Roughing It

29. Blakely

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

blakely

I blink my eyes open, but the world looks wrong. Off. Tilted.

Shit.

Why does everything hurt? A steady throbbing radiates from my right shoulder to my left hip. There’s white dust all over my clothes. Mud and an acrid chemical scent fill my nose, along with the coppery tinge of blood.

What the hell happened?

Then, like a nightmare unfolding, I remember. The fight. A flicker of tawny fur darting across the road from the treeline. Hudson yelling my name. His arm holding me in place as the Jeep spins. His arm falling away. The crunch of metal crumpling as it battles rocks and trees. Blissful silence.

Wait. His arm falling away.

With a shaky hand, I swipe at my eyes, trying to figure out what I’m seeing. Out my window are trees. Towering trees. And a hint of sky.

The shattered windshield fractures and distorts everything in front of me, like looking through a kaleidoscope of mud and underbrush .

And to my left is…

A whimper slips from my mouth. Hudson lays slumped over in his seat, his leg bent at an awkward angle. I’ve spent thirty days with this man; he’s not into yoga.

“H-Hudson?” No answer.

I cough, doing my best to dispel the itchy powder coating my throat and lungs. “Hudson!” My voice is scratchy. Louder than before, but he doesn’t respond.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” I mutter over and over, the word morphing into a frantic mantra as I reach for him. Or try to. I’m trapped, my seatbelt doing its job—to the point of pain—holding tight across my torso. The pressure on my shoulder and chest makes getting air almost impossible. Although, that could be the impending panic attack.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Think, Blakely. Think.”

My hands flit around me until I get my brain online enough to pat my seat in a desperate search for my phone. But it’s gone.

I force myself to inhale for four and exhale for five, then five and six, then six and seven. Once I’m no longer seeing spots, I unlatch my seatbelt. Which— duh, dumbass— means I crash into an unconscious Hudson.

“Shit. Sorry, Bear.” He doesn’t move or react to my weight pressing against him, including against his it-should-not-be-facing-that-direction leg. “Why am I talking? You can’t hear me. Right? If this is some last day of wilderness training hazing, it’s not funny. Or the silent treatment because of our fight?”

Panic sinks its claws deeper, dread slithering in alongside it. I have no idea where we are. My phone is missing in action. I’m sitting on top of an injured Hudson. Shit, shit, shit.

Snaking a finger under his chin, I press against the pulse point in his neck. “Don’t you dare be—” my whimper cuts off my words. I can’t. I can’t .

But then, there’s a soft blub under my thumb. Then another. “Thank fuck.” I press a kiss to his temple. “I was going to be so mad at you if you left me here.” Brushing dark hair out of his eyes, I whisper, “Dying is no way to win a fight, you asshole.”

When he doesn’t answer, I crawl into the trunk space, sitting with my suitcases. I take a moment to scream and cry. I rage at the universe, the cosmos, the ether, a variety of deities. Myself. Hudson. No one is spared during my tirade.

And then I get to work.

I check Hudson’s pulse again—more for myself than anything else. Feeling the steady thump calms my own thready heart. Bracing myself between our seats, I dig in the glove box and thank the stars Hudson is who he is. The emergency kit hidden away helps move the task of me getting Hudson out of the Jeep and somewhere safe from outright impossible to merely implausible.

Choking back the urge to curl up next to my Bear and cry—again—I steel my nerves. Carefully, I pop the passenger door open, relieved when it stays, rather than swinging back and bashing me in the head. With our exit point ready, I take three deep breaths.

Closing my eyes, I release Hudson’s seat belt latch. The only positive about the Jeep lying on his side is that he doesn’t shift. Stabilizing myself as best I can, I slide my arms under his and maneuver him out from behind the wheel.

“Fucking hell, Hudson, you weigh a ton,” I grunt as I try and fail to move him. Another handful of futile tugs and the dread I’m battling morphs into full-blown panic.

Why did this happen? I can’t leave him here alone. Not when he’s not awake. But I’m not strong enough to rescue us. Hudson is the strong one. Physically. Emotionally.

He’s the one who has the skills to get us home safely. The one who always knows what to do.

The one who wanted to talk things out and begged me to stay.

I’m the screw-up. The one no one sees or wants, who has to hide who I am for people to like me. The one too scared to stay when it’s all I want. A useless mess.

My mother’s alcohol and time-ravaged face flashes in my mind. Her sneer. Her taunts. Ignoring me unless she can embarrass me or belittle me. Her attempts to weasel and con her way back into the new life I made for myself.

All my failures.

I can’t navigate. I can’t tie a knot. I can’t take care of myself. How the hell am I supposed to save us?

Hudson stirs and lets out a soft moan. The quiet noise stops the runaway mine train of intrusive thoughts in their tracks. It’s the first sound he’s made since screaming my name while the Jeep crumpled around us. The pain lacing through that single sound has me fighting off a matching sob.

