PMU Boxset 2

by MacMillan, Jerica

  When she came to a large rock on the side of the path, she perched on it, even though she hadn’t gone as far as she would’ve liked since her last rest. But it was dry and not covered in mud, and she needed to sit and actually look at her ankle.

  Propping it on her knee, she untied the laces of her shoe, relieving some of the pressure from the top of her shoe digging into her now-swollen ankle. Shit. This wasn’t what she needed right now. Whatever was wrong with her ankle, she knew that walking on it like this would just make it worse. And it meant she’d have to drive more or get a ride, which meant she’d be spending more money on gas, on top of whatever it cost to get this looked at. Dammit. And she only had her own stupidity to blame.

  The rhythmic thud of footsteps caught her ear. She hadn’t actually expected to meet anyone else on the trail, and a surge of adrenaline spiked through her. Would some random stranger help her? She hoped so, because she didn’t know how she was going to manage to walk the rest of the way, especially once the trail started sloping back up.

  An involuntary groan escaped her when a familiar head of dark brown hair and sapphire blue eyes came into view. Her sound drew his attention, but instead of the smile that he turned on all other women, he frowned.

  “Layla? What are you doing?”

  She sighed, letting her injured foot slide to the ground, wincing even at the slight pressure of resting it there. “I was out for a walk, enjoying the nice weather, and I twisted my ankle. I’m resting for a minute.”

  His frown deepened. “Can you walk?”

  “Yes.”

  He glanced around, then up at the sky where the sun was no longer visible behind the surrounding hills. It wasn’t officially sunset, but down in this gully, the sun hid a lot sooner. “It’s going to be dark down here pretty soon. You shouldn’t stay for too long.”

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  Now he sighed, like he was frustrated with her. Pssh. What right did he have to be frustrated? She was the one who was hurt and having to deal with her womanizing project partner on her day off.

  Her eye roll was interrupted by another wince when she bent to retie the laces on her shoes. And Evan’s observant eyes didn’t miss any of it.

  “That hurts?”

  Really not in the mood for this, her answer came out as more of a snarl. “Yes, Captain Obvious. I told you I twisted my ankle. It hurts to put pressure on it, especially since I’ve had to walk on it for the last half hour since I hurt it.”

  He stepped toward her, and she stood up. His hands went up, palms out. “Hey. I just want to look at your ankle. See what’s going on.”

  She crossed her arms and glared at him. “I thought you were an English major. What do you know about twisted ankles?”

  He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms to mimic her. “Well, since I’ve played football pretty much my whole life, I’ve experienced a few sprains and strains over the years.”

  “So?”

  “Seriously? I’m trying to help. Think you could tone down the raging bitch attitude?”

  His words combined with the harsh tone that she’d never heard from him before had her jerking her head back. But he was right. He was trying to help, and she was acting horrible. Again.

  “You’re right.” She ground her teeth, hating to admit that to him, even if she knew it was true. “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded. “Would it help if I told you my dad was a physical therapist?”

  She eyed him up and down, noticing the smirk tugging at his lips. Was he laughing at her? “Maybe.”

  Waving her toward the trail, he came to stand beside her. “Let’s walk and see how you do.”

  Leading with her injured leg, she tried to take a step, but it hurt worse than before, bringing tears to her eyes and forcing her to muffle an involuntary cry of pain.

  Evan’s hand on her arm stopped her. “I thought you said you could walk?”

  She gritted her teeth. “I can. I’m walking.”

  “Really? Is that what you call this?”

  “Shut up. I’ll be fine. Just go on. I’ll get myself back to the parking lot and go home. I’ll go to the campus doctor tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday. The clinic is closed.”

  She growled in frustration. “Fine. Monday then.”

  He shook his head. “You need to get that looked at today. And there’s no way you’re going to manage to walk out of here.”

  Hands planted on her hips, she stared him down. “What do you suggest then? I can’t exactly teleport out of here. Trust me, if I could, I’d’ve done that as soon as I hurt my ankle.”

  There went the corners of his mouth tugging up again. Dammit. If he laughed at her, she was going to slap him.

