Page 57 of Fight

I looked there… IswearI looked there. I just didn’t know what I was touching.

He glares in my direction. He’s not just mad, heloathesme. I can’t blame him after all the shit I put him through today. My lips form a thin line, and I hold back tears as he yells.

It’s fucking freezing. I can’t believe she didn’t light a fire. My hands are devoid of any color when I tug my gloves off, even on the fingers cut by that rock earlier.

Her voice lowers until she’s mumbling, “We’re gonna freeze to death in this tower, aren’t we?”

I groan. “With all your bitching, hopefully sooner than later.”

“Shut up, this is serious.”

Laughing without humor, I say, “You shut up!” Not my best comeback, but I can’t deal with her negative attitude. The laceration on her forehead has me biting my tongue before I say anything more. She needs to take care of that. She must see me staring at it, because her fingers find the edge of the cut, then she pulls them away.

“I’ll deal with it.”

“I’m sure,” I say, rolling my eyes.

I drop the box of matches in front of the wood stove and select the skinniest pieces of tinder. Opening the little door, I squat down on the balls of my feet and am immediately greeted by a stiff dead squirrel with no eyes.

It’s at that moment she has the genius idea to instruct me onhow to start a fire. Me. A hotshot. I light fires for a living, and she thinks she knows better than me? I about lose it on the spot. My blood pressure skyrockets. I cannot believe the level of frustration this woman brings, I’ll stroke out before I freeze to death with her.

I remove the squirrel and drop it on the floor as she continues to tell me how to do my own damn job. Slowly, I turn my head to glower at her. “You are fuckin’ brain damaged if you think I don’t know how to start a fire.”

“I’m just trying to help!” she shouts, crossing her arms.

“You wanna help? Here, get rid of this.” I pick up the squirrel and lob it toward her like a big fat dart. The squirrel torpedoes through the air with its tail flapping and lands next to her on the ground with a soft thump.

“What the hell is that?” She brings her face closer to inspect it, then screams and scrambles backward. Turning back to the stove with a small satisfied grin, I get the kindling set up and adjust the damper so there’s less wind barreling through as I try to light it. I’m pleased when the dry slivers of wood catch quickly and heat rolls off the fresh flames.

“Asshole!” Something hits my back with a thud.

“I know you didn’t just chuck that squirrel at me,” I say, warning in my voice.

“You threw it first.”

I twist around on my heels, dropping a knee, and glance down. Sure enough, there’s our flat furry friend. I clutch the squirrel and shake it at her with each declaration. “I saved your ass by pulling you out from under that rock. I practically carried you up this mountain. I gave you shelter. I fetched you water. I started this fucking fire. I gave you everything, Prescott! Everything! And it’s still not enough for you!”

Holy shit, that felt good to get off my chest.

She clamps her mouth shut. I hold my breath, and we stare at each other for a solid ten seconds, barely blinking.

Finally, I break the silence. “I’m not playing catch with you, get rid of it.” On the last shake, the critter’s neck snaps and the head falls to the floor. I gaze down at the eyeless, shriveled rodent face with orange teeth.Ugh.

She’s got the nerve to bite her lip and look away as she attempts to smother a grin. Does she think this is funny?

“Don’t you dare laugh.”

“I’m not!” she says, her lips breaking into a smile around the words. She can’t even look at me with a straight face.

I fling the body back to her, and it lands at her feet. This time, she picks up both pieces of the squirrel and wisely steers for the door. I purse my lips and return to stoking the fire. It waskind offunny. Holding my hands up to the flames, I rub them together, willing the blood to return, and it’s not long before prickles work their way to my fingertips. I hiss through my gritted teeth as the nerve pain intensifies.

She opens and closes the door quickly, evicting the dead vermin. Behind me, the sound of a zipper and rustling of her bag tells me she’s rifling through it for something.

“Get over here and warm up,” I growl.

A couple seconds later, she squats down next to me and offers a small bottle of sanitizer. “Here.”

I take it from her and rub it on my hands. They’re still rigid as the numbness takes its sweet time dissolving. “Sorry about the lantern,” I say, barely above a whisper. I don’t want to apologize first, but I do it anyway.

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