Page 9 of Catch and Release Groom

Only that caused his head to yank sharply to the side. He released a stream of profanities she met with a dozen apologies as she snatched up the rod and alleviated its pull.

Blood trickled down his neck, and she couldn’t help but be stung that he batted her away when she reached for his ear. “I’ve got it. Just—” He wrenched the pole from her grip, tucked the contraption under his arm, and strode in the direction of the tackle box.

Gator followed, taking big bounding strides, and Imogen struggled to keep up.

A mere foot from shore, she slipped on the moss-covered rocks, and down she went with a splash, the harsh jolt of her tailbone rattling her teeth. Cold water seeped into her clothes, and one of her flip-flops happily floated past her.

“Hey, wait,” she said, flinging herself forward and diving for it.

By the time she managed to catch it and push to her feet, her entire frontside was drenched, and most of her backside to boot. She removed her other flip-flop and chucked both of them onto the “beach” where they belonged.

Sopping wet and hunched over like the bog monster she’d become, Imogen lumbered out of the river and onto dry land. Her clothing clung to her, making every step uncomfortable, and she had a serious case of swamp ass.

Easton already had a pair of pliers out of his tackle box and clamped onto the hook. With his elbow sticking up at an odd angle that couldn’t be anywhere near comfortable, he clenched his jaw and tugged. When that didn’t free the barb, he twisted his wrist and yanked at it from another direction, and the swelling bead of blood turned the fly crimson before spilling down and speckling his shoulder.

“You can’t even see what you’re doing,” Imogen said with an exasperated shake of her head, “Let me help.”

“You’ve helped enough,” he retorted, and a twinge formed deep within her chest. They’d been so close to making friends, as short-lived and temporary as the case may be.

“It’s not like Imeantto hook you. Stop being a stubborn jackass and let me drive you to the ER before you rip your ear clean off.”

“No offense, but I’m not handing my keys over to a walking disaster.”

“Ah!Lotsof offense. I’ll have you know I’m an excellent driver—I even get the discount through my auto insurance. If you find yourself in a tight spot, trust me, I’m the type of person you want on your team.” In order to prove her point, she surged forward and gripped the pliers just beneath the pinchy part.

This time, she battedhishand, and by some miracle, he finally relinquished and lowered his arm.

Imogen lifted onto her toes to closer study the hook and his earlobe, acutely aware of the speed and volume of her breaths as Easton went perfectly still. “If I use enough speed and momentum, it’ll come free, but that barbed hook is going to rip a little on the way out. Sorry, but I just don’t see a way around that. Unless you’d like to rethink heading to a medical facility…”

“I’m not going to the doctor. It’s a hook, not a spear.”

“Not sure you’ll feel that way once I yank it out.” With that warning delivered, she went for it, cranking her wrist in the opposite direction but going along with the natural curve of the metal.

Then, expelling a shallow breath, she gave one last, extra sharp yank.

Easton’s grunt punctuated the air, and he whipped up his hand to cover his ear as she stumbled backward, nearly falling on her butt for the second time that day.

Sunlight glinted off the bloody hook and she lifted it higher in the air, as if it were a spoil of war. Since she’d rather be done battling for the day, she crouched in front of the tackle box and dropped in the pliers and lure, for him to sort out later. “Anyway, uh…” She placed her hand flat over her eyes, craning her neck to look up at her fly-fishing instructor. “I’m guessing that concludes today’s lesson?”

“I’m guessing that’s the only way to keep myself safe?.”

“I’m afraid there’s no one hundred percent safety guarantee. And as a person who analyzes risk for a living, I’m as upset as anyone that it’s impossible to prevent it entirely. But sometimes it’s the safe paths that get you into the most trouble. I was on one for so long that it started looking more like a prison sentence.”

One day, her dreams regarding her wedding day devolved into nightmares, until the thought of walking down the petal-strewn aisle caused her throat to shut. “So, I panicked and veered off in a drastic direction, and I’m still not sure I chose right.”

Whoops, she’d gone on a weird tangent and said too much, and so she continued, determined to fix it when experience told her that wasn’t her forte. “All those inspirational posters they stick in schools and hospital waiting rooms, where you’re so bored you have no choice but to read them, would disagree. But frankly, they’re utter shit. They make that leap sound so exciting and amazing without bothering to tell you that sometimes you just fall.”

Easton blinked at her, and her pulse steadily rose with each passing second. “Guess it’s good we didn’t go to the hospital, then.”

Imogen huffed a laugh, relieved he’d found a way to lighten the mood where she’d struggled. “If you’d like to have a qualified medical professional check out your minor—or should I saymite—injury, we still can. It appears you’re okay enough to drive us there, anyhow.”

“I don’t know about that—I use my ear to drive more than you’d think.” He hitched up a shoulder, wiping the blood on his shirt without hesitation. The items in his tackle box clattered as he stood, leaving her crouched on the ground next to nothing. Evidently their discussion had come to a close.

“I’ve experienced that feeling myself,” he said, his voice distant. “The one where you take that big leap, only to land on your ass. There’s only one thing for it…”

“Oh yeah?” Her heart quickened at the idea of a surefire way to rid herself of the moments when she doubted herself and every decision she’d made. When she allowed people to walk all over her in the name of not hurting their feelings. Even if they’d stomped on hers.

Oh, don’t be so damn sensitive.

---