“Are you okay?” His deep voice fills up the night and makes me tremble just a little.
“Yeah. I think so. Nothing is broken or bleeding.”
“Good. Grab your bag, your phone, and anything that shouldn’t get wet. We’ll sit in the car.”
“You mean…we’re not going home?”
“I’m completely blitzed,” Adam admits flatly.
Honestly, I had no idea. I was just a little bit buzzed. Hmm, okay, maybe a whole lot buzzed, but not full-on drunk. I think I knew what I was doing. I mean, it might have been out of character, but I knew I was kissing Adam, and I knew I wanted it. I thought that maybe—Jesus. I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe my judgment went way to hell and back, but now that I’m soaked, I’m just about completely sober.
“I can call—”
“Let’s just get what we can. I’ll go and book one of those cabins if there’s one available, and we can get the rest of the stuff in the morning. Get whatever you don’t want to leave, or I can get it. Just tell me what to look for.”
“I’ll find my phone.”
I untangle myself from his hand since I suddenly realize I should get away and just concentrate on cleaning up this mess. Also, I really want to get into one of those cabins and regain back some semblance of modernization, indoor plumbing, and a real building before Adam changes his mind. I wouldn’t mind a warm shower that’s not in a public bathroom, and I also wouldn’t mind running water and a toilet that I don’t have to walk all the way down the road to get to.
Besides that, separate bedrooms are probably a good thing because at least there would be a bed and a couch—something where we could sleep and not have to stare at each other. And maybe a fridge or a stove. Good god, I’d just about do anything for a stove right now. I wasn’t relishing the thought of accidentally chopping my hand off with an ax while trying to cut firewood or even burning the whole freaking campground down.
I scramble back into the ruined tent. The wind and rain are calming down now, so I don’t have to fight so hard with the tent. I find my backpack easily, then my purse, and I hastily pull out my phone. With a quick swipe, the flashlight comes on. It’s easy for me to find our packs after that and shove them out of the opening.
Adam takes them faster than I can get them out. I gather up everything except the cooler because I don’t think I’ll need a midnight snack tonight, and our sleeping bags since they’re damp. I hope that whatever cabin we get has bedding. But honestly, at this point, who cares? As long as there’s a bed, I won’t complain. Blankets and pillows suddenly seem pretty superfluous.
“I’m going to walk to the camp office and ask about a cabin.” Adam pushes the tent flap to the side and sticks his head in.
Shit. In the light from my phone, I can see a thin line of blood—watery from the rain dripping off his hair—running down his forehead and over the bridge of his nose.
“Wait!” I reach out, my hand suddenly shaking. “You’re bleeding again.”
“It’ll be fine.” Adam swipes it away with the back of his hand.
My stomach manages to clench and gurgle at the same time. “Are you okay to walk there by yourself? Please tell me you won’t pass out from that head wound and then lie in a ditch somewhere because that would be bad. That would be really, really, really bad.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m fine. I’m just not going to take the car because I refuse to get in it after having that many beers, even to drive a short distance. It’s not cool. It’s unlocked, though. Go sit in it. It’s dry, at least. I can hit the command start too so you can pump some heat. It lasts for about fifteen minutes, which should be enough to get you started on warming up, if not drying out. Hopefully, I won’t take longer to get back.”
I somehow give him a watery smile. Not because I’m overly upset about the tent (if we get a cabin, then hell yeah, I’d take the tent collapsing around us and soaking me any time), but because Adam is just so freaking nice. He’s like that all the time. He’s thoughtful, caring, and kind. I’ve always known that, but maybe because I’ve had a few beers, it’s actually hitting me hard, straight in my weepy soft spot. My nose prickles, and I blink hard. Thank goodness my hair is soaked too, and the wetness is dripping down my face. If a few tears randomly leak out, at least the rain will cover it up.
“Okay.” My voice is all wobbly, like the tent.
Adam gives me a soft look like he’s worried about leaving now, so I force a more cheerful disposition and quell all the worries I have about that cut on his head and the thoughts about how the heck his wife could ever leave him and treat him like she did. Like he’s trash or even less than trash. Something to be thrown out and stomped on and rejected.
One woman’s trash is another woman’s treasure.
Stop it. That’s not how that saying goes. That’s for things, not people.
“Steph? Are you sure? I don’t have to—”
“I’d really like a cabin,” I say with forced cheerfulness. “Like, really, really, really, would like one. A hot shower sounds amazing, and a bed. I’d kill for a bed.”
“Hopefully not.”
“Better watch yourself.”
“I better get one, so you don’t have to.”
“Did you find your wallet?”