  He turned so his back was to her and crouched down. “Hop on. I’ll carry you back.”

  Her eyes bugged out. “What?”

  “Hop on.” He glanced back at her. “I’ll give you a piggyback ride.”

  “No.” There was no way. No way.

  He turned, irritation on his face, his hands on his hips. “Layla. You can’t walk. Stop being ridiculous.”

  She spluttered. “I’m not the one being ridiculous, Mr. Hop-On-and-I’ll-Give-You-a-Ride.”

  Something flashed across his face, but it was gone before she could identify it, replaced with what she could only describe as steely resolve. “Layla.” His voice was low and even, but full of authority, like he expected to be obeyed. “You can’t walk. Either climb on and let me give you a piggyback ride, or …”

  “Or what?”

  His eyes flashed, and before she could react to anything, he’d scooped her up in his arms like a groom carrying a bride and strode purposefully down the trail.

  She squirmed in his arms, trying to wriggle out of his hold. “Put me down!”

  In response, he just hoisted her up further. “No.”

  Still kicking her feet, she arched her back, trying to force her way out of his grip, and his arms tightened like clamps. “What is your problem? Let me go.”

  He stopped, his blue eyes boring into hers making her still in his arms. “Look, it’s this, which keeps your ankle up and can only help you”—he jiggled his right arm where her legs dangled in illustration—“or I can throw you over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Your choice.”

  She spluttered, but couldn’t come up with a coherent response.

  “I thought so. Now quit squirming, or I’ll end up dropping you, which I don’t think you’ll like.”

  Fuming, she crossed her arms and held herself stiffly, trying to ignore how firm and warm his chest felt through his sweatshirt and the way his biceps flexed behind her back and under her legs. He carried her easily, like it wasn’t a big deal at all.

  He didn’t speak, but kept his eyes trained ahead. Layla found herself glancing up at him, examining the set of his jaw, the dark stubble there making her think he hadn’t shaved today.

  After a few minutes without him making any flirty comments like she’d expected, or even looking at her, she started to relax. Maybe she’d misjudged him. Or he’d taken her request this week to tone down the flirting seriously. Whatever the case, he seemed to just want to help her, not use his hold on her to try to cop a feel or molest her in any way.

  As she relaxed, so did he, or at least what she could see of his face and the line of his neck and shoulders. They continued in silence until the trail started to slope upward, the last section before reaching the parking area.

  Evan’s steps slowed. The trail had become rougher, rocks and tree roots making natural steps in the steeper areas, but needing more careful navigation. He stopped, adjusted his grip on her slightly, and cleared his throat. “So, it’s getting dark, and I need to see so I don’t trip, which means I can’t carry you like this.”

  Layla straightened, preparing to be set down. “Okay. I think I can manage the rest of the way.”

  His jaw clenching again, he looked down at her like she was nuts. “That’s not what I was gett
ing at. It’s pretty clear that you can’t walk, much less hike up the rest of the trail. I was thinking we’d try going piggyback the rest of the way, okay?”

  She thought about refusing, insisting on walking on her own, but her ankle still throbbed, even after having it elevated from the way Evan carried her for the last fifteen minutes. So she found herself reluctantly saying, “Okay.”

  He set her down, keeping a hand on her so she could steady herself without putting much weight on her injured foot, then turned and crouched enough so she could climb on his back. Bouncing her a few times, he adjusted her weight, and she clung to his shoulders, biting back an “Oof!” at each bounce. Then he struck off up the trail, his arms wrapped under her knees, the muscles of his back flexing as his body smoothly navigated the unforgiving terrain.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Carrying Layla on the flat section of the trail hadn’t been too bad once she stopped fighting him and relaxed. But her extra weight going uphill had him breathing harder than normal by the time he got to the top. And having her wrapped around him—her soft breasts pressing against his back, her hands clutching at his shoulders, and her legs wrapped around his waist—did something to him that he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just having a pretty girl on him, though God knew he found her attractive enough. But her trusting him enough to get her out of there, especially since she had such a fierce independent streak, had him softening toward her despite her prickly attitude.

