a Parachute Around When You Need One
For one second, I have perfect clarity—I can hear Macy screaming, Flint calling my name, the wind roaring like a freight train—and then it’s all drowned out in the panicked beat of my heart as terror races through me.
I brace myself for bone-crunching impact, but before I hit, Flint is grabbing me, pulling me against him, spinning us in midair. He hits the ground, back first, and I land on him, my face buried in the curve of his neck.
We hit hard enough that the breath is knocked out of me. For one second, two, three, I can’t do anything but lay there on top of him, trying desperately to drag a breath into my abused lungs.
Flint’s not moving either, and panic is a wild animal inside me as I struggle to get my weight off him. His eyes are closed, and I’m terrified that he’s hurt—or worse. He took the brunt of the fall, deliberately spinning us so that he slammed into the hard, snow-packed ground while all I slammed into was him.
It’s as I push up into a sitting position, knees on either side of his thighs, that I finally manage to pull in a huge gulp of air. It’s also at that moment that all hell breaks loose.
Macy is screaming my name as she scrambles down her
tree, and people swarm us from all directions. I’m too busy shaking Flint and slapping at his cheeks—trying to get him to respond—to pay any attention to what anyone else is doing.
At least until he opens his eyes and drawls, “I’m beginning to think I should have let you fall.”
“Oh my God! You’re okay!” I scramble off him. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.” He sits up with a little groan. “You’re heavier than you look.”
“You shouldn’t move!” I try to shove him back down, but he just laughs.
“The snow broke my fall, Grace. I’m good.” To prove it, he jackknifes to his feet in one lithe movement.
It’s as he stands up that I realize he’s telling the truth. There’s a Flint-shaped indention in the snow from where he hit. For the first time since moving to this state, I’m grateful for its ridiculous climate. After all, when you’re falling twenty feet, snow is so much softer than ground.
Still, if that’s the case… “Why did you jump after me? You could have been hurt.”
He doesn’t answer, just kind of stands there watching me, a weird look in his eyes. It’s not concern or annoyance or pride or any of the other expressions I’d expect him to be wearing right now. Instead, it looks an awful lot like…shame. But that doesn’t make sense. He just saved me from a concussion or a couple of broken bones—at least. What does
he have to be ashamed of?
“What was the alternative?” Macy demands, voice shaking like she just got back the power of speech. “Let you be
hurt?”
“You mean it’s better for Flint to get hurt?” I ask bewildered.
“But he didn’t, did he? And neither did you.” She turns to him with a grateful look. “Thank you so much, Flint.”
Her words make me realize that I’ve been too busy worrying about—and yelling at—Flint to do what I should have right away. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
The words sound awkward after all my admonishments, but they are nothing compared to the look on Flint’s face as he stares over my shoulder into the crowd. It alternates between looking like he’s going to throw a punch and like he’s dying to run away.
I figure it’s because he’s bad with gratitude—I’m terrible with it, so I get that—but as the talking in the crowd dies down and people start parting like a human Red Sea, I turn.
And nearly wither on the spot at the coldness in Jaxon’s eyes. Only the fact that it’s directed at Flint and not me keeps my knees from giving way completely. Because I only thought he was intimidating at the welcome party.
Right now, the look on his face is absolutely terrifying. And the five inscrutable guys at his back—I assume I’m seeing the whole of the infamous Order for the first time—only reinforce the fact that there’s a problem.
A big problem.
I just wish I knew why.
Even Flint, who has never reacted to Jaxon in the past, turns a little sickly looking. And that’s before Jaxon, in the coldest, most reasonable voice imaginable, asks him, “What the hell did you think you were doing?”
It’s the tone even more than the look that has me moving, a frisson of fear working its way down my spine as I position myself between him and Flint before an all-out brawl can take place. I may not understand all the nuances of what’s happening here, but it’s obvious that Jaxon is livid—and more than ready to take it out on Flint. Which makes no sense, considering, “I fell, Jaxon. Flint saved me.”
For the first time, he turns those cold eyes on me. “Did he?”
“Yes! The wind kicked up, and I lost my balance. I fell out of the tree, and Flint jumped after me.” I shoot Flint a stare, telling him to back me up, but he’s not looking at me.
He’s not looking at Jaxon, either. Instead, he’s gazing off into the distance, jaw and fists clenched.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Are you hurt after all?”
A fine tremor runs through the earth, a tiny little earthquake that rattles the tree branches a bit but doesn’t do anything else. I’ve heard Alaska has them, so it doesn’t surprise me when no one reacts. Even I don’t get too excited. In San Diego, we’d have one or two of these tiny ones every couple of months. Flint doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy shrugging off my hand. “I’m fine, Grace.”
“Then what’s wrong?” I look back and forth between him and Jaxon. “I don’t understand what’s happening here.”
