Page 90 of Our Long Days
I huff. “Get used to it. I protect what’s precious to me.”
Her face softens, limbs melting. I love it when she reacts this way.
Eyes darting left then right, she pops up and plants a chaste kiss on the edge of my mouth. “You’re precious to me too, so take it easy.”
She boops me on the nose then skips away.
My cheek tingles for the rest of the afternoon, the softness of her lips a phantom caress. I carry out risk assessments, quality checks, and show Sam, our junior carpenter, how to change the blade on a power saw.
Every second I’m on my feet, the shrill bells increase. Everystep jostles my brain. A throbbing pulse pounds against my temple.
Fuck, I need to sit down.
Sam stares at me with worry when the blade drops to the floor, my hands shaking so much, I lose my grip. His lips move. No sound. Just muffled nonsense, like I’m submerged under water.
One curt nod is all I manage, hoping that assures him I’m fine and is an appropriate response to whatever he said before excusing myself.
You should’ve listened to Florence. Safety first.
My work boots drag over the carpet of pine needles. It’s twenty yards to the porta cabin, but before I make it halfway, Sam darts past me, sprinting behind the cabin, then Nico.
The fuck? Why are they running?
Panic seizes me. My blood runs cold. A chill runs down my spine.
Something has happened.
Someone’s hurt.
No.
No. No. No.
I siphon all dregs of energy, pumping my leaden arms and driving my legs forward as I jog in the same direction.
A crowd of ten people stands by the stack of lumber. Their loud voices sneak in past the bells. My entire world crashes when the sea of bodies part, revealing the scene.
Three sixteen-foot pine logs have rolled from the pile, the ratchet strap used to secure them lying useless and frayed.
Not being able to work. Losing all my hearing. Feeling isolated from society. Those were the nightmares that haunted me, day and night.
Until this moment.
Sprawled on the ground, hard hat off to the side, liesFlorence, arm draped over her face, blood trickling from a gash on her elbow.
I move at warp speed.
My knees crack against the hard earth, hands hovering, afraid of hurting her further. Voice foggy and muffled, I speak for the first time in what feels like hours.
“Florence. Baby.”
Relief is a drop in a vast ocean of sickening worry when her arm shifts, a single emerald eye peering up at me. She lets out a shaky exhale then speaks.
I can’t hear it.
I can’t move.
Can’t talk.
