“Yeah, I'll be fine,” I assure him. He helps me stand up and puts my arm around his shoulders. I take a deep breath as we take our awkward first steps back toward the boathouse, and I realize I'm in for a full hour of being pressed up against him. “You're really sweaty, you know that?” I say with a smile.
“Hey, you better be careful or I might lose my grip,” he replies.
“How high up was I?”
“Probably best not to think about it.”
“That's pretty high.”
“Well, I'm glad you're alright…mostly.”
I don't know if it's the scare from almost falling, or if we're both just tired, but the slow walk back takes place in almost silence. I wish I could think of something to say to break the tension, but having his shirtless body pressed up against me is too much. I can feel our sweat mingling together and our breath syncing along with the rhythm of our footsteps. As we finally sight the parking lot, he stops and moves in front of me, then bends over, looking back at me expectantly. I laugh and lift my bad leg up onto him, and then jump up as he hoists me the rest of the way. He walks with me on his back until we reach the car, then deposits me right next to the passenger side door.
As he jogs around to the driver's side, I turn to look around the parking lot. There are still only a few cars here, and in the corner is a blue sedan with a woman wearing sunglasses behind the wheel. I stare at her for a moment, because with her blonde hair, I thought for a moment that she was my mom. As we make eye contact she quickly looks away, and I hear the car start after a moment. Maybe she was just staring at Nate like the other women we encountered today. Or maybe she's a reporter…Pierce warned the family that there could still be a few hanging around.
“Are you OK to get in by yourself?” Nate asks, rolling down the window.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I reply, snapping back to attention. I open the door and use my left leg to hop into the elevated seat.
“Everything alright?” he asks.
“Yeah, it's fine.”
When we arrive back at the house, Nate basket-carries me straight from the car into the kitchen, gently setting me down on a chair in the breakfast nook. He kneels in front of me and unlaces my shoe, then slips it off and peels my sock off.
“Can you wiggle your toes?” I move them back and forth. “And now really slowly move your whole foot around.” I wince as I circle it and pain shoots up through my leg. “I broke my ankle playing lacrosse my junior year, and I don't think that's what this is. Let's ice and wrap it and see how it is tomorrow, or Monday. If it's still bad, I'll take you to the doctor.”
“You know how to wrap it?”
“Hey, when it's not my own hand, I'm pretty good at it.” I watch him take down that same first aid kit from the cabinet and set it down on the floor as he kneels in front of me again. He carefully wraps athletic tape around my ankle and then around the middle of my foot, hooking it around and around until my ankle is firmly stabilized. “OK, let's get you into the den so we can ice it.”
I begin to stand but he bends over and scoops me up again, carrying me through the hallways to the cozy den. He sets me down on the couch and then disappears. I grab a pillow and set it behind my back as I stretch my legs out, marveling at the sudden appearance of Nate's caretaker instincts. He reappears with a Ziploc bag of crushed ice and a glass of water, setting the latter down on the table next to me before lowering the ice down onto my ankle. I shiver as he places it down, and he pulls the throw down from the back of the couch. He grabs one end and unfolds it, then sits on the edge of the couch next to me to lay it over me, tucking the corners in around my body.
I become very aware of my own breathing as he moves over me. I watch his hands as they take the edge of the blanket and tuck it around my shoulders. His right hand moves slowly from the blanket onto the exposed skin of my neck. I hold my breath as he lightly runs his fingertips up onto my jaw, then over to my chin. With his thumb and forefinger, he gently tilts my head up until I look at him. He's staring at my mouth, and only pauses for a moment before he bends down.
“Please don't,” I whisper as he's just inches away from kissing me. “If you don't want anything more, it's just cruel.”
“What if I do want something more?” he says, his dark blue eyes flicking up to mine.
“More…” I repeat, rolling the word around my tongue. “What kind of more?”
“I've never felt about someone the way I feel about you. I've tried fighting that feeling, I've tried reasoning with it, but it just keeps getting stronger. I have to give in—I need to. I can't tell you I know exactly what this will look like…I've never done anything like it. But I promise you that when I'm with you, I'll be with only you. And I want you to be with only me.”