by Ella Miles
Dammit! Why the hell did I decide to climb this mountain?!
Oh yea, because of a cocky, arrogant smile with dimples, tattoos, and muscles. If I survive this, I’m getting my eyes carved out. I don’t need them. They get in my way and cause me to make bad decisions.
“You okay, sweetheart?” a deep voice asks.
I keep my eyes closed shut because I know the source of the voice. It would be my luck he is the one to find me and offer to help me.
“Perfectly fine. Just enjoying a nice relaxing nap in the middle of the trail.”
He chuckles and touches my leg.
I jump. My eyes fly open at the jolt shooting through my leg. I don’t know if it’s because of my injury or the electricity of his touch.
“That hurts,” I pout, as he examines my right knee after pushing my ripped scrubs up.
He ignores me and places my leg down before picking up my left ankle.
I wince and bite my lip to keep from cursing him as he touches me.
“It doesn’t look broken. Probably just a sprain.”
I know his words are meant to be encouraging, but I don’t like hearing ‘just’ anything. Whatever it is, it hurts. Sprain or broken makes no difference.
“Thanks, doctor, but I got it from here. I know all about RICE.”
“Rice?” he asks, cocking his head to look at me like I’m crazy.
I roll my eyes. “Rest, ice, compression, elevation. I know how to take care of a sprain. I’m a nurse.” Well, not technically. But I will be a nurse in a few short months.
He nods, looking at my scrubs again like he’s just now realizing why I’m wearing such a thing on a hike.
He holds out his hand to me, but I’m too stubborn to take it. I don’t need his help.
He looks amused as I try to push myself off the dirt. It takes a couple tries to get my shaky legs under me, but I’m finally able to get up.
“Need any help?” he asks, smiling at me like I’m the funniest thing in the world.
“No.”
I take a step, and my ankle gives out. Luckily, there is a tree nearby I can grab to keep from falling again.
“Seems like you could use some help.” His hands grab my hips trying to steady me. And I swear I feel his erection on my ass. “I could always kiss it and see if that helps.”
I swat his hand away as I turn glaring. “I don’t need help from a man who almost got me killed and just wants to hit on me.”
I start stomping down the mountain ignoring the pain of each step, and the man slowly walking behind me. It takes everything in me not to turn around and check him out again. Sweat drips down his chest from his run, but when he approached me earlier, he barely seemed out of breath.
I will not look at him.
I will not ogle him.
I will not think about him.
I will not ask him for help.
Ten steps later, tears are filling my eyes. I can tolerate pain just fine. I have a high pain tolerance. But knowing it’s going to take thousands of more steps to get down the mountain is melting my morale.
I stop, unable to continue on my own.
The man behind me stops as well. If he ran down, he’d probably already be down by now.
I sigh and turn slowly to him. “I guess you are my only option.”
“Oh? I didn’t think you wanted my help.”
“I don’t.” I exhale into a frown. “But I want to live more than I don’t want your help.”
He smiles smugly but doesn’t move to help me. In fact, he crosses his arms like he’s not going to touch me now, even if I asked.
“What are you doing? I need your help. You’ve been following me this whole time because you intend to help me. So help.”
He shakes his head.
“What?”
I’m so impatient with this man.
“I think you owe me something first.”
My mouth gapes. He can’t be serious. His eyes say he is dead serious. I see the lust there.
“I’m not going to blow you or fuc…” He raises an eyebrow as he realizes I hate using foul language. “Or have sex with you. I’m not that desperate.”
He steps toward me, filling my personal space with his strong presence. It consumes all my thoughts, my smells, and my space.
“I think you are that desperate,” he breathes onto my neck.
I freeze. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.
But I am. He’s not my type. Not at all. I like men who are good for me. Good-looking but not too good-looking so they think they can do better than me. Smart, caring, cautious, sturdy.
This man is none of those things. He’s dangerous, threatening, and mysterious. He lives by a different moral code.
My lip trembles, considering what I should say or do. Should I kiss him? He might carry me down if I did. Make him think I’d have sex with him later, only to disappear before he has a chance.
He laughs, seeing the conflict in my eyes.
“But I’m not asking you to be that desperate. When I fuck you, it will be with your full permission and willingness. Not because I saved you.”
“You are so not saving me. Let’s not be dramatic. You are helping me walk down a mountain, not saving me from a burning building.”
I snap my mouth shut when he stares at me. Damn me and my snarky mouth.
“What do you want then?”
“An apology.”
I frown. “I don’t owe you an apology.”
He shrugs and starts walking down the trail past me.
Dammit!
“Fine!” I shout as I watch the only help I might get walk away from me.
He pauses and turns. I hate apologizing. Especially to his smug ass when I have nothing to apologize for. But he’s right; I’m desperate for the help.
“I’m sorry…”
“Ace Knight.”
I roll my eyes at his last name. I’m sure it’s not his real name. He’s no knight in shining armor.
“I’m sorry, my knight in shining armor, for saying I don’t need your help when I clearly do. Will you please help me down the mountain?”
“No,” he says deadpan.
