Blue Horizons (A Horizons Novel Book 1) (14 page)

I FEEL LIKE the biggest asshole.

Oh my God.

Never in my life have I been fascinated by a girl like I am with her . . . and then my crazy dog happens. If I didn’t love Whiskey so much, there’s a good possibility I would give him to Clay and never look back. Unfortunately, I’m kind of attached to the fur beast.

As we walk back to the house, I’m shocked she lets me wrap my arm around her, but I’m so grateful at the same time. I wonder if she even realizes she’s letting me hold her or if she’s still lost from the panic and the pain. Replaying that entire scene in my mind, I shake my head in disbelief and pull her a little tighter next to me. Of all the people in all the world, Whiskey has to run her down. I’m wound so tight, the muscles in my neck feel locked up and I could break shit.

First off, I now know that whatever happened to her—to make her this way—somehow involved a chase. She was running from us, as fast as she could, and she may not have realized it, but she was whimpering from full-on terror. And as Whiskey’s paws hit her back, that scream spoke a thousand words. Lying in the dirt with her, watching her cry—those tears represented so much more than just the pain in her arm. I’ve never felt so helpless.

Step by step, we take the trail leading up the back deck and into my kitchen. My heart is still pounding, so I suck in some of the cold air to try and calm down as quickly as possible. She stops right inside the door and I look around for a towel to help wipe her off. My insides are screaming in complete chaos, but knowing she’s watching me, I’m trying my damnedest to appear calm.

“Ash?” The quiet sound of her voice is like an electric shock to my heart. I turn to face her, her expression full of pain and embarrassment. I did this to her and I feel horrible. “Can I please use your bathroom?”

“Of course, it’s this way.” I turn and she follows as I walk through the living room and to the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. This house is a four-bedroom and each one has its own bathroom. I start to lead her to the room next to mine, but Juliet left a few things behind last time she was here, so I pick the one across the hall.

“I’ll be in the living room when you’re ready. Don’t rush; take your time.” I slow my words hoping they calm her some.

Blue eyes blink back at me before she nods her head and closes the door.

Letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in, my forehead leans against the wall next to her door. I wanted to see her again, but certainly not like this, and now here she is in my house and I have no idea what to do. Running my hand over my face, I glance toward Clay’s room. His door is cracked, so I peek in, and see that all of his things are gone.

Last night he mentioned getting on the road early, but I didn’t expect it to be quite this early. There’s a sheet of paper lying in the middle of the bed, “Call you in a few.” Interestingly, the idea of him calling me doesn’t stress me out—like it would have last week—it makes me feel more like things are slowly getting back to normal. I’m not real sure what normal is yet, but being a recluse locked up in the mountains doesn’t have the same appeal now as it did leaving Phoenix.

Dropping the paper back on the bed, I head for my room to change. I’m covered in dirt too. Slipping on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and an athletic pullover, I grab an extra for Ava. She’s even dirtier than I am and it’s chilly outside.

The house is quiet as I walk back through to the kitchen. Whiskey is sitting by his dishes waiting patiently for breakfast. Tossing him some food and giving him some water, I turn around and find Ava watching me and looking very cautiously at Whiskey.

She’s washed her face, and attempted to tidy her hair, but it’s the stress lines around her red eyes that let me know she’s in a lot of pain.

I grab her a bottle of water out of the refrigerator, open it, and hand her some pain medicine from the cabinet.

“Here, take a few of these. Who knows how long it will be before they can prescribe you something?”

A flash of relief passes over her eyes and she doesn’t even hesitate.

“I also grabbed you a clean shirt. Not sure if you want it or not, but it’s here.” I glance toward the shirt on the counter and her eyes follow. She bites down on her lower lip, looking at the shirt, then at me.

“Will you help me change?” Embarrassment stamps her face and I grin at her. She has no idea how much I’d like to help her change. Part of me wants to be flirty and say, “I thought you’d never ask,” but I already know she’d run right out the door. Her eyebrows furrow and little wrinkles form just over her nose. “Why are you smiling at me?”

“Just because. I mean, how hard was it for you to ask me that?” I’m teasing her and her face relaxes a little.

“Really hard,” she huffs and my grin stretches into a smile.

Moving closer to her, I keep my eyes locked on hers. For a brief second, there’s fear, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m close to her or if it’s because she’s worried about her arm.

“Bend over for me.” She does and I take the hem of her pullover on her lower back and pull so it comes up and over her head. Once it’s over her head, she shrugs her good arm out of it and then carefully removes the other. Her injured wrist looks terrible. On the outside, there’s a bump about the size of a lime and it’s already turning nasty colors. Looking away from her injury, I take her in from head to toe.

She’s wearing some type of workout tank top that hugs her perfectly, almost like second skin, and she looks so tiny. Tiny and hot! Her arms, upper chest, and most of her back is showing. Inwardly, I groan and shift my weight as everything tightens. I could look at her all day, but instead, I drag my eyes back to her face. She’s looking at the ground and her shoulders are hunched inward. Shit, now I feel bad for checking her out; waves of pain and vulnerability are pouring off of her. She’s so uncomfortable, I quickly grab the clean shirt and help her as she slides her arms into it and then back over her head. Slowly, her eyes travel up and lock onto mine. “Thanks.”

