She searched for something benign to say, anything other than the too personal and vulnerable thoughts plaguing her. “How were you able to talk and run so easily all that time? Even for a marathon racer, this was intense.”
“Bubbles and I have been pulling overtime on Wii Fit.”
He delivered his answer with such a deadpan face, she almost missed his attempt to lighten the mood of a hellish day. A laugh burst free, then another until her laughter verged on hysteria. But she couldn’t stop. It was as if someone had pulled the plug holding in all her emotions, and now they flowed out, the fear, the pain, the relief, all mingling together and pouring free. She sat back on her butt and held her aching ribs.
And God bless him, Jose seemed to understand. He didn’t say a word to stop her. He didn’t even look at her like she was nuts—the way Sutton was eyeing her as Bubbles disinfected cuts and assessed bruises. But then Jose knew her, he understood her, even if he didn’t want a future with her.
A month into her relationship with Jose, she’d confessed she loved him, that she’d fallen for him the first time she saw him and wanted to spend forever together. He’d said he felt the same—but she fast realized their ideas of settling down were vastly different. At first, she’d deluded herself into believing he simply wasn’t ready for the white picket fence and a couple of kids because he was two years younger than she was. She wanted to believe with time he would come around to her way of thinking. Building a family someday was everything to her.
Apparently he didn’t really feel the same, not in the ways that counted. Could he really expect to stay in this high-octane sort of rescue environment until the day he died? She couldn’t and she’d told him so.
Her daddy had always said not to make ultimatums unless you could live with either answer.
She scrubbed her wrist over her cheeks, swiping away grimy tears. “Sorry about that.”
“You’re okay,” Jose said simply, keeping that wall between them.
“Thanks to you I’m okay.” She wished there could be some kind of middle ground between them, a way to—what? Stay friends? That wasn’t possible and she knew it. Being around him reminded her of those lost dreams, and that simply hurt too much.
“Not just me.” He brushed aside her thanks. “We all worked together.”
Sutton snapped his fingers, leaning back against a fat tree trunk. “Uhm, hello? I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. Where I’m sitting we’re stuck out in the middle of nowhere so the rescue thing still feels iffy.”
Bubbles looked up from spreading out medical supplies to stitch a gash in Sutton’s arm. “Wanna go back?”
“You’re a comedian.” Sutton winced at the press of an antiseptic wipe.
“Not really,” Bubbles said.
“Then why the hell do they call you Bubbles?”
Jose tossed smaller branches and leaves along the tarp to add to the camo effect. “Ever heard of irony?”
Needing to put space between herself and Jose, Stella pushed to her feet and gathered Sutton’s gear Bubbles had haphazardly tossed aside during treatment. She folded his shirt sleeve that had been cut away to expose the torn flesh—a by-product of flying debris from the land mine explosion. Sure, the fabric was nothing more than a rag now, but nothing could be wasted, not as long as they were on the run. She hefted up Sutton’s backpack.
“Uhm, hello again?” Sutton started to lean forward only to stop short when Jose held him in place for stitching. “That’s mine.”
“Sorry, buddy, but we need to pool supplies.” She unzipped the bag—and found a pile of artifacts inside.
Had he been gathering tools as she had? She eyed a pottery shard, a hammered steel amulet. And a folded cotton kanga cloth, with the traditional script along the border. She smoothed her hand along the finely woven fabric, rubbing it like a talisman, as if she could somehow absorb whatever inspirational message had been traditionally included.
“Hey,” Sutton called out. “Can I have my bag?”
Jose looked up sharply. “Keep your voice down. Evading isn’t evading if you forget to whisper.”
Suspicions nipped at Stella as she thought of the student’s stash and his quick assessment of her earlier as a possible spy. Her fingers gripped the fabric for a final second before she set aside the backpack. She needed to help Jose set up camp so she could eat and sleep. Store strength in case their time waiting out in the wilds lasted longer than a few hours.
And as she stared at Jose, she couldn’t escape the notion they were both running away from the massive emotional fallout simmering just beneath the surface. That could be deadly for both of them, especially when they couldn’t be certain how long they would be stuck out here together. She would have to find time to talk to him tonight, later when the others were asleep, and clear the air once and for all.
***
Back pressed to the tree trunk, Jose sat watch while the others slept. He monitored his charges for the millionth time.
The student was curled up under the lean-to clutching his backpack. Bubbles dozed sitting up against the other side of the tree. No doubt, he could be fully awake, weapon drawn in a millisecond.
And Stella.
She curled at the front of the shelter, unofficially adding a layer of protection for the student. Once Sutton had drifted off, she’d slipped the rectangular kanga cloth out from under her shirt—the same embroidered cloth she’d found in the student’s pack earlier. She shook it out over herself, adding another layer of camo to her creamy skin. Her red ponytail splashed over her face, hairs lifting with each exhale.