Part 2 (1/2)

”How is that possible?”

”Got a phone on you?”

”No. It's back with my towel.”

”Think you'll survive a trip across the beach again?” There's still amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice, but there's concern too.

”Are you my Uber driver for the day?”

He picks me back up, and I secure my arms around his neck. ”You can pay with a date later.”

”A date?”

”How do you feel about jellyfish cuisine?”

I make a face. ”Not good, honestly.”

”Ah, come on, now. What better way to get revenge on those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds?”

”By eating them?” I cringe, thinking about the slimy little suckers sliding down my throat. Then I consider the rest of the eating process, and suddenly revenge by digestion doesn't sound too bad. ”I guess you might have a point.”

He smirks. ”I have much more than that.”

Chapter 3.

Present Day 2:04 a.m.

I'm in the front seat of the police car. My purse is on my lap. I didn't bring anything else. I didn't even change my clothes.

We've been driving for ten minutes, I think. I'm not sure. I've asked the officer questions, and he answered what he could. But I'm stuck on ”St. Luke's Hospital” and ”found non-responsive.”

A sob swells in my chest, but I hold it in. Somehow, I'm not falling apart on the outside, although my insides are so big they might explode. I rub my arms for warmth. I hadn't realized I was cold.

The officer is quiet now. It's probably better this way. I was unresponsive to what he said, nodding my head to the words I didn't hear clearly. I think he explained the accident, but I've already forgotten the details. I can only focus on one thing at a time.

The highways are empty except for the occasional semi that pa.s.ses. I try to concentrate on the road and the scenery. The broken white line dividing the lanes. The green signs stating the up-coming turn-offs. Streetlights illuminating the way. Anything but the burn in my eyes and the emptiness in my chest.

”Found unresponsive.”

I don't know what that means. Could he not speak? Was he breathing? Was he moving? Was his heart beating?

Oh, G.o.d!

I must've finally let out the sob, because the officer turns to me.

”It'll be all right,” he rea.s.sures me, touching my arm. But how does he know? No one knows that; we only hope. And right now, hope isn't good enough. I have to see Maverick for myself.

The officer doesn't understand. Mav's been my rock. He rescued me from myself. Mav, my Mav, he owns me.

My heart grows heavier, pressing against my ribs.

”Can you pull over, please?”

”Of course,” the officer answers.

The car slows down and moves to the side of the road. I'm unbuckled before we've stopped completely. A moment later, I throw open the door and vomit.

Chapter 4.

Cancun, Mexico 27 Months Ago Turns out, urine isn't the best thing for jellyfish stings.

By the time we reach Finley, the pain is so intense, I'm close to screaming. I can't take it any longer. I need something for it, and I need it now. The lady from before is here, along with someone in a red polo. Probably a medic from the resort.

”Lay her down,” he says to Maverick.

Finley spreads out my towel, brus.h.i.+ng sand off of it, and Maverick does what the medic instructs. He's gentle, easing me down carefully.

”I'm sorry,” he whispers when I suck in a breath. Once I'm down, he takes a step back, but he doesn't leave.

”Here, it hurts?” the medic asks me, his accent thick. He presses the pads of his latex-gloved fingers around where the fires of h.e.l.l have developed on my calf.

I wince and manage an affirmative answer. He's being helpful, but don't freaking touch me there!

”These, uh, stingers here, they inject poison. Acid from the urine makes more poison,” he explains. ”The injury gets bigger.”

I don't care. I just want to not die.

He pulls out what looks like a hotel key card from a plastic bag, then he begins to sc.r.a.pe the edge against my skin. It doesn't feel good, but, surprisingly, it doesn't suck either.

”No more poison now.” He gives Finn a clear, plastic container and asks her to fill it with seawater.

She scrunches up her nose like she's unsure of this decision. ”Okay.” She draws out the word.

Maverick squats on the other side of me, taking Finley's spot. Now probably isn't the time to ask about the potency of his healing pee. Perhaps I should ask later, like when I'm not fisting the towel to keep from vocalizing grunts and swear words.

When Finn returns, she hands the medic the ocean water, and he pours it slowly over the wound.

”Cleaning it,” he explains. I'm not sure how this water is sanitary, but I don't ask. Then he grabs a spray bottle from his bag and spritzes it on me. ”Vinegar.”

He finishes by handing me an ice pack and telling me to take some pain killers. ”No hospital,” he a.s.sures me with a smile. ”All better.”

The medic gives Maverick a polite nod as he pa.s.ses him to go back to the resort. Maverick sinks down beside me on the towel. From the corner of my eye, I see Finn's smirk, and I know exactly what she's thinking. If she asks him to the party tonight for me, so help me G.o.d, I'm going to smear all of her makeup on our bathroom mirror.