Page 62 of Just Friends

MyheartstopswhenParker breaks through the water and Hazel doesn’t. The seconds feel like hours as I wait for her golden-brown hair to pop through the surface, for her face to be a mixture of chagrin and shock, for her laughter to ring across the water as she surveys the scene.

But it doesn’t happen.

By the time Marie and I get through the rapids and pull our kayak off to the side, Marie shoving her paddle into the soft sandy dirt beneath us to keep from moving, Parker is tugging Hazel out of the water. I think I’ll be sick at the way her head lolls and blood oozes from a wound to the back of her skull.

I think I yell her name, but I can’t be sure with the way my throat is closing up, cutting off my windpipe. Words feel distant and murky, a concept lost in the span of a few gut-wrenching seconds.

By the time I reach Parker, he has Hazel propped on a tall rock, out of reach of the spraying water, although the current rips at both of our middles. My hand slides around her neck, cradling her head so it’s no longer resting against the hard surface. Stone scrapes against my knuckles, and it’s the only thing tethering me here as my vision tunnels, my eyes scanning desperately for the rise of Hazel’s chest, the pulse beating at her throat.

“Is she okay?” Parker asks, his face leaching of all color.

I don’t have the strength to answer as Hazel stirs, a moan seeping from between her lips. When she murmurs my name, I almost pass out from the relief.

“I’m right here,” I tell her over and over again, leaning close. My hands are everywhere, reassuring myself that she’s breathing, that she’s mostly unharmed, that she’salive.

Her eyes flutter open, the deep dark blue of the ocean, and fix on me. “My head hurts,” she mumbles, squinting against the bright sunlight.

I position my body to block the sun, and her face relaxes slightly, although it’s still pinched in pain. I want to smooth away the wrinkles, take her pain, and make it my own.

“I know, honey. We’re going to get you some help, okay?” Turning to face Parker, who is watching us intently, some of the color returning to his skin, I ask, “Can you help Marie get the kayaks to the bank? I’m going to try to carry Hazel.”

My heart is still beating wildly, so fast I don’t know that it will ever slow down.

“Yeah, of course,” Parker says, snapping into action. His kayak, thankfully, is wedged between two jutting rocks a little way down, so he’s able to get to it quickly.

When I start to lift Hazel into my arms, she wakes more fully, blinking at me. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get you out of the water,” I tell her, slipping one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back. Her damp, sun-kissed skin is warm and slick against my own.

“I can walk.”

Not a chance.

The water pulls at me as I carry Hazel through it. Another couple in a double kayak has stopped to ask Parker if we need help, but he waves them on when he sees I’ve safely carried Hazel through the water.

Wet, sloshy sand squelches beneath my feet as I climb up the bank and set Hazel down, squatting next to her. She looks so small and defenseless that I feel on edge, like a rubber band so close to snapping.

“How are you feeling?” Marie asks, climbing out of the kayak she successfully steered onto the bank. Maybe later I’ll feel guilty for not helping her, but right now isn’t that time. Not when my entire focus is fixed on Hazel and the way she rests her head on her forearms, which are propped on her bent knees.

“I’m okay, really,” she says, and I feel slightly better at the way her voice is stronger, unlike the weak murmur when she was pulled from the water.

I crouch next to her, my hands gently peeling the damp hair away from her skull. The cut is still bleeding, but I can see now that the water was making it look much worse than it actually is. The cut is only about an inch long and not very deep.

“Do you feel dizzy at all?” I ask, trying to recall the questions my cross-country coaches asked every time I inevitably wiped out for no reason except pure clumsiness.

Hazel shakes her head, but then her eyes gloss over for a moment before fixing back on me. “Maybe a little.”

“I think we need to go to the hospital and get you checked out.”

“I’m fine,” she says, but I notice that she doesn’t try shaking her head again, and it only firms my resolve.

I lean in so we’re almost nose to nose. Her eyes are wide, and I see the panic there, lingering beneath her brave facade. It makes my heart melt. I reach a hand out, cupping the back of her neck. “We need to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

She nods, the movement so soft and slow you’d barely be able to see it, but I can feel it against my hand framing her face.

“You’re going to be okay, honey. I promise. Do you believe me?”

She nods again, and I press a kiss to her temple, unable to hold back. Not now, when I feel like my terror is a live wire, zapping every nerve in my body.

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