Shit. Now what? Does he expect me to suck his dick? Because I so won’t…okay, I totally would. That’s why this man is dangerous for me, and I need to stay far, far away.
He grins. “Kidding.”
He approaches me. “Climb on.”
“No.”
“Get the fuck on my back, sweetheart. I can carry you down in twenty minutes, or you can hobble along with me by your side and take five times as long.”
He’s got a point. I climb onto his glistening, muscular, tattooed back. My thighs wrap around his waist as he carefully grabs my legs to help keep me up. He feels thick, hard, and strong between my legs. I can only imagine what another part of his body would feel like between my legs.
Not going to happen, I remind myself.
“Hold on, sweetheart.”
“My name is not sweetheart.”
“Then what is it?”
I scrunch my nose. I don’t want to tell him. If I do, he could find me after this.
He bounces us roughly as he jumps over a stream, and I groan as his back rubs against me turning me on more than I want him to know.
“Sorry, sugar tits.”
“My name is most definitely not sugar tits.”
I can feel his grin even though I can’t see it.
“Sweet cheeks?”
“No.”
“Hot stuff?”
“No.”
“Fuckable mouth?”
“No.”
“Pussycakes?”
“No.”
“Cocksucker?”
Ugh, this is getting ridiculous. I know he’s just trying to goad me to get me to tell him what my name is, but I’m tired of the curse words. They make me flinch every time he says them.
“Mila Burns. My name is Mila Burns.”
Shit. I didn’t mean to tell him my
full name, but it just slipped out.
“Mila Burns,” he repeats cautiously, his voice slightly higher than it was before. “So what are you doing out here, Mila Burns?”
I keep my mouth locked tight. If I don’t speak, then I can’t say anything stupid. I can’t agree to go on a date. I won’t drool all over his back. I won’t say anything rude. Mouth tightly shut is good.
He laughs, shaking his head. Then, pulls out his phone and presses a button before loud heavy metal music starts blaring, just like when he was on the motorcycle.
Obnoxious prick.
I sigh, resting my head on his shoulder as he jogs down the hill singing along to the music, while I do everything to not fall in love with him. Because he’s wrong for me.
So, so, so wrong.
He’s all the things I’m not. He would be a complication. He probably spends all his free time smoking joints and getting more tattoos. Not what I need right now.
I don’t know how the time flies so fast, but we are down the mountain in record time. He should compete professionally at something he’s that good.
“Thanks,” I mumble as he gently lets me down next to my car.
“Do you need me to drive you to a hospital?”
“No.”
“How about dinner?”
Nope, nope, nope. He doesn’t get to hit on me. I can’t handle it.
I don’t respond. I don’t look at him. I pretend this is all a dream. I slip into my car, not paying attention to what he’s doing, and back out before I even get my seatbelt on.
And then I speed down the gravel road. I only look in the rearview mirror when I’m far enough away I know I won’t turn around and go back and say yes no matter how charming he is.
Shit.
His motorcycle is in tatters. I ran over his fucking motorcycle! How did I not notice when the metal started crunching as I backed out?
I expect him to chase after me. Demand to see my insurance or exchange numbers so I will pay for the damage I caused.
Instead, he’s standing there with a broad grin and determined eyes. I’m afraid I may have started a war.
2
Mila
“No Ren, I can’t babysit this weekend,” I say into my cell phone, as I stare at my watch. I have exactly one minute left of my break, and I don’t have time to argue with my sister.
“Why not? I thought you said you had Saturday off?”
I sigh and close my eyes trying to keep my heart rate calm. I should start practicing yoga or meditation or something with the amount of stress I deal with.
“I have Saturday off, but I work a twenty-four-hour shift on Friday. I will spend my Saturday sleeping. There is no way I can babysit.”
“Fine, fine. I get it. The kids just haven’t seen you in forever. You should stop by Sunday at the very least to have dinner with us.”
I roll my eyes. What my sister really wants is to check up on me and make sure I haven’t lost my mind again. She tried to get me to come over on the anniversary, but I couldn’t. I love my sister, but she has everything I want. A wealthy husband who loves her. Two children: a boy and a girl. Her own private practice as a pediatrician. Her life is perfect.
I can’t handle seeing her when I feel like my life is falling apart. It’s not really, but every year, on the anniversary of when my life as I knew it ended, I feel how easily I could lose everything again. But I won’t let it. I’m in control. I can make my life anything I want.
“Okay, I’ll stop by on Sunday,” I relent. “But only for dinner! I’m not going to play board games or any of the family time afterward.”
“Great! I’ll see you on Sunday!” Ren says, ignoring my conditions.
I pocket my phone in the front of my blue scrub pants and then head toward the nurse’s station as my twenty-minute break ends. I didn’t even have time to pee; Ren took up all my time talking on the phone. But I need to sit down and rest my ankle. It’s better now that I’ve iced it, taken some pain medications, and wrapped it.
“Any new patients?” I ask Felicity, my clinical supervisor. She’s been manning the desk while I’ve been on break.
