Kent's group reached us then. Summer gasped and Kent let go of his side of the raft, which tilted crazily as Faith struggled with the sudden increase in weight. His eyes met mine, and for a split second I thought he'd abandon the contest and stay with me. Then Ashley shrieked his name, and he caught the raft again and they took off.
Aaron's face paled. "You're hurt, MC. Sit down and--"
"No!" I couldn't give up. "I'm fine."
He tried to protest, but Jim said, "She said it. Come on."
Running was agony, the skin on my knees stretching and shifting with every step, but I kept pushing. I heard exclamations from Kent's exes waiting at the shore as we raced past, Michael leapt to his feet, and Peter said, "Princess?", but I didn't care. We had to catch them.
Being in the water was even worse than running, the phrase 'salt in my wounds' terribly literal. Once we were too deep for me to stand, Aaron threw me onto the raft up to my waist and scrambled up beside me, legs in the water. "Kick!"
I did, with everything I had, refusing to acknowledge the pain. Jim and Dean, one on each side, held the raft with one hand and paddled with the other while kicking up endless showers of water that soaked Aaron and me in moments. At least I'd worn my bikini under my black t-shirt.
My team reached the flag right behind Kent, whose group was nowhere near as efficient. Summer's bent legs were deep in the water, and no splash came from her as she kicked frantically. Ashley's fumble reaching for the flag didn't help them much either, especially when Aaron reached out and caught ours in one smooth motion.
We drew level with them about halfway back to the shore, then slid past them. Aaron whooped, the rest of us echoed it, and our shared delight seemed to push us ahead.
Getting to my feet immediately after all that kicking was shockingly hard, my legs shaking so much I could barely stagger the few feet to Peter. But stagger them I did, and joined the others in screams of triumph when he accepted the flag from Aaron's outstretched hand.
Kent and his team arrived, dripping and dejected.
"The Princess's Court wins," Peter said formally. "Prince, for the first time, your Court will lose a Lady-in-Waiting tonight." He looked at me, and his tone changed. "Are you all right?"
I'd almost forgotten. "I fell. It's just my knees."
"It's more your face," Peter said, turning to the production assistant and making an urgent gesture. I pressed the back of my right hand to my left cheek, and it came away red.
I couldn't help it. Exhausted, delighted by our win, overwhelmed by the pain that was rising in me again now that the race was over, I dissolved into tears.
Michael slid his arms around me, heedless of my blood, and pulled me close. Surprised, but needing the comfort, I held on, regaining control of myself.
Kent said, "Are you okay, MC?"
"She's fine," Michael snapped.
I stepped back, frowning at his rudeness, and my stomach twisted. His light grey shirt was covered in red splotches where it had soaked up the water and blood from mine. I knew the splotches were more water than blood, I knew it, but the clearing began to spin and dark spots danced before my eyes.
I swayed, and Kent wrapped his arm firmly around my waist and helped me to a log. He knelt in front of me, easing me forward until my head was between my knees.
"Deep breaths," he said, his voice low and soothing, one hand rubbing my back in big smooth circles. "It's okay, you're all right, nice slow breaths. In... out..."
I aligned my breathing with his words and his hand, and the dizziness began to recede.
"I can take care of her," Michael said from far away. "You can go."
Kent took his hand from my back, and I felt myself drifting off again.
"No," I mumbled. I needed him.
Peter, as distant as Michael, said, "MC, do you want-- Damn. Redo. Princess, do you want the Prince to stay with you?"
"Yes."
"What did she say?"
"Yes," I said, louder. "I want him to stay."
An unfamiliar voice said, "That's fine, Princess, but could you sit up? I'd like to see what you've done to yourself."
I raised my head cautiously. A man in a white polo shirt smiled and said, "There you go."
Kent pushed himself up to sit at my right side, sliding his arm around me again and resting his other hand on my good shoulder. At his touch the world began to feel more solid again, so I sat up the rest of the way.
"All right, Princess, let me take a look."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm being silly. It's really no--"
"No problem? You're right, it's not," Kent said.
