East of Redemption (Love on the Edge #2) (14 page)

He stopped talking abruptly, shaking his head like he could rid himself of the dizziness most likely causing him to walk like he’d had half a bottle of whiskey.

“Did you find anything worthwhile?” I asked, electing to avoid the heart-wrenching discussion I knew I wanted to have. He clearly didn’t want to open up about it, and I wouldn’t push him unless I felt it would help him. I’d always assumed he’d seen, at least in part, what had happened to my father, and I was dying to know exactly what caused his death, but seeing something like that had to wage a war on Easton’s psyche. One I wasn’t sure I could ever save him from, but I sure as hell wanted to.

Before he’d found me in South Africa, I thought I was fine with never seeing him again. Never knowing what really happened to him, or what occurred on that day. But now that he was back in my life I couldn’t imagine not at least
trying
to connect with him like we used to.

“Proof of ancient life . . . vases with traces of scented oils, jars with crystalized honey remains, that sort of thing. Nothing worthy enough to put on the show, so I kept it to myself. I’d always planned to keep Israel off the show’s radar, something about this place . . .” Easton’s too big eyes scanned the mountainside around us, the trees packed so tightly together we had to constantly maneuver around them. “It’s always felt like
his
. And I never wanted to take anything from him.”

I grabbed the trunk of the tree in my path, the rough bark stinging my bandaged palm, and stepped around it. “You can let him go, you know.”

He halted dead in his tracks, and I froze, surveying his stance in case he was about to pass out.

“Easton?” I asked after he hadn’t spoken in several long breaths. He just stood there, his hand on his chest, and the other leaning him up against a thick tree trunk. “Does your chest hurt?”

“How could you say that?” His voice was barely a whisper. I took a step closer to him, the entire area filled with the scent of dirt, tree sap, and the fresh, crisp air.

I took his hand. “Because it’s true. He wouldn’t want you living your life the way you are . . . closed off, angry, and fighting demons in your sleep. I don’t know what happened to you, but I know enough that my father would want you to
live
. Not just survive.”

His eyes looked like they might shine over with tears, if he had enough water left in his body to do so. The realization renewed my insistence that we keep moving, and I tugged on him once again.

After a long, silent hike, I noticed his steps had become wobblier than they had moments before. I forced him against an outcropping of rock that stuck out from the mountainside, tangled with trees and roots trying to claim it. He sank down reluctantly.

“Have to keep moving,” he said despite already sitting on the rock.

“Where is it? I’ll go, and you can make camp.”

“That would be cheating.”

“No it wouldn’t.” I clenched my fingers to keep from smacking him. Why would he do this to himself over and over again? “You could’ve easily been stranded with another person, and then have said person fetch you water from a nearby source.”

He pushed off the rock, a wince contorting his face, like the small movement hurt every part of his body. It made
my
chest hurt. “Let’s go.”

He left no room for more of my argument. I gripped the straps of my pack tighter. “Fine.”

The path he walked took up a zigzag pattern, and I forced my shoulder against his as we moved, silently supporting his insane need to go at everything alone. I know the show had its rules, but this was ridiculous. How could an audience enjoy watching him suffer so much?

“How many people do you think you’ve saved?” I asked, trying to keep him talking. He kept closing his eyes and shaking his head back and forth like he might fall asleep at any moment.

“I’ve never saved anyone.”

“Sure you have. The survival skills you teach on this show? You’re superinformative, and you always pair it with visual demonstrations. If any of your viewers found themselves alone in a dangerous environment, they’d have more to go on than those who don’t watch it. You give them a shot at survival.”

“That was the idea when this all started.” His speech slurred like he’d had a few drinks too many. “Expose people to history through my finds, and save lives to make up for the one I couldn’t.”

I slipped my arm underneath his, pressing all of my weight into helping him keep upright. “What are you talking about?” Dad’s face flashed behind my eyes, but I shook my head. Easton couldn’t possibly blame himself for Dad’s death—he’d fallen—how exactly I still didn’t know—but it could happen to anyone exploring an ancient, uncharted cave like they had been.