Neither of them answers me, so I look to Macy for an explanation beyond my working hypothesis that Alaska brings out the worst in people. But she looks as confused as I do—and about a hundred times more terrified.
As for everybody else…they’re riveted by the drama, eyes
glued to Jaxon as he continues to watch Flint who continues to very obviously not watch him back. It’s not the first time I’ve thought of Jaxon as a hunter, but it is the first time I’ve thought of Flint as prey. Other members of his group must agree, because in seconds they’re moving, guys and girls alike, to flank him on either side.
Their obvious support of Flint only ups the tension between him and Jaxon, whose face has grown even more coldly amused.
I’m trying desperately to figure out how to break things up without bloodshed when Macy suddenly snaps out of whatever stupor she’s been in and says, “We should go back to the room, Grace. Make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” I assure her. Like I’m going to leave Jaxon out here when he looks like he wants to rip Flint’s throat out just for breathing. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Actually, that’s the best idea I’ve heard all afternoon.” Jaxon takes a step closer until he’s right behind me. He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t even brush against me, but he’s close enough that that doesn’t matter. I can feel him. “I’ll walk you back to your room.”
The crowd recoils at this. Like, I actually see people drawing back, eyes wide, mouths open, faces slack with shock. I can’t figure out what the big deal is unless it’s that Jaxon is breaking up the showdown between the two most popular guys in school before it even begins. Not that it’s even a real showdown, considering the way Flint’s taken himself out of the whole thing by refusing to so much as acknowledge Jaxon’s existence.
It’s that uncharacteristic behavior more than anything else
that has me stepping away from Jaxon and saying, “I need to stay with Flint. Make sure he’s really—”
“I’m fine, Grace,” Flint grates out from between clenched teeth. “Just go.”
“Are you sure?” I reach out a hand to touch his shoulder again, but suddenly Jaxon’s there between us, preventing my hand from landing. Then he’s stepping forward, moving me slowly, inexorably away from Flint and back toward school.
It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. Definitely the strangest thing I’ve ever been a part of.
And still, I let it happen. Because this is Jaxon, and I can’t seem to help myself.
“Come on, Macy,” I say quietly to my cousin and reach for her hand. “Let’s go.”
She nods, and then we’re walking back toward the castle
—Macy, Jaxon, and me. I half expect the other members of the Order to join us, but a quick glance behind me shows that they aren’t moving.
No one is.
And can I just say, I’m beginning to feel an awful lot like Alice in Wonderland here—things keep getting “curiouser and curiouser.” Maybe that last plane ride with Philip was really a trip down a really big rabbit hole.
We walk in silence for a minute or two, and with each step, I’m beginning to realize that maybe I didn’t escape from the fall unscathed after all. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, my right ankle is hurting. A lot.
To keep my mind off the pain—and to keep Jaxon and Macy from noticing that I’m limping—I ask, “What are you
doing out here anyway? I thought you weren’t going to join the snowball fight.”
“Good thing I was out here, considering the mess Flint got you into.” Jaxon doesn’t so much as glance my way.
“It really is no big deal,” I tell him, despite the fact that my ankle is working its way up from painful to excruciating pretty quickly now. “Flint had me. He—”
“Flint very definitely did not have you,” he snaps, his voice as hard and brittle as the ice all around us as he turns to face me for the first time. “In fact—” He stops, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”
“Besides not being able to figure out why you’re so mad?”
He shrugs off the question as he looks me over from head to toe. “What’s hurting you?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re hurt, Grace?” Macy joins the conversation for the first time. The chicken.
“It’s nothing.” We’ve got a head start, but if we stop, the others are sure to catch up with us, and the last thing I need right now is to make an even bigger spectacle of myself. So much for fitting in…or even blending in. After tonight, I might as well be painted biohazard orange. Something I find particularly ironic, since Jaxon is the one who told me to keep my head down.
Seriously, this feels like déjà vu from San Diego. Back then, I was the girl whose parents had died. Now, I’m the girl who fell out of a tree and almost triggered World War III between the two hottest guys at school.
FML.
Determined to get back to school and my room before anyone else arrives, I start walking again—or at least try to. I barely make it a few steps before Jaxon is in my way.
“What hurts?” he asks again, his expression making it clear he’s not going to drop it.
Arguing would only waste precious time, so I finally admit, “My ankle. I must have twisted it when we hit the ground.”
Before I’ve even finished speaking, Jaxon is kneeling by my feet, gently feeling my ankle through my boot. “I can’t take this off here or you’ll get frostbite. But does it hurt when I do this?”
The sharp intake of breath I give is answer enough.
“Should I go get the snowmobile?” Macy offers. “I can be back in no time.”
Oh my God, no. I don’t want to make a scene. “I can walk. Really. I’m okay.”
Jaxon gives us both an incredulous look as he helps me up. Then, without saying a word, he lifts me into his arms.