I turned to him, and he gave me a half smile. I started to smile back, but the medic's touch on my cheek made me gasp in surprise and pain and turn to him.
"Sorry, but you've got some dirt in here and it needs to come out. Ready?"
I took a deep breath then let it out on my 'yes'.
"Good girl. Chat with your Prince and I'll be done before you know it."
Kent said, "Come here often?" in a lounge-lizard voice.
I laughed. "Yeah, every day. I hate it, though. You?"
"Totally. The social director leaves more than a bit to be desired, don't you think? I mean, there's not even any tennis, for crying out loud, and the food, well, don't get me started."
He kept up a running commentary of ridiculousness, hardly pausing to breathe, and I listened and stared into his eyes while the medic cleaned my cheek with several cloths and an alcohol-soaked pad. The cloths were bad enough but the alcohol's sharp smell brought the black spots back in front of my eyes.
"Stay with me." Kent rubbed my shoulder. "Come on, MC, stay with me. You need to hear the rest of my story."
"I feel bad enough already," I mumbled. "Why torment me?"
He moved closer, his eyes gentle and full of concern. His tone, though, was amused. "Just for that, you're hearing it twice." He went on talking, something about a cat and a roller coaster, and the flow of words and his circles on my shoulder calmed me.
"Good girl," the medic said again. "I'm done with your face now, except maybe a little ointment. It's really just a nasty scrape, although it might bruise. Here." He took a small plastic pouch from his kit, gave it a sharp jerk, and pressed it against my cheek. "Hold that there, okay?"
"It's cold!"
"That's the point." He smiled at me. "Give me a second to get organized and we'll take care of the rest of you."
Feeling a bit more myself, I looked around.
Michael had walked a few feet away and was deep in conversation with... Dean, of all people. What could they possibly have to discuss?
When my eyes met Aaron's he said, "Want me to hold that on for you?" with his cheeks turning faintly pink beneath the dirt on his skin.
He wouldn't get closer than this to an apology over our argument the day before, and it was good enough for me. He drove me crazy, but I'd missed him. I held the ice pack out to him. "Yes, please. My fingers are going numb."
"Wow," he said, looking at my cheek as he took a seat on my other side.
"Oh, it's no big deal," the medic said. "She'll be fine in no time. Not bad at all, right?"
Aaron settled the ice pack against my cheek with more gentleness than I'd have expected. "Just makes you look tough."
"Great. My life's ambition has been fulfilled."
"Hey, you've got potential as a marathon runner, baby. Too stubborn to quit. I'll train you when we get home."
"Why, so I can fall down again? Wreck the other side of my face?"
Kent patted my good shoulder. "Don't worry, guys dig scars."
I looked up at him. "Isn't the saying, 'Chicks dig scars'?"
"Oh yeah," he said, flashing me a wink. "I knew someone did."
I rolled my eyes. "Thanks for the help. You're both fabulous. Now shut up."
The medic moved my t-shirt sleeve to check my shoulder. "Rug burn, basically. It'll heal fine." He sat back on his heels and examined my knees. "But you did a numbe
r on these. Way worse than your cheek."
The bleeding had slowed, but his ministrations with a new cloth revved it up in short order. "I need to use hydrogen peroxide to bubble out all the dirt," he said, looking up at my face. "This'll sting. Are you ready?"
When I nodded, he poured what felt like liquid fire over my right knee. I caught my breath at the pain, shooting through my leg in both directions until my entire body was tensed against it. I shut my eyes and bit my lip, not wanting to cry out. Was it digging right down into my bones? The sound of it fizzing in the wound filled my ears, making me dizzy again.
The bubbling eventually began to subside, and I opened my eyes. The medic gave me a sympathetic smile. "It's not fun, but it does a good job."
"Definitely not fun."
"Now, the other side," he said, and we both stared at my left knee, with damage far larger and deeper than my right. He looked up at me. "You might want to hold onto something."
Without thinking I grabbed Kent's fingers, still on my right shoulder, turning away from Aaron as I did. The pain ripped through my leg, worse than before, and exploded through the rest of my body. I squeezed Kent's hand and shut my eyes again, shuddering.