I have to be strong. For him. For myself. Be the Blakely, the Blake Lee, he sees and loves. Because he does. Love me. See me.

Throwing my shoulders back and lifting my chin—in the best approximation of a power pose I can do while squatting in a tipped-over Jeep—I manifest safety. Success.

Delulu is the solulu, right?

“I’m Blakely Bradshaw. I’m not a spoiled princess. I’m a self-made one. And that means I can do hard things. Hudson believes it, and it’s time I stop letting him down.” My pep talk gives me a boost, and in some mother-lifting-a-car-off-her-kid moment, I haul his hefty ass out the door. Except I’m me, which means he tumbles out the side and onto the wet earth below.

“Ohmyfuckinggod. ”

The fall isn’t far, but it doesn’t stop the alarm bells shrieking in my head, reminding me of things like spinal injuries and traumatic brain injury and a thousand other things I’m not remotely equipped to handle. I scramble out the Jeep door with all the grace of a drunk elephant, landing on my knees amongst the slippery pine needles.

Crawling to where he lays, I make him as comfortable as I can. He groans when I straighten his bent leg, but his eyes flutter open. “Blakely.” My name comes out a gruff croak.

“Bear, you scared the shit out of me. If you weren’t hurt, I’d smack you,” I say as I pepper his face with gentle kisses.

“Are you okay?” He slurs his words, and his pupils are giant, but at least he’s awake and talking. Of course, the first thing he’s worried about is me. Not his injuries. Me. Because that’s who Hudson is.

Almost losing him—the possibility of losing him still—chills my heart. My fingers tremble with the need to touch him. To prove to my lizard brain he’s here. I skim my lips over his, a buss of a kiss. “A few bumps and bruises, terrified beyond belief, and relieved you’re awake.” As I speak, flashes of pain twist his handsome features. There’s a large bruise forming on his forehead and his leg… even though I straightened it, it’s not lying right.

His normally golden skin is pale, and sweat beads on his hairline. I don’t know much about shock, but if I was betting, I’d say he’s close to it. But Hudson, being Hudson, raises his hand to cradle my cheek. “Never forgive myself if something happens to you. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“My fault.” His lids lower, and his hand drops away.

Shit.

“Hudson, stay awake. Please, Bear, I need you to stay with me. ”

He doesn’t respond, so I pat his cheek. When that doesn’t work, the pat gains a little more force. It works, and his eyes lock onto mine.

Everything in me wants to crawl into his arms and let him comfort me, but this time, I have to be the comforter. The caretaker.

Smoothing his hair, I murmur, “First, this isn’t your fault. It was an accident. Your arm kept my head from smashing into the dashboard. Hear me?”

His eyes crinkle. The Hudson to human translator I’ve picked up over the past month tells me this is his way of saying he hears me.

“Second, does anything else hurt? Third, tell me what to do.” The last is a plea. I need him to stay awake long enough to get us out of here.

A smirk tugs at his lips before twisting into a grimace. “Knew you could follow orders.” His nostrils flare, and the war he’s waging against showing me how hurt he is plays on his face. “Splint. Stretcher. Cabin.” He grits out each word.

Cabin. There’s no way I can get us to the cabin. Even with Hudson at a hundred percent, I couldn’t navigate us back. But that’s future Blakely’s problem. Now Blakely has enough on her plate.

Hudson’s hand searches for mine. I lace our fingers together and bring them to my lips. “I’m going to take care of you, Bear.”

My mouth is dry, and my chest aches as I run through the massive list of things he’s taught—or tried to teach—me over the last thirty days: the first aid lessons, the basics of securing a campsite, and surviving overnight in the wild.

Fuck.

I climb back into the Jeep, snagging the emergency kit and my suitcases. After a lot of shoving and cussing, I get them out. I dig through one bag, then another, searching for painkillers. It’s over-the-counter stuff, but anything is better than nothing. Grabbing all the leggings and long-sleeved shirts I brought, and a flannel I stole from Hudson, I hurry back to him.

I’m only gone a couple of minutes, but even in that small amount of time, he’s worse. Struggling to stay awake. His breathing sawing in and out. He never answered my question about being hurt anywhere else.

I drop next to him, supplies in hand. “Open your eyes. I have some medicine for you.”

Carefully, I help him sit up, once again thankful for Hudson’s preparedness. Cracking open the bottle of water, I do my best to pour water into his mouth, followed by several of the painkillers. “I know you’re sleepy, but please, stay with me. I need you. Okay?”

The nod is almost imperceptible, but it’s there.

“I have a knife and rope. What else do I need?”

“Branches.”

I tip a little more water into his mouth and chase it with a kiss. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He huffs out a brittle laugh, but I’ve never heard a more beautiful sound. I pop two of the ibuprofen before draping the flannel over him and using my softest leggings to create a makeshift pillow. With one last kiss, I go branch hunting.