She frowns. I think she permanently has a frown on her face, or she hates me. I bite my lip. Felicity is grumpy, that’s just the way her face is. I shouldn’t take it personally. I’ve been doing a great job. It’s just too bad Felicity is the one who will determine whether I pass or fail.
Felicity rolls her eyes like she can’t believe I asked the question.
I ignore her and force a smile on my face. She can be grumpy all she wants, I’m happy. I’m positive. I’m in line for getting a job offer here. Just keep working hard, and this will all be worth it.
Felicity huffs as I sit down in the chair next to her.
“What?” I ask.
She nods her head in the direction of the waiting room.
“You shouldn’t have your boyfriend showing up at work. Get rid of him,” she says.
“I don’t have a boyfriend…”
She eyes me again. “Oh, sorry, lover, hookup, one night stand, whatever he is, he needs to be gone. I can’t have him hogging my waiting room.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend or any kind of guy friend.”
Felicity ignores me, typing on the computer.
I bite my lip again as I try to think who could be in the waiting room. I won’t know until I walk over to see. So I force myself up even though I just want a moment to sit. I’m toward the end of a twenty-four-hour shift, and I just want to relax and rest.
Instead, I’m storming to the waiting room, sure whoever is there isn’t for me.
“Henry,” I say when I open the door and see my brother pacing like he’s waiting to find out if I made it through surgery or something.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I make a mental note of telling Felicity later he’s my brother, not my boyfriend.
He frowns. Why does everyone do that? Do I have one of those faces that need to be frowned at?
“You know why I’m here. I left you a message yesterday on your cell phone.”
I shake my head as I grab his arm and lead him out of the waiting room. If he’s going to scold me, I’d rather him not do it in front of dozens of patients’ families I may have to talk to later.
“I didn’t get any message.”
He runs his hand through his hair in disbelief. “You are such a child. You can’t even be bothered to check your voicemail and call your brother back.”
I steer Henry away from the nurses’ station, down a hallway I hope is empty.
“Why are you here, Henry?” I ask, already tired of his scolding.
“I want to make sure you are okay. Today’s the anniversary of—”
I give him a dirty look.
“Well, you know what it’s the anniversary of. And you get a little crazy. I want to make sure you don’t do anything stupid this year.”
“The anniversary was yesterday. Not today. And I didn’t do anything crazy.” Unless you count climbing a mountain for the first time, rolling my ankle, and having to get carried down by a hot stranger, before running over said stranger’s motorcycle. Nope, definitely not crazy.
“Whatever. It’s still around that time, and I’m not leaving until I’m sure you are fine.”
I put my hand on my hips, staring my brother down. “No, you mean until you ensure I won’t do anything that will put the Burns back in the papers again and ruin your business.” I didn’t do anything that bad last year. I just got drunk, and I didn’t have any money for an Uber home, so I slept under an underpass. The cop that found me wasn’t happy with my decision, even though I thought it was the right one.
He shrugs. “I’m here to make sure you don’t fuck up again.”
I shake my head. Everyone in my life has a perfect life, except me. Even though my mistake was years ago, it still haunts me. I still have the guilt and nightmares, even if I can’t remember the details of that day. My family will never forgive me for what I d
id. No matter how much I’ve changed. No matter how much I try to be exactly like them. Maybe when I have a husband and kids, they will feel differently, but until then, they think of me as the screwup who they have to fix every year.
I hear the sirens, and I know we have another patient coming in.
“I have to go,” I say, running down the hallway to meet the ambulance. My pager goes off, and Felicity starts giving me the info. Two male patients. Both critical. Not sure what happened, but they need all teams on hand.
“Mila! I’ll be waiting until the end of your shift to talk to you,” Henry says.
I keep racing down the hallway, ignoring my brother, who thinks I need a babysitter. I don’t. But he won’t leave until I prove to him I’m okay. Last year was just a fluke. It wasn’t my fault. This year, I’m better.
I run to emergency bay one and start collecting all the supplies we could need to take care of the incoming patients. Two other nurses enter as well. When I turn around a man is being pushed in on a gurney. We transfer him quickly to the bed.
“What happened?” I ask the nearest paramedic.
“Not sure exactly. It was a car accident. He was riding in the passenger seat. His heart stopped once during transport, and he’s struggling to breathe. Blood pressure is low. He’s been unconscious almost the entire time and is now. Bleeding from a wound in his chest and leg.” He doesn’t have to say more about the car accident. I can see in his eyes he suspects a drunk driver.
I start cutting off his clothes, while the rest of the staff begins jumping on their jobs. IVs, tending to wounds, checking blood pressure, oxygen. We work in unison, a perfect dance, moving and speaking with each other in synced rhythm with each other. We all know exactly what needs to happen to keep this man alive.
The fabric I cut from his clothes is expensive. It takes a lot of energy to cut the suit from his body due to the thickness. He wears a Rolex on his wrist, which I remove as well. And then I grab gauze to press to the lesion on his head. It doesn’t appear horrendous, compared with the wound on his chest. Another nurse is addressing that gash.