In my shirt, she looks amazing, and I’m not ashamed to admit how much I like it.

I give her a small smile and tuck some loose hair behind her ear. “All set?” I ask her.

“I guess so,” she frowns, running her hand over the shirt to smooth it down.

Grabbing my keys, we head for the door.

It takes close to forty-five minutes for us to drive around the lake and across the little town to the urgent care clinic. She’s quiet the entire way, and I can’t say I blame her. At one point I saw her shaking—I wasn’t sure if it was the downfall from the adrenaline or because she was cold, but I turned the heat on anyway. Anything to make her more comfortable.

Once we get to the clinic, I’m happy to see it’s essentially empty. I’ve already inconvenienced her with this and feel like a complete ass.

“How can we help you today?” the check-in nurse says. Ava holds up her arm and pulls the sleeve back. The lady winces at the sight of it. “All righty then, I’ll need you to fill this out, and we’ll call you right back.” She pushes a clipboard toward us.

Ava takes a look at it and frowns. It’s her right arm that’s hurt, her dominant arm, and my heart sinks even more. I take it from the nurse and we make our way over to the waiting room.

“I’ll fill this out for you, and I’m paying, so we don’t need insurance information or anything.”

She tilts her head to look at me. “I don’t mind. It’ll just be a co-pay, and I can submit the paperwork later.”

Angling my body a little more toward her, I lean over so we are eye to eye. “It doesn’t matter; this is my fault.” She bites down on her lip, worrying it as her eyes search mine for something.

“Okay,” she says, still unsure about it. I give her a lopsided smile and her eyes widen.

Shifting the clipboard between us, line by line I begin to ask her personal questions. I learn her last name is Layne, her birthday, her address, that she had an appendectomy when she was fifteen, and she’s allergic to Sulfa antibiotics. It’s awesome getting to know these little details about her, and it makes me want to know everything. Right before turning the clipboard back in, I glance at her address and take a mental picture of it.

Sitting back down next to her, her silence continues as we wait. I want to talk to her, but she’s propped her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

“Ava Layne.” We both look over at the nurse waiting at the door, and we stand together. She looks up at me and the hesitation is written all over her face.

“I’m going with you.” My tone let’s her know I’m not up for arguing. Irritation flares across her face and then it’s gone. I lift my arm to wrap it around her shoulder and she flinches away from me. My heart sinks, so I drop my arm and watch her. I know we haven’t known each other for long, and I know she doesn’t like to be touched, but throwing an arm around someone doesn’t mean anything other than being friendly, and she let me do it earlier.

Leaning up on her toes, I bend down so I can hear her. “This place reminds me of a hospital. I. Hate. Hospitals.” She shrugs her shoulders, attempts giving me a small smile, and then walks to the triage nurse. I follow her, but give her distance too. People who hate hospitals have a reason. I wonder what hers is.

It’s her wrist, not her arm, and it has a pretty sizable crack in it. It’s not broken clean through, so she won’t need to have it pinned, but it’s going to take some time to heal. I thought the silence was bad on the way to the doctor, but this is worse. I don’t know what to say to her, and she’s clearly internalizing her thoughts. Just looking at her, I can’t tell if it’s the pain causing her this stress or something else. She never turns her head to look at me. She just stares out the window, thrumming the fingers on her left hand a mile a minute. There’s no consistent rhythm to the movement, and she doesn’t even seem aware that she’s doing it. I just want to stare at her.

“Do you mind if I use your phone? I need to call my friends.” She’s been so quiet most of the day, I’m startled when she speaks. I look to her face and those blue eyes pin me to the seat, watching me.

“Sure. What’s the number?” I grab my phone out of the center console. “The bluetooth will pick it up.”

“Oh . . . okay. It’s 646-543-2198.” The call connects, ringing echoes through the cab, and is answered on the third ring.

“Hello?” The voice is anxious.

“Hey, Emma, it’s me.” Ava’s voice is nervous, but upbeat. She’s faking this call.

“Oh my God, Av, where are you? Cora and I have been worried sick. All your note said was ‘Heading out . . . see you later.’ Do you know what time it is? We’re supposed to leave for the airport in twenty minutes. Why don’t you have your phone on you? And where are you calling me from. I don’t recognize this number.”

I understand why she’s worried—Ava’s been gone for hours—but the way she’s firing these questions, I grit my teeth together. She’s had a bad enough day already and being badgered by her friend suddenly rubs me the wrong way.

“Listen, I’m not gonna head back with you guys tonight. I’ll catch up with you later in the week.” Ava lets out a sigh.

I sneak a peek at her; Ava’s fingers are moving a mile a minute on her leg. It’s obvious I’m listening to their conversation, but I’m trying to show indifference. Maybe I should have disconnected the bluetooth and let her take this privately.