“Will we leave after?” My eyes frantically search his face. “As soon as we jump into the water can we leave?”
Oz’s forehead wrinkles. “You’re not scared of the rope, are you?”
I shake my head and try to swallow the large lump forming in my throat.
“What are you scared of?” Oz glides his thumb across the bare skin of my back. The same type of caress he gave me weeks ago when he was trying to comfort me at the motel. Goose bumps spread rapidly along my arms and it’s a pleasurable sensation.
You. “Tell me what to do.”
“Emily—”
“Tell me what to do!”
“Hold on to me and when I tell you, you let go.”
I nod while wrapping my arms around his neck. I’ve accomplished this feat before—jumping from a rope swing—but I’ve never done it with another person. I could inform Oz of this. I could tell him I’m brave enough to do this on my own, but I like how my body presses to his. I like too much how his arm holds me tight.
Oz nuzzles my hair and his warm breath tickles the skin behind my ear. My knees weaken and I lean completely into him.
With a push off the ground, wind blows through my hair as the two of us defy gravity. My stomach performs summersaults as we coast up into the air, dip down and then swing high over the grass. We repeat the loop, three times. Each swing causing us to go higher in the air.
“On this one,” Oz says. “When we’re over the water—jump.”
The trees blur into green as we race past, then there is sparkling blue.
“Jump!” Oz shouts.
I do. Releasing Oz. Falling backward. Letting my arms and legs stretch. The sun blinds me, the air warm on my back and then cold. A splash and the muffling sound of my ears filling with water. Pain slams into my leg and a cry leaves my throat.
My body convulses with the intake of water into my mouth, my nose. My hair spreads around me, strangling me, and my lungs burn for oxygen. My feet immediately kick for the surface. Fast. But not fast enough. I need air. Need air. I break through the water and my gasp is audible. The coughs rack my body.
“Emily!”
My head snaps to the right and with perfect form, Oz swims to me. I wipe the water from my eyes as I choke. Oz sweeps an arm around my waist and draws me into him. “Are you okay?”
I cough repeatedly, the spasms rocking my body. My arms go for Oz’s neck, but he ducks and turns me, supporting my back with his chest. His fingers splay over my stomach and he tips me so that my body is floating and my head rests on his shoulder.
The coughs keep coming and Oz is talking. Low. Softly. Words that I cling to like a life preserver about how everything is okay. I suck in my first real breath and the clean intake of air feels good. A few more breaths and I flinch with the throb on my shin. I lift my leg out of the water and a stream of blood flows like an oil slick.
Oz shifts so that he’s facing me. His eyes are wide. Wild even. “Shit. How bad is it?”
I blink, several times. “I don’t know.”
“Can you swim?”
“Yes.” But I don’t move. Instead, I sort of lock up as Oz treads water for both of us.
He smooths some strands of hair stuck to my face away and cradles my jaw. It’s an intimate gesture. One that I like, but am too dazed to fully appreciate. “I got you. Okay?”
Oz kicks hard for dry land, dragging me with him. “You jumped toward the rocks. You scared the shit out of me.”
The rocks. A quick snap of my gaze over my shoulder and chills run through me so quickly that I shake. Razor-sharp rocks less than a foot from me. I must have hit the real deadly ones. The quiet danger that you can’t see below the surface.
“Isn’t it always the things that you can’t see that hurt you?” I mumble.
Oz says nothing as he pulls both of us out of the water. He immediately eases down to my leg and blood steadily flows from the long wound.
“That’s a nice gash.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. It’s not deep, but the son of a bitch is going to bleed. Don’t move. I need to make sure your leg’s not broken before you try to walk, but first we need to stop the bleeding.”
Oz strides over to the small shack of a cabin and undoes a combination lock. He disappears inside then returns with a first-aid kit. A curse leaves his mouth when he opens the kit and only finds an ACE bandage. He works it over my leg and I watch as a wet dark line soaks through the material.
Oz pokes and prods my leg, asking if this or that hurts, and after a few minutes declares that he doesn’t believe the bone is broken.
“How do you know how to do this?” I ask.
Oz closes the now empty kit. “My mom’s a nurse and she taught me first aid because of my jobs. I used to lifeguard at the local pool and you know I referee peewee football. She’ll be pissed when she hears that no one has refreshed the supplies. There’s been talk of bad bacteria in the lakes. When we get back to Olivia’s pour some antiseptic over it.”
A part of me sinks with so many revelations. Several weeks here and I’ve never asked what Izzy does or if Oz has had any other part-time jobs. I’ve made assumptions. Lots of assumptions and I need to stop. “I’m sorry.”
“I should have told you which way to jump. This is on me.”
“Not for that...for never asking about you.”
Oz’s eyes meet mine and the surprise in them causes the guilt to fester. “I am sorry.”