Page 9 of Safety Net
“Finn said they were looking for places to eat dinner,” Sam said.
“Wow, so it’s official. Everyone’s abandoned me.” I tried to get up again and winced at the pain. Celeste tucked her hand under my elbow, steadying me as I attempted to stabilize. The piercing spark that ran along my skin had nothing to do with my injury.
“Stop moping,” Sam said. “You’re not alone. I’m guessing that’s Celeste?”
“Y-yes.” She swallowed, and we were close enough I could see her neck bob. Her fingers were cold against my skin, and her long nails scraped me lightly anytime she adjusted her grip. She held onto me like I was drying paper mâché.
“Are you sure you can get him up?” Sam’s tone indicated he was in problem-solver mode.
“I can.” Celeste’s voice was a little louder this time. Her hands shook, but she sounded determined.
“Alright, good,” Sam said. “If it’s a lot of blood, depending on what he cut himself on, he might need to go to urgent care.”
“It’s fine,” I insisted. “I’m fine.”
“Is he really?” Sam asked.
Celeste froze, not expecting a request for assessment. She studied me, looking for any sign that I would go into somekind of shock due to my wounds. Going into shock due to her closeness was more likely. My chest about caved in when she twisted her mouth to the side, focusing on how to help me.
“I’ll get him inside and get the first aid kit,” she decided. “After we get everything cleaned up, we’ll go from there.”
“Perfect, so you’re all good?” Sam asked, making sure everything was handled before he hung up. “You don’t need me to call in reinforcements?”
Celeste nodded, a determined glint in her gaze as she stared at the phone like it was my friend in the flesh. “I got him.”
CHAPTER FOUR
CELESTE
I’d spent all morning pep-talking myself to get out of the house and drive over to the rental. Spent all afternoon doing a final rehearsal of what I wanted to say.
All that rehearsal amounted to nothing because quicksand may as well have laid the walk up to the front door. My lungs felt clogged with concrete, and my fingers wouldn’t stop trembling.
I knew Naomi and the other guys were gone. And Lincoln would be on his own, and that made for a less intimidating exchange…allegedly.
Before I could knock on the front door, Lincoln’s deep voice came from the side of the house. The buzzing in my ears cranked up a coule of notches because why not go for gold? I took a deep breath, breathing in a million more nerves.
“You got this,” I whispered. “Just talk to him. With words. Normal words. And he’ll respond. And you go back and forth like that until you understand each other.”
With another less-than-helpful deep breath, I turned the corner. I saw the mistake before it unfolded. Lincoln trusted a ladder that was over ten years older than me. It had survived an absurd amount of rainstorms and blizzards.
“I don’t know if—” I tried to get out before the wind stole half my words and the splitting of wood claimed the rest.
Gravity yanked Lincoln to Earth, uncaring and unbothered. The loud thud of his body hitting the porch, along with the appearance of bright blood, forced my anxiety aside. Worrying about impressions didn’t matter much when faced with pain and danger. I went to Lincoln’s side without hesitation, leaving shyness at the front door for me to pick up on the way out.
Now, with his arm over my shoulder, our sides pressed together as he avoided putting too much weight on his knee.
“I could wait here,” Lincoln said when I struggled to find my balance. “Until you get the first aid kit.”
I shook my head. “It’s too hot.”
Harsh sunlight bathed the porch. My lower back was already soaked.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered leaving (after calling someone for him, of course). I could tell from how tense his jaw got with every slight move of his hand Lincoln was in more pain than he let on. I didn’t have anything to say that might help brighten the mood. No silly story to distract him from the pain. I wished to be witty. To be able to start a conversation of interest for once in my life.
“We’ll go slow,” I whispered because we were close enough to feel one another’s breath. My arm wrapped around his waist, stabilizing us as we took a tentative step forward. I could feel his heartbeat, pounding from the adrenaline of the fall. I attributed the speed of my heart to talking to him for the first time in months.
Our text thread died sometime earlier this year when I couldn’t figure out how to keep up with his energy. I left his last message without a response, and days turned into weeks and months. Lincoln’s lack of messages had been a relief…at first.
