His hands cup my face in an instant. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You saved us.” He exhales and extends a hand to me while getting up. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” I grasp it, feel my knees crack as I straighten them, and wobble momentarily against his chest before stepping away.
“Wait,” I say. “We can take his car.” I motion to the side of the road where the last black vehicle sits with the driver’s side door open.
“But then we’d have to find somewhere to ditch it.” He looks at me thoughtfully as he scratches his head.
“We will.” I examine his cuts, his bloodied clothing, and the sand peppered on his skin. He winces when I touch his right shoulder and his neck.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I ask with concern.
“Yeah. You okay?” he asks, his voice ticking upward, his hands hesitant to leave my shoulders.
“Never better.” I pick a tiny piece of glass from his cheek as he cringes away from my hand. “Let’s go.”
We grab whatever we can salvage from the wreckage and slowly climb into the guard’s Charger, hoping that they don’t track us to the safe house in Lexington Bay.
“Pull over,” I say. Cole’s head flicks toward me, one eye swollen almost completely closed, the color purple settling in. “Just do it.”
He guides the car to a spot thickly overgrown with reeds and palm trees, and I quickly shove my door open, groaning, as every muscle in my body stiffens.
“And what are we doing exactly?” he asks.
“Hurry, follow me.” I don’t bother closing the door behind me and stumble into the reeds. My feet sink into the damp ground as water brims over into my shoes. He trails along, the uneven sound of sloshing boots tracking my every step. Cole arrives next to me.
“Let’s make this quick.” I bend over, palming a handful of water and then splash my face with it. A million knives could be stabbing me right now, and it’d still feel better than this. Water slips down my hands, over my wrists, and washes away the rusty-smelling blood from my skin.
Cole stumbles left.
“Holy shit,” he says. His hands shoot out in an attempt to balance himself.
“Oh my God, Cole.” I straighten, trying not to hurt him when reaching for his arm. His jaw tightens as he grabs hold of his side.
“It’s okay. Just probably bruised.” He winces again.
“Here, let me help you,” I insist.
“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” he says, almost breathless. He’s so proud, never wants to appear like he might actually need my help with anything.
I carefully wash his face. His teeth grind together, and his hand grips my forearm, his fingers leaving marks.
“Here, I have to take off your shirt,” I say, tugging at its hem.
“Lexi, I’m okay,” he says. But even as he tries to push me away, his face contorts into a troubling grimace. Sweat trickles down his forehead.
“You’re a terrible liar,” I say. “I’ll be gentle, just try to hold still.” He exhales as I lift the shredded, bloodied shirt over his head, revealing a torso full of bluish, purple bruises.
“Oh, not good. That has to be wrapped. If any of your ribs are broken, the pressure will help.”
“They’re not broken.”
“It’ll only take a few seconds.” I put his shirt in the water, squeezing it out with all the strength I have left to rinse away the blood and bits of glass embedded in it. Then I reach around his waist. He groans and slowly raises his arms above his head. I tie the material as best I can, my hands shaking by the end of the process.
“It will do for now.”
“Thank you,” he says, breathing heavily. “We’ve got to go.”
I rub my head, feeling woozy. He reaches for me as exhaustion, pain, and the weight of what just happened overtakes me.
“I’m all right … ” I say, but the words trail off.
He blinks his good eye, the area around his other eye swelling by the minute. “We’ll do this together,” he says.
I turn toward him, draping his arm over my shoulder and wrapping mine around his waist. “Now, let’s hide the car and find that safe house. Maybe they’ll have ice there … or something.” He snorts and then winces with the next step. “If we’re lucky, we’ll find extra clothes and something decent to eat.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” he says, the slightest smile on his face.
We drive the car into a ditch and do our best to hide it beneath reeds, sand, and whatever else we can find. By the end, Cole’s leaning against the vehicle, barely able to stand up straight without grimacing.
“Here, let me finish,” I say.
“Uh, I think not. You’re hurt too,” he says.
“I’m faster than you right now.”
He mashes his teeth together as he lowers himself to sit. A thick sheen of sweat covers him, and I know he hates showing weakness.
“Almost done,” I say, checking to see if the car is adequately hidden.
A few minutes later, Cole grabs his temples, closes his eye, and grits his teeth. His breathing is even more labored.