Gage said nothing, his mouth a dark line. But he pulled off his backpack, dug through it, and pulled out his head lamp.
“We’re not stopping, okay? So I’m going to slow down and you’re going to stay right behind me. Like, ten feet, okay?”
She nodded, and he affixed the light to his helmet and flicked it on. The daylight was still enough to diffuse the wan light. But she imagined the shadows would thicken when they reentered the forest.
“I have to admit, your brother has stamina and not a little raw courage to make it this far.”
She nodded. “He grew up on stories of Jovan. He would help Father smuggle Christians out of the country.”
“And you’re not exactly a couch potato.”
Heat pressed through her at his words. “I grew up remembering Jovan too. And, of course, my parents.”
He was putting his pack back on. “My parents always wanted me to follow in their footsteps into the medical field. They couldn’t quite understand how much I hated school. I admit, I preferred adrenaline to grades.” He adjusted his head lamp. “But when I started landing on magazine covers, they got on board. Sadly, after the accident, they didn’t know what to do with me. Dad kept trying to get me to go to school. My mom . . . she built a little shrine in my room. Won’t take it down.” He rolled his shoulders. “Ready?”
She nodded, and he moved away. She watched him go, arms out, perfectly balanced, so comfortable, so capable, so in his element.
And he’d lost it all. Certainly he could figure out a way to get it back. He was different now—there was something wiser, more controlled about him.
Before, he’d been a phenom. Now he would be a real-life role model for kids like Ollie.
Fame didn’t have to be a bad thing, did it?
She pushed off, right behind him, ignoring her aching body as he dove into the forest, following Ollie’s line. The wind had followed them into the canyon, shaking the trees. Snow drifted down and sprinkled her face as Gage pushed away branches.
“We’re not stopping, okay?”
She could have kissed him for that. But if they didn’t find Ollie soon, they’d be following him in the inky folds of night, and—
“Ella!”
She looked up, saw Gage pointing. The forest had thinned, and despite the shadows and the clutter of trees, she spied a form in the snow.
Lying on his stomach, arms out, sprawled on the ground, his board still attached to his boots, as if he’d simply fallen over.
“Ollie!”
Gage reached him first, had his board off in a second, and dropped to his knees beside Ollie’s prone form. Gage pulled off his goggles, took off his gloves, and reached for Ollie.
He’d already found his pulse by the time she caught up.
“Is he—”
“He’s alive,” he said. “Unbuckle his boots.”
She lifted off her goggles, then snapped Ollie’s boots off the bindings and helped Gage roll him over.
Ollie’s cheeks were white. “Oh, Ollie!” She pressed her hand to her mouth, fighting tears.
Gage put his hands on Ollie’s cheeks, then opened his jacket and placed a hand on his chest.
“We need to get him warm and call in the PEAK chopper for help.” He got up, scrambled for his pack, and pulled out his walkie.
“PEAK HQ, PEAK HQ, this is Watson, come in. Over.”
Ella knelt next to Ollie. Despite the layer of patchy whiskers, he still looked impossibly young, terribly innocent. She took off his goggles, leaned down, and kissed him on the forehead. “You’re going to be okay.”
“PEAK, this is Gage. Come in!”
She looked over at him, and he shook his head. “I think the trees are disrupting the signal. Too much clutter. We need to be higher, or at least in a clear space. There’s a final ridge once we clear the forest, but that’s . . . that could be hours away if we have to carry him.”
“I could go—”
“No, Ella. You have no idea where you are.” He came back over, knelt down next to Ollie. “But I could go . . .”
“Really? Because it’s going to be dark soon, and even you—”
“I’ll be okay.”
She swallowed. Nodded.
“I don’t want to leave you here.”
She hated the hot tears that flushed her eyes. “But Ollie needs help, and I can do this. I’ll pitch the tent, make a fire . . . I can do this.”
He reached up, cupped his hand against her cheek. “I’ll come back—as soon as I get a signal, I’ll be back.”
