Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
He crouched in front of me, unzipping the kit. “Let me see.”
I hesitated, then lifted my leg, wincing as I peeled off the sock. A shallow but ugly scrape curved around the side of my ankle, red and faintly swollen.
Webb didn’t react, he just opened a small packet with a wipe in it and started cleaning it with steady, warm hands.
“You’re good at this,” I muttered, watching the way he moved—calm and sure, like he’d done this a hundred times.
He shrugged. “Comes with the territory.”
“What territory?”
He glanced up. “Being the one who stays calm while everyone else falls apart. And having so many brothers.”
That made my chest squeeze, but I didn’t say anything and hid it behind a snort. The sting of antiseptic made me flinch, and his grip tightened just slightly, enough to steady me.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“It’s okay. It kind of feels nice, you know, not doing everything alone.”
His eyes flicked to mine at that, unreadable for a second. Then he looked away, focused on unwrapping a bandage. “You don’t have to anymore.”
The words were quiet, but they landed like they meant something.
He smoothed it over the cut, then stood up and tossed the wrappers into the trash. I wiggled my toes experimentally and leaned back with a sigh.
“Webb?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For the fire, the medical attention, the weird raccoon jokes. All of it.” It was a lame list, but right now, it all meant the world to me.
He gave me a soft nod, leaning against the table now. “You’re welcome, you little maniac.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, it felt like something settled into place. Something solid.
And just before I drifted off where I sat, my ankle wrapped and my guard finally lowered, I thought maybe this cabin wasn’t the end of the line. Perhaps it was the start of something else—a new Gabby.
Chapter Ten
Gabby
The morning began with a deceptively peaceful calm—birds chirping cheerfully, the sun climbing over the trees, and a soft breeze drifting through the branches like Mother Nature was trying to convince me she hadn’t just tried to kill me with bugs and emotional trauma the night before.
I stepped out of the cabin in flip-flops, the only thing I had to hand that didn’t involve laces or a full commitment to life. I was still half-asleep, my hair up in a lopsided bun, and wearing an old, oversized T-shirt and the expression of a woman who just needed to pee and not die doing it.
The outhouse was thirty feet away, which was an easy distance until the bushes rustled.
I froze mid-step, both flip-flops immediately trying to flee in opposite directions like traitorous sandals with no regard for survival.
“Oh, hell no,” I muttered, scanning the undergrowth like it was Jurassic Park. “No one talks about this part when they say nature’s healing. This is how people die in flip-flops.”
The rustling grew louder, and I immediately took two fast, graceless steps toward the outhouse, my flip-flops slapping the ground like wet pancakes. “This is it,” I hissed. “This is how it ends. I’m gonna get mauled by something weird while wearing freedom flappers and needing to pee. Amazing.”
Then, from the bushes, the enemy emerged. Two raccoons shot out, skidded to a halt, and just stood there, side by side, like tiny judgmental bouncers for the most cursed bathroom on Earth. I stopped short as they stared at me. Not knowing what to do, I stared back, my expression likely mirroring theirs.
I had a flashback to a meme I saw once: Raccoons that are out during the day are considered rabid. Avoid at all costs. And immediately, my brain screamed: RABID. THEY'RE RABID.
But instead of lunging at me and gnashing their possibly diseased little teeth, they waddled right past me, like I was an extra in their movie, and plopped themselves down in front of the outhouse. Then they just started drinking from a puddle. Specifically, a gross, suspiciously located puddle located right in front of the outhouse.
I cringed at the thought of what could be in that puddle. “Oh my God.”
Unlike me, they didn't give a shit as they slurped like they were at a spa.
I looked up at the sky. “Is this my punishment? Did I do something in a past life like steal a cursed amulet or talk during a movie?”
The raccoons kept drinking.
“Okay,” I said, pointing at them, “I don’t want to ruin your vibe or whatever, but I’m fairly certain that puddle is full of toilet water. There’s no plumbing under that thing. No pipes, no science, just a glorified poop pit and the hollow echo of every bad decision I’ve ever made.”
The bigger raccoon paused, looked up at me, and then went right back to slurping.
I covered my mouth. “You’re drinking shitty, pissy water, Steve.”
Yeah, I named him Steve in the moment. It felt right.