  She wasn’t being prickly now. And she hadn’t fought him when he needed to adjust how he carried her, even though he’d been pretty sure she was going to.

  Now they were back. Their cars were the only two that remained, parked on opposite ends of the graveled trailhead. The light had taken on the dull gray-blue quality that comes with twilight in winter. Reaching her car, he turned and set her down on the hood, releasing his hold on her legs. Her hands trailed down his shoulders and over his back, her touch sending a thrill down his spine, swelling the chub in his pants a little more. He resolutely ignored that feeling, just wanting to get her in her car after extracting a promise that she’d go straight to the ER to get her ankle checked out.

  Turning to face her, she had her right ankle crossed over her other leg, her fingers gently prodding at the swollen joint. He hadn’t realized how bad it was while they were walking. Had it gotten worse once he put her on his back?

  He took her foot in his hands, pulling out his phone and turning on the flashlight so he could see better. It was definitely swollen, and a faint purplish tinge spread across the outside of her ankle. “How does it feel?”

  She grimaced. “It hurts. It’s not as stabby since I’ve been off it, but it’s still throbbing. I’ll ice it when I get home. That should help.”

  “Whoa. You’re not going straight home, I hope. That needs to be checked out. What if it’s broken?”

  Pulling her foot from his grip, she rotated it back and forth, a stifled grunt of pain coming through her compressed lips. “I don’t think it is.”

  He stood with his hands on his hips, trying to figure out the best course of action. “You can’t be sure. With that bruise, it could be. You need to get it checked out. Will you even be able to drive?”

  Her chin lifted, the stubborn expression he was growing used to settling on her face. “I’ll be fine. Why do you care so much anyway? It’s not like we’re friends.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” He ran a hand through his hair, clenching the short strands in frustration. “Maybe we’re not friends, but I’m not going to let you fuck up your leg because you’re too stubborn for your own good. Are you refusing to go for some other reason or because I suggested it?”

  She opened her mouth, but didn’t seem to have a response.

  “Look. Just flexing your ankle hurts. You shouldn’t drive. I’ll give you a ride, we’ll get your ankle looked at, and we’ll come get your car later.”

  “Evan, seriously, you’re being—”

  Stepping closer, he cut her off. “I don’t think you get it. I’m not making a suggestion. I’m telling you what’s going to happen.” And he scooped her up again and started toward his car. She wriggled again like before, but not quite as much. Instead she hit him in the chest.

  “What is your problem? You can’t go around picking up women because they don’t automatically agree to what you decide should happen. That’s not the way life works.”

  “Sure I can.” He gave her a quick smirk as he propped his foot on his tire, resting her legs across his knee so he could dig his keys out of his pocket and unlock his door. “I pick up women all the time.”

  After placing her in the passenger seat, he leaned into the open door, giving her what he hoped was his most intense stare-down. “It’d be easier on both of us if you’d agree with me. Your ankle is hurt. If it’s not broken, then there’s some kind of soft tissue damage, which is worse in a lot of ways. Going home and putting ice on it is stupid. I’m taking you to the ER. If you want to call a friend to meet you there, I’ll leave you in their hands. But I’m not leaving you alone until I know you’re getting checked out. Got it?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, her face a mask of irritation, but the pain must’ve been worse than he thought, because she didn’t argue. “Fine. I’ll call my friend Alyssa on the way to the hospital.”

  “Good plan. Buckle your seatbelt.”

  Before she could respond, he slammed the door and walked to the driver’s side. When he climbed in, she had her phone to her ear. But apparently her friend didn’t pick up, because by the time they were on the road headed for the hospital, she was leaving a voicemail.

  “Hey, Alyssa. It’s me. Call me back when you get this. Bye.”

  He stifled a snort. How informative. No urgency to the message at all. He glanced over at her. “Gonna try someone else?”

  She pressed her lips together and shook her head, her eyes glued to her phone. She sat that way the whole time, like if she stared at her phone hard enough, her friend would call back. But she never did.