A jagged sigh escaped Easton’s lips, and I caught his focused gaze on the area about twenty yards ahead of us. “There it is.” He pointed to the stream I could see flowing down the side of the mountain, pooling in a wide gap on the ground, before shooting down the other side of the rock.

The flow was continuous, and one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. I looked up at Easton, smiling, two seconds before his eyes shut and his legs went slack. His weight doubled as he came down so quick the grip I had on his arm slipped, and despite my efforts, he was too heavy to stop from falling. I merely slowed his decent.

I flinched at the sound of his body hitting the muddy ground, and quickly dropped my pack. My heart raced as I rolled him onto his back, checking his pulse to make sure it was steady. The slow thud against my fingers as I pressed underneath his jaw was only slightly comforting. Instinct shouted at me to unscrew a water bottle from my pack and force it down his throat, but the voice in my head—which sounded exactly like Easton’s—had me denying that urge.

I huffed, totally hating the restriction these “rules” put on reviving him and fueling the panic pulsing through my blood worse than when I’d been an inch away from that terrifying snake. Scooping my hands under both his armpits, I dug my boots into the ground and heaved, using my legs to propel us backward. My muscles seared as I dragged him, step by step, until we reached the stream.

I let him go and dug through his pack, rapidly searching for anything I could use to pour water into. The damn thing wasn’t very stacked in way of supplies, naturally, but I managed to find an empty bottle with no lid, and scrambled to the edge of the stream. I filled the thing to the brim, the icy-cool water tightening the skin of my hand as I submerged it.

Stray droplets hit Easton’s face as I sank to my knees next to him, but he didn’t stir. My stomach plummeted and my fingers trembled as I lifted his head to bring the water to his lips. I only wet them, allowing the tiniest of sips to slip between them. He still didn’t move.

I sank backward, sighing. Of course I’d known the odds of a simple drink waking him right up were slim to none, but it didn’t mean I didn’t hope for it.

I wiped my cold, wet hand across his forehead and the back of his neck, repeating the process on the insides of his wrists. His breathing was steady, and his eyes moved back and forth behind his closed lids. Beyond dumping the entire contents of the bottle on his face, or slapping him, he wouldn’t rouse until his overexhausted body wanted him to.

I lightly smacked his cheek.

Nothing.

It was worth a shot
.

I sighed and set the bottle down, putting my mind to task in order to distract myself from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I’d only been with him for a few days, and already he had pushed me to the brink of insanity—fearing for my own life and his—all in a matter of hours. If this wasn’t what drew ratings, I didn’t have a clue what would.

A quick scan of the area allowed me to see this would be the perfect place to make camp, so I got to work. It didn’t take long to pop my tent into place, hugging the wall of the mountain with the free-flowing stream just to the right of it. I contemplated building something for Easton, but I knew when he woke, he’d need to eat almost as badly as he needed to drink.

And the stream gave me high hopes of finding something for his supper, since animals were drawn to the source as any other living creature would be. I fished out the knife I kept tucked inside my boot and flipped out the blade. I sharpened it on the regular, and it had never let me down before.

“You stay there and rest,” I said to Easton, holding my free hand out to him. “I’ll find you something to eat.” I leaned over and scooped up his hat that I’d knocked off while wetting his forehead, and then aimed his still-recording camera at my face. I held the blade in view of the lens. “I’m going to hunt down something for him to eat. That may be against the rules, but not as against the rules if I gave him one of the MREs I have in my bag. I’m compromising with you because I know if he were awake, he’d insist on killing something with his bare hands to show you how to make the most out of a terrible situation. He’s indisposed at the moment,” I pointed the camera toward him, “clearly. And I refuse to let him lie there only to wake up without sustenance. Give me a break and go with it, okay? I promise to use the same method he would, and if you’re asking yourself how I would know what he’d do . . . trust me. I’ve known him more than half my life.
I
know.”

I set his camera back down and tapped the lens above my head. “Taking you with me now. Let’s go grab our boy some grub.”

