Page 87 of Work It Out
Just like she belonged to him.
What a strangely freeing thought. He knew what she’d been through, had seen all her ugliest parts, and he wanted her anyway. Not just her body but her heart and soul, too. He respected her, had faith in her. He’d literally let her carry him when he needed her, and she knew without a doubt he’d do the same for her in every sense. She wanted nothing more in life than to be right here in this moment—in this crazy little town, in this stupid medical tent that would’ve been too much to bear a month ago—because that’s where he was.
Rayah watched, but no pain flashed across her best friend’s face when she claimed Jake, no worry or pity. Blaine merely grinned and whispered, “Give him hell, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of her head in a brotherly fashion and left.
She found Doc sitting on a stool in front of Jake, pulling the shoe off his bad foot and making Jake grimace. He stretched it this way and that, watching for signs of pain and pushing at the bones to check for breaks. He asked a few questions about what happened and how things felt. Jake replied in a soft, calm voice. It was all so normal, so mundane. For once she didn’t see herself on the table, big hands in places they shouldn’t be. Progress.
“Just a sprain.” Doc shed the plastic gloves with twin snaps. “It’ll likely be fine once you get warmed up. Damn cold is hell on a body, but your connective tissue really hates it. Since the swelling is bilateral, it’s probably more water retention from the POTS than anything injury related. If it doesn’t go down soon or the pain gets worse, we’ll take some x-rays.” He gathered a few supplies, then waved a dismissive hand. “Rayah knows what to watch for. You don’t need crutches. I would just wrap it, but I’ve got a boot in the car that’ll make things easier for you. Be right back.” He ducked out of the tent.
Jake sighed. Apparently, he hadn’t been as calm as she’d thought. Her eyes narrowed. “How bad is the pain? Do you need x-rays?”
“It’s not that.” He grimaced. “This will sound terrible, but I really hate medical stuff.” He met her gaze, his own serious. “I mean, it’s nothing like what you went through. Plus, you’d think I’d be used to it by now, considering my condition and the fact that my dad’s a doctor. I don’t mind going to hospitals to visit people or whatever, but I make the worst patient. I blame the tilt-table study. That was some traumatic shit.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Seriously.” He took her hand and drew her closer. “The goal is to see how fast they can make you pass out. How effed up is that?”
“Very.” She was close enough that his heat warmed her skin.
“It’s easier with you here, and not just because I get to stare at my boobs and remember the way you squeezed my ass while you were carrying me.” He wrapped an arm around her waist.
“They’re my breasts, mister. When they hurt your back, then you can claim them.”
He sighed. “I guess you’ll have to rest them on my shoulders. Or I could hold them for you. It could be a full-time position: Boobie Bearer.” He lifted one.
She swatted his hand away. Doc would be back any second. “Again I say, you’re nuts. You know that, right?”
“You love my nuts.”
“That don’t seem fair.” Doc stepped back into the tent, medical boot in hand. “You scolded me for giving the boys a little air, but youlovehis.” He shook his head and plopped down on the stool at the foot of the exam table. “I’d never pegged you for an ageist. And after I made sure you two went to Sedona together.”
Rayah’s cheeks heated, but Jake hooted. “You ornery, manipulative old fart. You were playing matchmaker.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. She supposed she did owe him. Just not enough to let him go commando in her gym. Maybe she’d buy him a pair of compression shorts.
Wrapping Jake’s ankle and strapping him into a boot didn’t take long. Still, by the time they exited the med tent, most of the town had once again gathered in the clearing. “The Hunt’s over already?” Rayah asked as she joined the group from Explosion.
“There’s a storm rolling in.” Samuel nodded toward the rapidly darkening sky. “Radar looks pretty wicked.”
Oh, no. If Pierce’s glare and the tic in Samuel’s jaw were any indication, she should’ve followed her instincts and stayed close to them. Even as the thought entered her mind, Grace covertly smacked Pierce’s arm and hissed something at him that had him wiping the glare off his face, replacing it with a sullen pout. Huh.
“Told you she’d handle them,” Jake breathed against her ear as he slipped his arms around her, pulling her back to his chest. She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. When he held her like this, she didn’t much care what the others were up to.
Zandar stood at the front of the group on a small platform, microphone at the ready. “Thank you all for our most successful Hunt yet.” A smattering of applause and a few whoops filled the air. He grinned like the leader of the nutjobs that he was while he waited for the crowd to quiet. “Though this year’s Hunt did present the award committee with one problem: how to choose a winner. You see,” he said stroking his thick mustache, “our biggest crystal came from Blaine and Grace.” Blaine threw his fists in the air like a prizefighter. Grace looked like she’d happily crawl under the nearest rock and not come out for a year. When Blaine grabbed her wrist and threw her arm in the air, too, she looked like maybe a jail cell would suit better than a rock. “However,” Zandar said over the resulting roar, “another group rescued the wily prize.” He bent down and picked up Hogrid, earning a disgruntled squeal.
Silence reigned for a shocked moment as everyone took in the appearance of the punk rock piglet, followed by laughter and more applause. As if the little bugger knew he was what they were all making such a fuss about, Hogrid preened, sticking his piggy snout in the air and tossing his restored mohawk from side to side.
“But,” Zandar continued, “I think we’ve reached a good solution. This year’s prize—the fine, young Hogrid—goes to the team at Explosion!”
Jake laughed his fool head off. “Looks like you got a new mascot, cupcake.”
Through it all, the reporter from their hike up the hill snapped one picture after another. Then she started working the crowd, asking questions and occasionally pointing toward Rayah and Jake. After Zandar’s announcement, she fell in step behind him and headed their way.
“Blaine said she tried to come into the med tent earlier,” Samuel told her quietly. “She recognized Jake, but she wanted to know who you were. She says she’s doing a piece on fall festivals in Arizona. It’s probably true, but she had that glimmer in her eye, like she’d stumbled on a gold mine, so I looked her up.” Samuel was surprisingly media-savvy for someone who didn’t have a single account on any platform. Of course, that was probably why he didn’t. There was quite the streak of paranoia in her friend. “She writes small-time articles for a dying paper, but her writing’s decent. A piece on the two of you could be exactly what she needs to break through. Watch yourself.”
But that was just it. She was so tired of watching herself. Moreover, she had nothing to hide. First rule of therapy: take ownership of your own actions, but only your own. What had been done to her wasn’t her fault. Besides, the reporter had surely weaseled Rayah’s name out of someone by now. The trial had been a few years ago, but it was fresh enough that some people remembered. For those who didn’t, any number of search engines would fill in the gaps within a few pages.
She’d known it would come to this. Privacy was an illusion under the best circumstances and not even that when you were famous. Or dating someone famous.