  It looked like Evan was going to be staying with her at the hospital after all.

  Layla looked up from her phone as Evan stopped in front of the entrance to the ER. Alyssa hadn’t called her back, despite her voicemail and text. With a sigh, Layla waited until Evan came around to her side of the car and helped her out. Her ankle throbbed, the whole joint a white-hot ball of pain, and as much as it galled her to admit it, she needed his help.

  At least he didn’t pick her up this time. He smelled too good for her sanity, and being pressed against his body scrambled her brain in a way she wasn’t used to and didn’t like. And that smile. If she didn’t know he used it on literally everyone, it would make her melt into a puddle at his feet with the force of its charm. But he was indiscriminate, and when he turned it in her direction, she knew it meant nothing. She had to remember that. Even if he made it hard by being nice to her, carrying her over a mile to the parking lot at the trail and then driving her to the hospital.

  That was one thing that made him different from Mark. Even at his best, Mark never would’ve gone so far out of his way to help her.

  A man with graying hair came out of the hospital doors with a wheelchair. “Need some help?”

  “Yeah, she hurt her ankle pretty bad. Can you take her inside? I’ll come in once I park.”

  Evan helped her into the wheelchair, and she looked back and forth between him and the man behind her. The man gave her a reassuring smile. “Let’s get you checked in.”

  “I’ll see you in there.”

  Layla opened her mouth to say something, even though she wasn’t sure what—protest? Thanks? Something else? But Evan was back in his car before she could figure out what to say, and the man whooshed her through the doors to check in. Evan must’ve found parking near the doors, because he was back inside before she’d finished filling out the paperwork, and he wheeled her over to the triage station. The nurses made him wait in the waiting area while they
took her vitals and asked questions about her health history and how she injured her ankle, then wheeled her out to sit with him when she was done.

  He glanced up from his phone when the nurse stopped next to his chair, set the brake, and left, but he didn’t say anything before turning back to whatever he was doing. Glancing around, she tried to figure out what to do to pass the time. She had an old flip phone, smart phones and their data plans too expensive for her college student budget. Her parents helped with rent and paid for her health insurance still, but otherwise she was on her own. And that meant she didn’t get the latest and greatest gadgets. Since she’d been out hiking, she didn’t have a book with her. She’d left it in her car, and since Evan hadn’t even let her get inside her own vehicle, it got left behind. And she couldn’t reach the magazines from where she sat. Not that any of them looked very appealing anyway.

  Checking her phone for the millionth time, she was disappointed that Alyssa still hadn’t gotten back to her. How was she going to get home? She couldn’t expect Evan to wait with her for however long this took. He probably had plans or something. Friends. A party. A hundred things more fun to do than hang out with her in the ER.

  “Evan?”

  He looked up. “Yeah?”

  “Um, so, my friend should call me back any time, and she can come get me whenever I’m done here. And I’m sure you have better things to do. You don’t need to stay.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll stay till she gets here.”

  “But—”

  “Layla.” His eyes met hers. “I’m not going to abandon you in the hospital. If your friend comes, then great. I’ll let her take you home. But until someone else is here to help you, you’re stuck with me. Got it?”

  She examined his face, noticing the firm set of his jaw, and nodded. It didn’t take a genius to recognize a stubborn man intent on getting his way. She didn’t have the energy to argue with him right now.

  Closing her eyes and leaning her head against her hand, she tried to focus on her evening out her breathing and calming her racing heart instead of the pain in her ankle or her rising sense of dread. She didn’t do well with doctor’s appointments. And an ER was a million times worse. They might want to give her a shot, and just thinking about it, about the tiny spiky needle, was enough to send a fresh wave of adrenaline rushing through her veins. But they shouldn’t need to do that, right? They have pain pills. She didn’t need an injection. She could handle the pain until a pill kicked in. And they shouldn’t need to take blood, either. She’d twisted her ankle, not … something else that would require a blood draw. She was injured, not sick. Breathing deep, she pushed away her panicky thoughts before they could take over. They’d probably just look at her ankle, take some X-rays, and maybe give her some kind of brace or something.