pallor of his skin. Fighting for each word, he says, “Use the knife.” He pauses, his breathing labored. “Cut my pants from the ankle up.”

I do as he directs, careful not to cut him or myself. I brace myself for blood and bone, but blessedly, it’s only bruised and swollen.

Swallowing, I look at him. “What next?”

But he doesn’t answer.

“No, Bear. Don’t fall asleep.”

He grunts and grumbles. “Branch. Tie. You can do?—”

His words fade, and the fears I held at bay while he was awake come roaring back. No amount of love taps or shaking rouses him, but he is breathing easier, so I convince myself rest is what he needs.

Grabbing two branches, I set them on either side of his leg. Surely, I can figure this out. “I have to attach the sticks to you somehow. Right?” I crane my head so I can see his face, but there’s no guidance there. “I’m taking your silence as a yes.”

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