Page 32 of Camp Bliss
“I’m—” I grunt, wrestling my head through the neck of my shirt. “Cold.”
“Oh.” Zach stares at me for a stunned second as I pull the shirt down. “Good. That’s good.”
I don’t want to be lying down in front of him anymore. It feels unguarded and weird. Carefully, I push myself up and swing my legs off the couch.
And, yeah, I might be chilly now, but my head spins a little with the motion. Bonus: a killer headache sets in too. I clutch my head and squeeze my eyes shut. Before I know it, Zach is at my knees, a hand bracing my shoulder.
“Easy. Remember, my mom said you have to rest today. Maybe even a few days.”
I nod as pounding sets in. The sudden headache feels like it’s been lying in wait, ready to pounce with any sudden movement. I lean back against the cushions. Slowly.
“You’re probably dehydrated,” Zach says.
I frown at the now-empty glass of water he gave me. “I drank all of that.”
He grabs the glass. “Not enough.” Then he heads for the kitchen.
I realize he’s helping me—that he’s been helping me since the heat took me down—but there’s something about the way he says those words that feels like he’s talking about more than just hydration.
Not enough.
It feels personal. As though this is how he sums me up.
Anger rises in me like a spike, and I almost fling it at him. I even open my mouth to say something sharp, but nothing rational comes to mind. If I blurted anything right now, it’s would be something like:
Ginger Jerk!
I flush with embarrassment just thinking about it. But the wave of volatile emotion only rolls into something else—something worse than anger or embarrassment, and tears sting my eyes.
What the hell?
I choke them back and try to breathe. My exhale is shaky through my tight throat. This has to be from the heat exhaustion. It feels like PMS on PCP.
I need Josh. I need to get to my cabin so I can fall apart in peace. Cry myself out until I fall asleep.
“Did you find Josh?” I ask as soon as I can get my voice under control.
When he doesn’t answer, I look over at him. He’s at the sink, filling the water glass, a frown on his face.
Zach keeps frowning but doesn’t meet my eyes as he walks back, sets the water back down on the coffee table, and sits in the old overstuffed chair opposite me.
“I didn’t.” The look in his eyes behind that frown is one I don’t recognize. Is it confusion? Concern? “Are you sure he didn’t tell you he was leaving? Running an errand. Or… or maybe going to the doctor?”
The laugh that escapes me lacks any real humor. Doctor? When it comes to doctors or anything in the physical or mental wellness realm, Josh requires dragging.
If not drugging.
“No way. He’s not at the doctor’s, I mean. And he didn’t tell me he was going anywhere.” But Zach is still pinning me with that look, and now I’m wondering if what I first mistook for confusion or concern is really suspicion. I turn it back on him. “You sure he didn't tellyouhe was leaving?”
Zach gives a slow shake of his head. “Nope.”
I shrug like it’s simple. “Well, then he’s around here somewhere. You checked the shed? The dock—”
“I checked everywhere. Even my own damn cabin.” This time his words are clipped like he’s running out of patience. I don’t like the way it puts me on the defensive. “Unless he climbed a frickin’ tree or dug a hole or jumped in the—”
Zach’s eyes widen as his mouth hangs open. Then he shoots to his feet.
“Shit. Holy fucking shit.” He spins in a circle, scanning the room and patting his pockets at the same time. “Where are the keys?”
