Page 17 of Owen

“I’m glad you won’t be able to feel this,” I whispered before swabbing the wound with the alcohol wipes, wincing on his behalf.

Poor guy. He only wanted to help me, and what did he get for his troubles? Nothing but a bump on the head.

It was what happened before the bump that really had me worried. Was it a seizure? Why was a guy prone to seizures wandering around in the woods alone at night? Shouldn’t he know better?

“We’re gonna have to have a little talk about this when you wake up,” I muttered. “Giving me hell about being out here alone and how dangerous it is, and you’re having seizures and whatnot. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

The bleeding had slowed to nothing more than a trickle, which I guessed was a good sign. I pressed a gauze pad to the wound, then did as best I could to tape it in place. His hair got in the way, but I couldn’t exactly shave it off. So long as something covered the wound and kept him from bleeding all over the place, it would have to do.

I pulled a blanket from the pack next and rolled it up, then rolled him onto his back and used it as a pillow. “That’s the best I could do,” I said with a shrug. “You sorta caught me off-guard there.”

Alone again.

I didn’t know until that moment how nice it had been to have someone to talk to. Knowing he was there wasn’t the same as having him present. I wouldn’t even have minded his laughing at me, so long as he was awake to do it.

“Come on,” I urged in a whisper, touching his cheek. “Wake up. Please. Come back.”

God, but he was handsome. Chiseled from marble, except he was warm and soft to the touch. I found myself stroking his cheeks, letting my fingers run over his jaw.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

That didn’t stop me. It was just his face—I wasn’t going any lower than that. There was no helping myself. I had to touch him.

“Thank you for being here for me,” I whispered as I stroked. He had a little bit of stubble on his cheeks, which of course only made him sexier. What was it about a five o’clock shadow on a strong jaw?

“I would really appreciate it if you woke up now. I need you to wake up. I can’t be out here by myself, remember? You told me so. It’s super dangerous, and I’m on one foot right now. What am I supposed to do when I can only get around on one foot? So, yeah, it would be really cool if you woke up right away. Thanks.”

No such luck, not that I expected him to sit up and argue with me. He was still out of it, though his breathing was regular and his pulse was strong.

God, the way he’d looked when he was having that seizure—if that’s what he had. I hadn’t seen any before, at least not in person, so I didn’t know what to look for.

He hadn’t twitched or shaken. His eyes rolled back, his face went pale, and that was that. Like somebody flipped a switch, and he stopped doing everything but breathing.

“Wake up.” I tried pouring a little water over his mouth, hoping it would revive him and get him to drink.

He’d said he needed water. Maybe he was dehydrated? No, dehydrated people didn’t just randomly go lights out without having trouble before that. Did they?

I was just about to pull out my phone and see if I could get a signal now that the storm was over and things would hopefully be working well again—it had gone nuts during the height of the hurricane, with no signal or network or anything—when his eyelids fluttered.

“Owen? Owen, can you hear me?” I leaned down low, hovering over him. “Owen, let me know you can hear me, okay? Please?”

“The… the…” His eyes were still closed, though they were rolling around behind his eyelids. It was enough to make me lean back, away from him.

“What? What are you trying to say?”

His forehead creased like he was concentrating as hard as he could. “Tr—treasure!”

Then, he went still again.

Until his eyes opened, and I heaved a sigh of relief.

But that didn’t ease every bit of discomfort.

The treasure.

Why was he talking about the treasure?

7

---