Page 19 of My Favorite Bad Decision
I raise a brow. “Don’t pretend you care.”
He smiles. “Maybe that wasn’t care. Maybe I was hoping I could finally sayI told you so.”
I laugh quietly. “Go ahead then.”
“I plan to say it repeatedly once I’m actually sure you’re okay,” he says. “But that was a hard hit. Can you stand?”
I nod and sit up. I’m about to reach around to assess the damage to my hair when he stops me. “Leave it alone,” he says gently. “There’s hot water at the camp. You can wash it there.”
For someone who hasn’t talked to me in over ten years and couldn’t possibly know anything about me…he seems to know exactly what I’m thinking a whole lot of the time.
He grabs my arms and effortlessly hoists me up just as Gerald comes charging back up the hill.
“Well,that’sa shock,” Gerald begins. “Look who’s holding us up again.”
Miller rounds on him and takes a single, threatening step forward. “Gerald, get back down the hill and keep your fucking mouth shut.”
“You can’t threaten me,” says Gerald.
“I just did,” Miller replies, “and I assure you I can back it up.”
After a moment of tense silence, Gerald stalks off down the hill and Adam slaps Miller on the back. “I was sort of hoping you’d hit him, but that worked too.”
Miller glances at me. Discomfort is etched in his features, as if he thinks he went too far.
I guess he sort of did. What I don’t understand is…why.
7
MILLER
Three days of continual frustration and resentment.
Three straight days of worrying about her—about her level of fitness or the way Alex keeps hitting on her—along with the knowledge that we’ve got five more days of this.
That’s why it happened, why I lost it. Not that Gerald didn’t deserve it—he’s been a dick to her ever since she set him straight the first day—but I don’t normally disintegrate the way I just did.
I can come up with other excuses too—that we’re all exhausted, that the altitude is getting to me—but I’m not sure that quite covers it either. There’s a reason beneath all of that, one I don’t want to consider, so I just continue on to camp, staying close behind her just in case she starts to slip again.
It really was a hard fall. I wish to God she hadn’t come.
The rain has died off by the time we reach Shira Two. Everyone is heading for their tents, desperate to get out of wet clothes and lie down, aside from Kit, who is heading to the big jug of hot water they place near each bathroom, just as I knew she would. I fight a grin.
Those Fischer girls always were vain as hell about their hair.
I follow her to the jug while the porters bustle around us, getting ready for dinner.
“I’ve got you, squirt,” I say, taking the bottle out of her hand and filling it with the fresh hot water. “Take off your hat and tip your head back.”
Shockingly, she does as she’s told without argument. I pour the water over her hair, working the mud out with my fingers, then fill the bottle again and tug at her ponytail holder, wrapping it around my wrist for safekeeping. This time I pour more slowly, running my hand all the way to her scalp, checking for…
“You’ve got a bump.”
She stiffens. “I think it’s fine.”
One more thing to worry about. One more thing to lie in my tent, awake, considering.
I go back to pouring the water. It makes sense that she’s vain about her hair. It feels like silk in my fingers, still gold even when it’s soaking wet, and there’s a mountain of it. I’ve never seen more beautiful hair in my life, but that’s always how it was with Kit—some girls had one amazing feature, one amazing quality, but she possessed all of them. The loveliest hair, the poutiest lips, the bluest eyes, the best laugh, the smartest comebacks. Her mother and Maren were both famed for their looks, but she somehow made them look plain when she entered the room.