“I know,” she said, trying to keep her voice from wobbling.
And that’s when he kissed her. Just grabbed her by her jacket and pulled her to himself. Not a sweet, champagne powder kiss, but hard and solid, the kind of desperate kiss that said what she needed to hear.
He really didn’t want to leave her. And yeah, he might be a little scared too.
So she kissed him back exactly the same way, tasting salt on her lips as he backed away. He got up then, walked over, and snapped on his snowboard. “Get the tent up, get him inside it, and build a fire. There are matches in my pack.”
“You need your pack.”
“No. I just need this.” He held his walkie in his hand. “And these.” He dropped to his knees, opened an outer zipper, and pulled out what looked like thick ribbons. Then he grabbed his compact ski poles, which were folded down and secured with Velcro on the back of his pack. “My skins and poles. So I can hike back to you.”
She nearly wept at his words. Especially when he stood up and pointed to his head. “I remember every inch of this mountain. And I’m going to figure out how to get us out of here.”
Then he pushed off.
And if she’d forgotten how amazing he was on his board, if she thought she’d been keeping up with him, she saw the truth as he arrowed through the trees.
She watched him until he disappeared into the fold of shadow and branches.
Please hurry.
She wiped her cheek, then turned back to Ollie. He hadn’t moved. She stumbled over to Gage’s pack, opened it, and dug out the tent, and in a second, she’d shaken it out of the case.
It snapped together automatically, and she used the shovel to dig out a base, just like Gage had done last night.
She set up the tent and unzipped the door. Then she pulled out her sleeping bag and Gage’s and unrolled them.
Despite her fear of breaking something else in his body, she took Ollie by the collar and tugged him toward the tent. Night was falling fast, the shadows thick. She would need her Maglite to start the fire. “C’mon, Ollie, work with me.”
He woke up to her exertions and groaned. “What’s going on?”
She hit her knees beside him. “Ollie, it’s me, Ella.”
His eyes focused on her. “Are you kidding me? What are you doing here?” He ended his question on a wince. “My stomach hurts. And I fell and hit my head. I have a raging headache.”
She wanted to get his helmet off, take a look at his head wound, but she was suddenly more concerned with the way he held his side.
“Let me get you into the tent,” she said. “Gage is getting help.”
“Gage Watson? Whoa—seriously?” He was inching his way backward toward the tent, helping her as she eased him inside. He settled onto Gage’s bag, moaning.
“Yeah, seriously,” she said as she took off his helmet.
She found a matting of blood, a little softness on the side of his head, but nothing that seemed devastating. She wanted to weep with relief.
“What’s the face for?”
“I saw your helmet earlier.”
“You found Bradley!” He leaned back. “How did you even know we were up here?”
“I’m your sister, you idiot.” She pulled up his shirt then, searching for bruising. Sure enough, a purpling along his lower right side. She pressed it gently, but he grabbed her hand.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing if you have a
broken rib.”
“I probably do, but that’s not why I’m sick. I caught something—maybe food poisoning. I’ve been feeling sick for the last day. I was fine when we started down the mountain—it just caught up with me.”
She sat back. Stared at him. “Food poisoning? I saw blood in the snow after Angel’s Wings.”
“You did Angel’s Wings? Whoa.”
“The blood, Ollie. What’s with the blood?”
“Yeah, I sort of, well, that was pretty freakin’ scary and . . . I sort of lost it. And, like I said, I wasn’t feeling well, so I was drinking cherry Powerade—”
“Oh, I think I hate you right now.” She had a terrible urge to get up, strap on her board, go after Gage.
Because right now, he was risking his life for her not-so-injured brother. She sat back. Stared at him. Shook her head.
“I can’t believe you did Angel’s Wings.”
She got up and pulled the other pack into the tent. Sat on the sleeping bag, unzipped her coat, and hoped with everything inside her that Gage wasn’t impaled on a tree.
