Page 63 of Just Friends

When I stand and turn around, Parker and Marie are both watching me with wide eyes, and I know they see it. That my every hidden emotion has been exposed like a bright campfire in the dark woods.

“I’m going to get her back to the car. Do you guys think you can finish out the ride and return the kayaks?”

“Yeah, of course,” Marie says, her gaze flicking to where Hazel is huddled on the ground. “How are you going to get her back? I don’t think she can walk far, and we’ve gone at least a mile, probably two.”

“I’m going to carry her.”

Parker’s brows inch up his forehead. “Two miles?”

I know he doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, but my nerves are frayed, and I have to hold back from snapping. Parker is easily the nicest person I’ve ever met, and I know I’d regret anything I said later.

“I’ll be fine,” I manage to get out between clenched teeth.

Parker nods, no doubt noticing the determination in every line of my body.

“Let us know how she is,” Marie says, glancing between Hazel and me.

“I will,” I assure them, heading back to the kayak to retrieve the small waterproof bags with our phone and my keys that we tucked under and hooked to the strings at the front. I grab both of our shirts, although her linen button-up got soaked in the flip, and tug mine over my tender sunburned shoulders. Stopping in front of Marie, I say, “I’m really sorry to duck out like this.”

Her smile is wide, her eyes darting from me to Hazel and back again. “Don’t worry about it.”

I give Parker one more nod before turning back to Hazel. She’s still hunched over her knees, eyes shut against the sun. Crouching in front of her, I smooth a hand over her arm, and she opens her eyes to peer at me.

“I’m going to carry you back to the car. Do you think you can hold on to my back?”

She nods, or the smallest movement that can be considered a nod, just a faint dip of her chin. “Yeah, of course, but I can walk.”

I’m already shaking my head before she finishes. “Not a chance. Let’s try standing.”

Hazel sways on her feet as I help her stand, holding on to my biceps for balance. “I’m okay,” she assures me. “Just a little dizzy.”

“Are you sure you can get on my back?” I ask.

Her head bobs in a tiny nod, so I turn around, bending down so she can wrap her arms around my neck. My hands slide around her thighs, hitching them around my hips. It feels like actual fire on my sunburn, but I’m just glad she’s comfortable as she settles more firmly against me.

“Text us an update,” Marie calls out as I start the climb up the grassy bank to the back road that’s on the other side of the trees.

“I will,” I promise, my heart only slowing its rapid pace when Hazel’s face slides into the crook of my neck, her breath warm against my skin.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Alex,” she whispers into my skin, and I clutch her tighter, eating up the distance back to the cars.

“Shehasamildconcussion,” the ER doctor says five hours later. We lucked out when one of the kayak company’s vans passed us on the street on the walk back. They let us climb in the van full of kayakers who had just finished their trip and gave us a ride back to the rental place. We spent more time sitting in the cold, slightly damp waiting room of the ER than we did trying to get back to the car.

“Is she going to be okay?” I ask, keeping one hand on Hazel’s knee. I haven’t been able to stop touching her since I picked her up on that bank, and luckily, she hasn’t pushed me away.

“Yes,” the doctor says, and his eyes soften as he seems to recognize the way I’m about to split apart at the seams. “You may have a headache for the next few days,” he says, looking between Hazel and me.

My hands shake as I pull my phone from my pocket and start typing in my notes app, trying to get down everything he says.

“You should probably take it easy for a few days,” he continues. “I can write you a doctor’s note if you need to take Monday off work, although you should be fine to return Tuesday. Try to limit screen time for the next couple of days and make sure you’re getting plenty of rest. Avoid any activities that may exacerbate your symptoms.”

Hazel nods, her eyes glazing over with the movement once more. It’s a good thing that the van came when they did, because I think the dizziness would have knocked her out if I’d had to carry her the whole way back. She spent the entirety of our time waiting in the ER with her head on my shoulder, eyes closed against the bright fluorescent lights.

“Do you have any questions?”

“What happens if she gets worse? Is she allowed to sleep? How much screen time can she have? What activities are too strenuous?” I ask rapid-fire.

The doctor blinks at me before responding. “If she seems to get worse, you guys can come back and we can run a CT scan. Yes, she should sleep. Sleep is an essential part of healing the brain. Some screen time is fine, but I would avoid watching TV or scrolling on your phone for too long.” He pauses, brows scrunching. “What was the last question?”

---