“No, Ford, it’s not fine. You’re losing a lot of blood. Here,” she said as she pulled off her shirt and bundled it into a wad to press against the wound. But Corrie was no medic. Sure, she’d found herself in enough scuffles to know her way around a first aid kit, but she’d never encountered a wound like this. Never something life-threatening.
He cried out once more when she pressed the shirt against his body. “Okay, maybe it’s not fine,” he said.
“Then come on. We need to get you back,” she said, trying to wrap his arm around her neck. But his body was like dead weight, impossible for her to lift. And he winced again.
“I can’t,” he said. “I don’t think I can move.”
“Then we’ll wait. Like you said, they’ll be looking for us soon.”
“You should go get help.”
“No, I can’t go.”
“I don’t . . . I don’t think I’m going to make it if you don’t get someone.”
“No, Ford! Don’t say that. You’ll make it,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I’m not leaving you alone out here!”
Her body trembled as she pressed firmly against his wound, willing the blood to stop. Let him live. Please, God, let him live.
“Corrie?” His voice was calm. Serene. She studied his face as he brought his hand to hers. “Corrie, I love you.”
What was this? Was he . . . was he saying goodbye?
“Ford, please just relax. Conserve your energy.”
“I want you to know,” he continued, completely ignoring her pleas, “these last few weeks have been the best weeks of my life. You brought adventure to my life. Passion. A reason to live. I’d say I’m sorry for everything I’ve done, and in many ways I am, but . . . I’m not sorry for any of those moments I had with you. And I’m not sorry that I fell in love with you.”
“Shh,” she hushed, touching his lips and chest and hands. “Quit talking like that. Quit talking like this is the end.”
“Isn’t it, though? I can’t feel the pain anymore. Not in my stomach. The only pain I have is in my heart for having to say goodbye to you.”
“No! No, Ford. You’re not leaving me!” She shot her hands on both sides of his face, forcing him to hold her gaze. “Stay with me!”
“I’ll always be with you. Part of the legend of Badass Mejía. When Weak Sauce Matthews saved her life half a dozen times,” he said with a slight chuckle, followed by a wince.
She laughed through her cries. How, even after everything, could he still make her smile? Still make her heart sing? Even in the worst of times.
“Hey . . . I saved you this time,” she said through her sniffles.
“Corrie . . . you’ve saved me in more ways than one.” He took her hand and squeezed. “Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Promise me you won’t change for anyone. Embrace who you are, because you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”
She brushed her tears away and smiled. “I promise. I love you, Dr. Matthews. I always have and I always will.”
“Same, Dr. Mejía. You won, Corrie. You won my heart and no one will ever be able to take it away from you,” he said, smiling, with a tear running from the crease of his eye.
She leaned down and pressed her lips to his, tasting his mouth for what she was sure would be the last time, then lay beside him. And as he wrapped his arm around her, she was comforted. The comfort that only he could give. He loved her for who she was—wild adventures, ridiculous antics, and all. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t the ancestor of a great Aztec warrior, or that she’d probably never get that speaker invite to the international conference. Yet she’d made him proud.
She’d made herself proud.
The only thing she’d ever wanted.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
One Year Later
The red carpet beckoned Corrie toward the entrance of Chicago’s Field Museum of Natural History. Banners hung near the top of the building: FROM TENOCHTITL?N TO NOWHERE: THE LIFE OF AZTEC WARRIOR CHIMALLI. The signs, illuminated by the spotlights below, featured a rendering of Chimalli standing on top of the waterfall, with Yaretzi and their child standing beside him. Ethan had outdone himself with this one.
“Come on, let’s head in,” Miri said, taking Corrie by the arm.
Dozens of limos lined the front of the museum, with at least a hundred guests climbing the stairs to enter—men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns. But none as bold as Corrie’s—a deep red mermaid-style dress with a sweetheart neckline, accentuated by her French twist updo. Finally, an opportunity to get out of dirty khakis and hiking boots. It was her night, after all. Had it not been for her research and belief in Mendoza’s recounting of Chimalli’s life, his bones and the tecpatl would likely still be in that damp cave. And the truth would never have been known.
It had also taken some finagling with the Mexican Department of Archaeology and Juan Carlos to get them to agree to loan the artifacts they’d uncovered for a six-month exhibition in Chicago. The deal entailed that she volunteer to assist the department with another dig in Mexico, free of charge. But with her sabbatical in effect, she had plenty of time. And with all the press from the Chimalli dig—magazine and newspaper articles, talk show appearances, and book deals—she could volunteer her time without financial worry. The International Institute of Archaeology had even offered her a paid keynote opportunity at next year’s conference.
But that one she’d turned down.
Corrie and Miri entered the gallery, immediately greeted by a waiter holding a tray of champagne flutes. After two hours of travel by Jeep on a dirt road, followed by five hours of planes and airports, yes, champagne. Corrie took the glass and took a sip, but no. This wasn’t her.
She reached her hand to the waiter’s arm before he walked away. “Actually,” she said once she had his attention, “would it be possible to get a pour of rye? Neat?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be right back, miss.”
She smiled to herself as he walked away, reminiscing over her newfound love of rye whiskey.
“Dr. Mejía!”
Corrie turned to find Sunny, in a bright yellow floor-length gown, running toward her and flinging her arms around Corrie’s shoulders.
“Sunny. So good to see you,” she said, pulling back and bringing a smile to her face. “This is my good friend and colleague Dr. Miriam Jacobs.”
“So great to meet you!” Sunny said, pulling Miri into a hearty embrace. Miri’s eyes went wide, and Corrie had to duck her head to keep from laughing. “Are you a kick-ass archaeologist, too?”
“Um . . . y-yes,” Miri said, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “I mean, not like Corrie, but—”
Corrie waved her off. “Give it time and you’ll see. She’ll be swinging from vines in no time.”
Miri blushed and bit back a smile. She might not have been as outgoing as Sunny or as adventurous as Corrie, but Miri had potential.
“Weren’t you literally at the dig this morning? You look uh-mazing. This dress is killer,” Sunny said, motioning toward Corrie’s dress.
“I was going for badass,” Corrie joked.