Kent's arm tightened around me. "Keep breathing," he said into my ear. "I know it hurts, it'll be over soon, hang in there, you're so brave, angel, stay with me, you can do it." He talked non-stop and I let his voice wash over me and clung to the sound not the words.
After a billion years or so, the medic wiped away the remaining peroxide from my leg. "You're a tough cookie, Princess."
I opened my eyes and released Kent's hand as the burning dissipated, and he said, "You sure are," holding out his hand, which I'd squeezed so hard his fingers were white.
I looked up at him, horrified. "I'm so sorry."
He smiled, wiggling his poor fingers. "They'll grow back, right?"
"Sure." I smiled too, so glad the pain was over. "But will you be able to play the piano?"
"Let's hope. I couldn't before." His eyes flicked to my cheek then back to my eyes.
The medic smoothed ointment over my knees and bandaged them. He gave my cheek a thin coat of ointment as well, then put a handful of alcohol wipes and the ointment in a bag. "Leave them covered until tomorrow then keep them clean. Morning and night, new ointment."
I nodded, and he smiled. "If any of them get gross, let Peter know and I'll take care of it." He headed off.
Kent still had his arm around me, and I turned to him, embarrassed now that it was over. "Thanks."
"You're welcome. I'd say 'any time', but maybe better not to." He smiled and released me.
"No, let's not say that." I felt so alone without his support, but tried not to show it. Pushing myself to my feet, I stood still to make sure I wasn't dizzy any more, then took a few tentative steps. It hurt but I could live with it.
Kent looked around at my exes. "Take care of her, okay?"
I looked at him, startled, but he turned away.
*****
"Why'd he say that? And why'd he help you?"
I shifted on my rock to find a better position for my poor knees. "I have no idea."
"Because you cheated on me with him?"
I'd normally have been angry at yet another round of this, but now that the stress of my fall had faded I could barely stay awake, so my "I can't believe you still think I cheated" came out through a huge yawn.
"Oh, am I boring you?"
"Probably," Aaron said. "You're boring the hell out of me. Kent was closest to her. Should he have let her keel over?"
"No." Dean's tone said the opposite. Rallying, he went on. "But then she should have--"
"Who cares what I should or shouldn't have done? It's over."
"It's bad enough that we're all here against our will--"
"Like I am," I put in.
"But it's worse when we can't even tell which side you're on."
I stared at him. "Did you happen to notice I fell down? And still finished the race? How dare you say I'm not playing to win?"
He started to answer, but I said, "No. I don't want to hear it. Look, we won! Our first exile contest win. Shouldn't we be celebrating?" I adjusted the cheesy gold crown. I knew I looked stupid but I couldn't bring myself to take it off.
"It is nice we're safe. Who do you think he'll exile?" Jim's question set off a discussion, bordering on a dispute when Greg and Dean disagreed, to which I didn't contribute at all. Instead, I stifled another yawn and closed my eyes, leaning back on my rock. I'd had trouble falling asleep the night before, my mind too busy, and besides, I never slept well when I had my--
My eyes popped open. When had I last dealt with my period? I could not handle a repeat of yesterday's embarrassment. But climbing the path to the latrine in my damaged state?
"Yeah, Tara or Kayla," Aaron said. "I agree. Hey, guys, we've got work to do. Have to take care of our poor little invalid here."
His pronunciation, as though I were the opposite of valid, made me take a swing at him. "I'm not invalid or an invalid, I just--"
"Can't bend your knees," Aaron said. "I know. I saw you trying to sit in the boat. We don't want Kent giving us hell tomorrow for not taking care of you, right?"
The thought of that made the corners of my mouth want to pull into a smile, but I kept them down as Aaron suggested that Michael and Greg go look for fruit and assigned firewood fetching duties to Jim and Dean.
"And what'll you be doing?" Michael said. He hadn't spoken at all, or looked at me, since we'd returned to camp.
"I'll get water and start making rice," he said. Michael frowned but followed Greg out of camp while Dean and Jim made their exit in the opposite direction.