Swallowing hard, I slowly walked away from Easton, keeping the stream in my sights as a marker. I hoped talking to the camera was enough to get him out of trouble, if he would be in any. The idea of which baffled me, but I pressed on. He would be up shit creek if I hadn’t been on this mission with him, and yet I supposed he might not have been so exhausted if he hadn’t had to save me, hauling my full weight up the side of the mountain with just a rope after I’d fallen.

Well great. Now I feel even worse.

I stood extremely still when I came to a tight crop of trees and listened. There was a skittering movement against the bark of an overturned tree within my reach, and I slowed my breathing. I could do this. I’d had to do it on more than one occasion. Killing to survive was part of the gig, but I’d only done it when absolutely necessary—like when my Jeep had broken down in the middle of the African Bush a few years ago.

The steps I took were nearly silent as I tried to become weightless. Inch by inch, I leaned over the massive trunk of the fallen tree, discovering the source of the sound.

Damn it all to hell.

Of course the bird had to be beautiful, its feathers a rich brown with stripes of fire-orange, and a yellow and black head with wicked eyebrows that made it look like it had horns. Its nest was on the ground and snuggled up nicely to the tree. The image of Easton and his deteriorating health forced my hand to come down hard, sinking my blade right between the bird’s “horns.”

Tears sprang behind my eyes. “God, you’re a big baby!” I chided myself. I held the still-twitching bird between my fingertips. With a closer glance it looked like a member of the lark family, which made perfect sense with its nest being on the ground. I made sure to check the nest for eggs, but it was empty. “Maybe you were lonely and wanted to die. I hate to kill you, friend, but someone really important to me needs to eat. Survival and all that.”

I sucked in a deep breath and wiped my blade on my thigh, cleaning off most of the blood. By the time I reached Easton, who still lay in an almost peaceful state on the ground, I had composed myself—successfully convincing my guilty conscience that Easton was worth whatever amount of sin I had to commit in order to keep him alive.

The notion hit me in the center of my chest as I gathered dry sticks and brush to build a fire.
What
wouldn’t
I do for Easton?
Even now, after all this time, all the painful years of never knowing what had happened to him, what had made him leave me so coldly . . . I would still move this fucking mountain for him if I had to.

Damn. I still love him.

I never stopped. And now, in light of the recent near-death experience, and the pressures of the threats around every corner of this rock, it burned stronger than it ever had before. Flashes of a future I had once thought was set in stone—pictures of him at the stove making us Saturday morning pancakes, or him chasing around a daughter with his confidence and my hair—pulsed on repeat in my mind.

Damn.

I tried to rebuild the wall around my heart I’d constructed after he’d left me without a reason. He certainly hadn’t torn down his, despite my efforts, and had only given me tiny glimpses of what he really wanted in desperate times before raising it again so high and hard I couldn’t break through.

Well, I would. And he couldn’t stop me.

“I know Easton prefers to use the hand friction method to start fires, but I’m going to show you a trick my dad taught me.” I unlaced the shoe string from my boot and tied it to both ends of a flexible stick I picked out for this purpose. Grabbing a thicker stick, and the softball-sized rock I’d brought from beside the stream, I set the end of the stick against a wider piece of bark I’d laid my brush on. I wrapped the string around the stick, and set the rock on top of one end, positioning the bottom of the stick directly above the tinder. “This is the bow method, and it’s the easiest of the extremely hard methods of starting fires without useful tools like matches and lighters.” I sawed back and forth, causing the center stick to spin rapidly. “Obviously this takes energy and time.” I cut my eyes to Easton, my stomach rolling with his lack of movement. “This also serves as a really great distraction—as I worry more and more about Easton—at least I’m actively doing something.” Now I didn’t know if I was talking to myself more than the camera or just rambling in attempt to keep the panic at bay. “I’m hoping he’s not waking because of exhaustion, and not dehydration.”

My breaths came in exerted huffs as I continued sawing. It wore my bicep out, making it feel like I ripped my muscles in half. I kept at it, though, because I honestly didn’t know what else to do. As the sun slowly set, I knew I couldn’t wait much longer before I tried extreme measures to wake him up.