Outside, with the night falling, the wind picked up, shuddering the tent. And in its wake, she heard the faintest howl.
It lifted the tiny hairs on her neck.
Ollie pushed up on his elbows, then winced and fell back to the bag. “Is that a wolf?”
She looked at him. “Probably an entire pack. I hope they eat you.”
Then she pulled out the stove, set it on the ground. “All we have is chili mac. So I hope that’s okay.”
“That sounds delicious. I’m totally starved. I could eat a moose.”
She lit the stove and stared out into the darkness, listening again to the wolves howl.
Oh God, please keep Gage safe.
How Ty hated hospitals. The hurry up and wait of the emergency room. The expression of desperation and worry of family and friends in the surgical waiting area. And the helplessness of waiting for Brette to wake up from her emergency appendectomy.
Ty stood at the window, staring at his reflection against the black night. He needed a shave, a change of clothes, and a decent night’s sleep.
From behind him, Brette stirred and he turned, caught her moaning. She lifted her hand to the oxygen mask.
“Hey there—ease up,” he said as he moved to her bedside and caught her hand. “You had emergency surgery.”
She seemed to be trying to grasp her surroundings. A furrow crested her brow.
“Shh,” he said and slipped his hand into hers, smoothing back her hair with his other hand. “Your appendix burst in the emergency room—they had to put you out.”
She nodded, as if the memory was coming back to her. Frankly, he’d like to forget the entire episode, her howl of pain, the sudden frenzy of the ER doc, the way a nurse barred him from following their dash into surgery.
Not that he could have helped. He just wanted . . . maybe to tell her everything would be okay.
Again. “I don’t want to be a charity case. Please.”
Her face had flashed with such an expression of desperation he couldn’t take it. Which was why he’d talked personally with the billing department while she’d been in surgery.
Had settled up her account in advance. It made him feel a smidgen less helpless.
Now he leaned over her, gave her a smile. “You’re going to be fine.”
But to his horror, her expression crumpled, and she looked away. Closed her eyes.
“Brette?”
“Go away, Ty—please. I can’t . . .”
Then she lifted her hand to her face, hiding her eyes as her shoulders began to shake.
What?
“Brette, what’s the matter—should I call the doctor?”
She shook her head, her breath hiccupping.
“Please don’t cry.”
She moved her hand away, looked up at him then, and the expression she gave him—fear? shame? vulnerability?—seemed miles away from the woman he’d met two nights ago. That woman seemed confident, bold. Unafraid.
Then again, he knew how injury could turn someone inside out, strip away everything they thought they were, leaving only the instinct for survival.
“What’s going on?”
She pressed her hand to her cheek, wiped away the wetness there. “I just . . . I didn’t want surgery.” She pulled the oxygen mask away from her mouth.
“I think you’re supposed to keep that on,” Ty said, but she was already removing it from behind her ears. And now, reaching to sit up.
“Settle down, Brette—you just had surgery.”
“I don’t want to rack up any more bills—”
“Calm down! It’s paid for!”
She looked at him with such a stark expression of shock he didn’t know what to say.
Definitely not the truth, so . . . “I talked to billing. They were able to get you into a . . . uh, special program. For those without insurance. It’s all covered.”
She stared at him, as if testing him, and then, suddenly, her body seemed to surrender into his words. “Really?”
So much hope in her voice, he couldn’t help it. He lied again. Sort of. Because it was covered. And that was all that really mattered. “Yes. So stay put, please.”
She sighed, closed her eyes. Turned her face away.
And then another tear raked down her cheek.
He’d heard of people being overly emotional after surgery, so maybe this was just a side effect. “Um, by the way, Gage and Ella found Bradley. He was injured, but he’s on his way to the hospital now.”
She just nodded.
And that response had him even more unsettled.
“Brette, talk to me. What’s the matter?”
Silence, and her breath drew in, shaky. But he noticed she hadn’t let go of his hand. In fact, her grip tightened around his.