When Aaron and I were alone, he said, "Now, I'm happy to go get water. Or I'll help you walk to the latrine after you get anything you need from your suitcase."
I stared at him. "How did you know?"
"I was here yesterday afternoon. And besides, old thing, I've had a lot of lady friends," he said, in a dreadful British accent. Switching to an equally bad French one, he added, "I know what zee women are thinking."
"I doubt it," I said, smiling at him, relieved.
"You're thinking..." He studied me. "You're thinking I'm brilliant and insightful and better looking than the love child of Brad Pitt and Harrison Ford."
I widened my eyes. "No, I'm thinking I can't afford enough therapy to get that image out of my head."
He grinned then sobered. "Are you thinking I'm sorry for yelling at you yesterday?"
I swallowed. "Should I be?"
He nodded.
"Are you thinking the same thing about me?"
"Should I be?" His voice was softer and more tentative than I'd ever heard it. I nodded, and we smiled at each other.
"But no more hitting, okay? Keep your mitts to yourself."
He gave a huge mock sigh. "Fine. I won't hit anyone else unless Dean deserves it."
I laughed, but swatted his arm. "Not even then."
"Did you just hit me to teach me not to hit?"
"Yeah, I guess I did. Did it work?"
We laughed, and he said, "Okay, Princess, go get your stuff."
"Don't call me Princess."
"No? What do I call you, then?"
"MC works fine."
"No, too normal. How about..."
He stayed where he was, running through possible and completely impossible nicknames, while I made my slow painful way to my suitcase. Once I'd gathered up everything I needed, I left the crown there so I wouldn't risk dropping it in the latrine and headed back.
"--turkey, jive turkey, peach, peach pit, snowflake, snowball, butterball, angel, cupcake--"
"Not angel."
"You're not an angel?"
"I don't like that one."
I'd liked it fine when Kent had started calling me 'angel' at our first Christmas a few weeks into our relationship. Now, I didn't want to hear it.
"Okay, not that," Aaron said as I reached his side. "I
guess I have to stick to 'baby'."
He gave me such a sweet smile, warm and yet somehow sad, that I shifted my stuff to one arm and threw the other around his neck. He squeezed me close then gently set me away from him. "Let's get you to the latrine, baby, before Dean comes back and I have to fight him for you. Without hitting, of course."
He led me up the path, kicking the larger rocks and branches out of my way, then said, "If you want help coming back, shout for me, okay?"
"Will do."
"You won't," he said, "but you can if you need to."
It took twice as long to do everything, because my knees only liked being straight and none of my tasks exactly suited straight legs, but at last I began the careful trip back down.
Aaron looked up from the pot he was filling with water. "You okay?"
I nodded. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it," he said, looking nearly as shy as I felt.
I walked on, toward the shore. "I'll go soak this stuff."
"Let me know if you want company," he said, not moving. I didn't, and he knew it.
I managed to get my contest-bloodied clothes stuffed under a rock so they wouldn't float away and returned to him.
"What now?"
I dropped onto my rock. "Nothing. I'm beat."
"So take a nap."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
Why not indeed? I looked up at him. "I can, can't I?"
"Absolutely," he said. "C'mon, I'll tuck you in."
"With a teddy bear?" I followed him to the shelter.
"Sorry, Kayla's got it."
"I'll cry," I warned, settling onto my back and carefully stretching out my legs.
"The tears'll end up in your ears."
"Yuck."
A gentle finger brushed my hair from my scraped cheek. "Exactly. Have a good nap."
He started to leave but I caught his arm. "Don't go." I had something to say, but no nerve.
Looking surprised and pleased, he sat beside me until my eyelids started to grow heavy. I blinked a few times to wake myself up; I didn't want to fall asleep before I told him.
"Aaron?"
"Yup?"
I took a deep breath. "Thanks for playing to win."
"You're welcome," he said, smiling down at me. "I'll try to talk some sense into the rest of them. We need to be a team."
Seven Exes Are Eight Too Many Page 13
