Told ya he was just like Maxine.
“Don’t wait around for the world to let you fit in; make space for yourself.” He glances over at me, those emerald eyes of his enhanced by the reflection of the sun on the water and the backdrop of brown and green from the forest. He fits in out here, and, even though I still wouldn’t consider myself a hiker, I feel like I might fit in out here, too. That’s the best thing about nature; we all fit into it if we let ourselves. “Don’t ask for permission; own your space. Take it. If you make sure you’re comfortable with yourself, you’ll fit in wherever you are.” There’s a pause as I bite my lip and turn back to the waterfall. It really is stunning. I mean, it’s no Niagara Falls or anything, but it’s impressive anyway, and the best part is, there’s nobody else around. “As far as Tess goes …” Maxx sits up straight and puts his hands on the thighs of his fancy hiking pants. “She really is a good person, but she gets caught up in her head sometimes.” He quirks a bit of a smile and flicks his gaze to me. “And I know this is going to sound crazy since we’ve spent all of twelve total hours together, but … I think you and Tess are more similar than you think. Based on how much Maxine talks about you, it feels like I know you. You have the same quirks.” He reaches out and taps me in the center of the forehead, and I frown.
Am I like Tess? I feel like we’re oil and water. She’s harsh and critical and controlling. If she were more like her books, I might think we were birds of a feather.
“Don’t obsess over it, just … try to lean in.” Maxx unzips his backpack and tosses me a towel (the dude thinks of everything). “You should dry off and we can get moving again.”
Even though the idea of hiking back the way we just came makes me feel stabby … I like Maxx’s advice. It’s the best, most encouraging advice I’ve gotten from anyone thus far. I owe Maxine a serious thank you for lending me her boyfriend today.
A serious fucking thank you.
On the way back, my tired ass misses a rock on the path, and I end up sprawled on my hands and knees, cursing and bleeding. Maxx is there in an instant, squatting down and helping me into a sitting position. He takes my hands in his and then curses under his breath. He then magics a first-aid kit from his backpack and efficiently and quickly cleans my wounds.
“It’s not all that bad,” I mutter, but I can’t seem to gather the strength to pull my hands away from him. “Guess you’re getting started early on that sports medicine career, huh?”
Maxx chuckles at me again, smoothing antibacterial ointment onto my palms and then tucking away his supplies again.
“Practice makes perfect,” he says, standing up and then holding out a hand to help me. “I’ve got to get those ten thousand hours in.”
“Pretty sure I have ten thousand gaming hours in already. Do you think I could go pro?” I accept Maxx’s help, ignoring the throbbing in my ankle until I try to put weight on it and find myself collapsing again. Like a boss, Maxx catches me before I hit the ground.
“Did you sprain your ankle?” he asks, so close, almost too close. I feel like I’m betraying Maxine somehow by having his hand on my arm.
“No, I’m okay … I think.” I carefully withdraw my arm and then try out one step. Another. It fucking hurts, but I’m almost too nervous to admit it. A quick glance at my Fitbit shows me that we’ve walked about four miles total, meaning we have two left. Two miles, on a bum ankle. Fantastic.
“Mm, I think not.” Maxx squats down and lifts the leg of my pants, examining my ankle with probing fingers. Each time he touches me, it hurts, even though he’s being gentle. “You sprained it pretty badly, Kota.”
Kota.
Being called by my childhood nickname is therapeutic for me.
I exhale sharply.
“Find me a stick to use as a crutch?” I offer, but Maxx is already turning around and bending low in front of me.
“Hop on.” He glances back over his shoulder and catches sight of what must be a fairly skeptical expression on my part. “I’m majoring in athletic training, remember? This is what I was built for. Climb on, I’ve got this.”
“You can’t carry me for two miles …” I start, but he’s already gesturing at me to climb on again.
“Trust me: I’ve got this.”
I ignore him for a moment, testing my ankle again before I realize with a sharp pang that I’m not going to be able to make it the rest of the way back unless I crawl. Or hop. Yeah, I could probably hop …
