Page 33 of The Triple Play

A flicker of nerves twists in my stomach. “Okay,” I manage to whisper.

Griffin’s hand lifts to my head, and he begins stroking my hair. “You’ll be okay, Liv,” he says in a low, soothing rumble. His touch is grounding, comforting, and intimate.

Denver’s careful as he starts to ease my boot off. I whimper and Griffin surges upward to sit on the couch next to me, pulling my head into his chest.

“We’ve got you, baby. Deep breaths.”

Denver tilts my foot slightly and the movement sends a sharp pulse of pain through my ankle. I can’t stop the way my fingers clutch at Griffin’s shirt, or the sound I make.

Over the pain, I swear I feel a pair of lips land on my head. I freeze, and so does Griffin.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, but I just shake my head and hold him tighter, not wanting his apology one bit.

When the boot finally slips free, I let out a slow breath, some of the tightness in my chest easing along with the pain. I don’t want to, but I force my fingers to unclench and I shift away from Griffin to look down at my foot.

Denver’s peeled back my sock, and my ankle is already swelling, the skin flushed and angry-looking. He grabs the ice pack that Griffin brought over and goes to place it on my skin.

“Wait, you need a barrier,” Griffin barks. He gets up again, out of my view, but I assume he goes to his pack, because when he returns, he’s holding a T-shirt. He lays that down on my foot, then nods to Denver who places the ice pack on top. Griffin moves away again and I hear him rummaging through his pack.

Denver studies me for a moment, his hand still resting lightly on my shin, just above the ice pack.

“I don’t think it’s broken, but I’m going to get you to try and move it a little bit so we can do a better assessment.”

“Okay,” I say with a nod.

“While he does that, I’m going to monitor your vitals. We need to fill out some forms when we do first aid,” Griffin explains gently as he sits back down next to me. He places a sensor on my finger, his other hand coming to my lower back, where he starts to move it in small circles.

“You ready?” Denver asks.

“Yup.” I suck in a breath and carefully point my toe a little bit. The movement makes me wince, but it’s not unbearable. The initial agonizing pain has started to dull slightly. I flex my foot back up with the same result.

“That’s great, Pixie. Good girl.”

Something flares in me at hearing Denver’s deep voice rumble those two words. Griffin’s hand stills. I realize why a second later, when I see him staring down at the pulse monitor on my finger with a small smile tipping his lips up.

“Interesting response, Liv,” he says in a low voice and chuckling before continuing to rub circles on my back. “Let’s get the ice back on that foot.”

I’m blushing furiously and kind of want to ask for another ice pack to cool down my face but figure that would draw even more attention to things. My ankle still hurts, but as the adrenaline fades, I’m becoming aware of more than just the pain.

There’s the discomfort of my soaked, muddy clothes, sure. But there’s also the proximity of these two men who came to my rescue. Griffin’s next to me, lending me strength and support, and Denver’s on the floor in front of me, tenderly wrapping a bandage around the ice pack that he’s placed against my ankle.

When he’s done, Denver stands up to his full height, his gaze sweeping up and down my body, lingering where Griffin’s touching me.

“We should get out of these wet clothes,” he murmurs, the sound sending shivers down my spine, despite the warmth of the air surrounding us.

Griffin shifts behind me. “If we bring your pack to you, can you manage, Liv? We’ll wait just outside in case you need anything.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, nodding. Changing into dry clothing is priority one. Then, figuring out how the heck we’re going to get out of here if I can’t walk on my ankle.

Getting out of my dirty clothes is not simple, but I’m determined not to ask the men for help. I’ve embarrassed myself enough today, falling like I did, and there’s not a chance I want to let them see me wiggling like a very awkward worm while trying to get clean pants on without jarring my foot. But eventually, I’m done, and I collapse against the arm of the couch, breathing through the pain.

“I’m done,” I call out after a minute, and the door to the cabin opens.

They must have changed outside because both men are now in clean clothes of their own. They immediately come to my side, Griffin stroking my hair as Denver crouches down. “How are you doing, Pixie?”

“Still hurts,” I admit. “A lot.” I blow out a breath. “I feel so stupid, falling like that.”

Denver picks up my hand and holds it in his much larger ones. “Don’t beat yourself up. Any one of us could’ve tripped over a root. That kind of thing happens. I’m just glad you weren’t by yourself when it did.”