The good news about crashing the Jeep where we did is that branches abound. I collect a variety. Small brittle ones that will make good kindling, medium-sized ones I can use to fortify the fire, and large sturdy ones to help brace his leg and make a shelter.

It takes several trips back and forth until I have a sizable pile. Each time I come back to the Jeep, I talk to Hudson. He responds, though his words are getting progressively slower and garbled.

“Bear, walk me through this. We need to get your leg set.”

Hudson’s hands tremble, and his freckles stand out in stark contrast to the pallid pallor of his skin. Fighting for each word, he says, “Use the knife.” He pauses, his breathing labored. “Cut my pants from the ankle up.”

I do as he directs, careful not to cut him or myself. I brace myself for blood and bone, but blessedly, it’s only bruised and swollen.

Swallowing, I look at him. “What next?”

But he doesn’t answer.

“No, Bear. Don’t fall asleep.”

He grunts and grumbles. “Branch. Tie. You can do?—”

His words fade, and the fears I held at bay while he was awake come roaring back. No amount of love taps or shaking rouses him, but he is breathing easier, so I convince myself rest is what he needs.

Grabbing two branches, I set them on either side of his leg. Surely, I can figure this out. “I have to attach the sticks to you somehow. Right?” I crane my head so I can see his face, but there’s no guidance there. “I’m taking your silence as a yes.”

Using the knife and my teeth—Dr. Holly would have my head on a platter if she knew, but a seriously injured boyfriend trumps orthodontia—I take one of my shirts and cut and rip it into thin strips. I save the rope in case I have to tow him out of here.

I frown at Hudson’s sleeping form. I refuse to think of him as being unconscious. “You said stretcher and cabin, but that isn’t happening. Here’s the new plan. You better be listening.” I lean closer, hoping if I’m bratty enough, he’ll wake up and spank me. When he doesn’t stir, I sigh. “I’m going to splint your leg; then I’ll build a shelter and a fire and find some food. You sleep a little longer, but when I’m done with everything, you’re going to wake up and be okay. You hear me, Bear? ”

In my thirty-three years, I’ve had my share of bad. A mother who cared more about drinking and men than me. A mother who withheld love. A moth—okay, a whole heaping pile of Brandee. Dropping out of high school. Being forced out of my hometown as a teen. Never knowing my dad. String after string of fake friends and lovers who saw me as a tool rather than a person.

But all of that—every bad memory, every hungry night, every collected hurt—pales to the idea of losing Hudson.

My throat is thick. “You h-have to be okay.” A series of strangled sobs burst free. “I love you. I w-want to stay with you and b-build a life together. So you c-can’t leave me now.” Tears drip from my eyes to his cheeks, rolling into his beard, little salty shimmers. I drop a kiss to his forehead, wipe my snotty nose with my sleeve, and haul myself to my feet. I have tasks to complete.

Hudson is a man prepared for all kinds of scenarios. It’s like he sat down and thought, Hmmm, what might happen? Oh, I know. Blakely and I will head into town, get in a massive fight, nearly hit a deer, and I’ll be rendered useless. Better make sure she can’t kill us.

The tarp, flint and steel, and additional cordage tucked away in the cargo hold make my to-do list so much easier. My foraging skills lead me to a cache of beef jerky and granola bars, which beats poisonous berries every day of the week.

It takes a handful of hours, a fair amount of swearing, a few crying breaks, and more sweat than I care to admit, but I get everything done.

“Is the shelter a little janky? Yep. Are my knots looser than they should be? Of course. Did I yell at you more than once while trying to drag your ass onto the tarp? You bet,” I prattle at Hudson, not expecting an answer. But my voice echoing off the spindly aspens and pines towering around me is better than the suffocating silence.

“I also built a rock ring and a fire like a boss. Layered my clothes on the tarp to make us a semi-comfortable nest and used an obnoxiously bright dress I didn’t wear to create a marker on the road. This way, on the off chance anyone is looking for us, we’ll be easier to spot.”

Hudson mumbles something and tries to turn onto his side.

I scoot next to him and cradle his shoulders so he can’t move. “Hey, no complaining. While this may not be your level of skill, I did the damn thing. We aren’t dying on my watch.”

He makes another pained sound, and I smother a matching one. I lift his shirt, careful not to jostle him. What I see has my eyes cutting to the sky as I fight off another round of tears. His ribs are black and purple, centralized around his right side. He’s been asleep too long. My bruised body begs for rest, but I can’t fall asleep. Not while he’s passed out. Because if something happens?—

Bile climbs in my throat, but I force it and my rising panic down. It won’t do either of us any good. He’s breathing, he’s stable. We have heat. We have shelter. We’re going to make it.

Snuggling closer to Hudson, I run my fingers over his stomach and chest, trace his handsome face, count every freckle. When the sun sets, I whisper my plans for our future so his dreams will be sweet, while demanding the universe watch over us.

Hudson Brooks is my second second chance, and I’ll be damned if I let anything take him away.