Finally, she looked at him, her eyes wet, tears glistening on her cheeks. “Thank you, Ty.”
“For what?”
“Taking me to the hospital. And staying here with me. Being so nice to me.”
“I told you right before you went into surgery that I’d be here waiting.” Maybe she didn’t remember.
“I know. But you didn’t have to.” She offered a small, chagrined smile.
“Of course I did. I said I would. Besides, you’re all alone here and . . . well, nobody likes to wake up alone, right?”
Oh. He hadn’t meant that in a lewd way, so he amended. “I mean, I didn’t know who to call, family or friends, so . . . you got me.”
Her gaze didn’t fall away as she took a breath. “Actually, I don’t have family.”
He frowned. And now she sighed.
“My parents have both passed away. I’m an only child.”
“I’m sorry, Brette.”
“It’s okay. I’m used to being alone. But . . . I am glad you stayed.”
And now her smile touched her eyes, and he felt the warmth of it reach out and twine through him. She looked so fragile connected to an IV, dressed in her hospital gown, her blonde hair in a nest on the pillow, that something inside him just wanted to scoop her back up into his arms.
He hadn’t minded that part in the least—carrying her out to the car, her body sinking against his, her silky hair falling down over his arm. He’d tucked her under his chin in an effort to protect her from the frigid postblizzard wind.
And that urge hadn’t died in the least.
“I’ll stay longer, if you want.” He wasn’t sure what possessed him to say that. But she nodded, and he hooked a chair with his foot and pulled it over.
He sat down, still holding her hand.
“That’s good, about Bradley,” she said, rolling onto her side. Wincing.
“Easy there, champ. You’re not supposed to be doing a lot of moving around. You’ll be on your feet in a day or so.”
She sighed. “I hate hospitals. The last time I was in one . . . well, it’s just a place people go to die. Or at least for me it is. My mom spent th
e last week of her life in a hospital, and before that, I had to go to the hospital to identify my dad, so . . .”
“Brette, I’m so sorry. How did they die?”
“My mom had cancer. My dad . . .” She swallowed. “He took his life.”
He stilled, his throat suddenly thick.
She seemed to sense his discomfort. “He lost everything in the Taggert fraud.”
Oh no. That, he didn’t see coming. Because, yes, he knew about the Taggert scandal, but only from Jess’s point of view.
And of course, from the conversation around the Remington dinner table, the words of his father, who was grateful he’d never invested with any of his friend Damien’s companies.
Brette might have mistaken Ty’s silence for confusion, however, because she went on. “It was a big Ponzi scheme out east with an international investment firm—Taggert Financial, run by Damien B. Taggert. Basically, Damien rooked hardworking people like my parents out of everything they had by getting them to invest with his fraudulent company.”
She eased herself onto her back. “My dad was a plumber, my mom a housekeeper. Damien Taggert was a friend of one of my mother’s employers, and they entrusted him with their entire retirement savings. When the scheme was discovered, it was right after my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. My dad tried to pull the funds out, but it was too late. There was nothing—it was all just on paper. I’m not sure if it was panic or just despair, but we found my dad in the car in the garage one Sunday night, not long after.”
She wiped her cheek. “Maybe he thought the life insurance would see it as an accident. But they didn’t . . . My mom declared bankruptcy when she got the medical bills. She lost their home and moved into my tiny apartment. But by then, the cancer had progressed so far, it didn’t matter.” She sighed again. “At least I got to be with her at the end.”
The story slid into Ty, found his bones, and turned him cold.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
“I can’t help but wonder if she’d had better medical care . . . or if my dad had been around . . . Anyway, I’m glad Damien Taggert got 150 years in prison, even if he’ll only live to do a fraction of that.”
Ty simply nodded, a fist closing around his chest.
Because, in that moment, her words at the house rushed back to him. Selene Jessica Taggert.
A Matter of Trust Page 20