Page 98 of The Aster Valley Collection, Vol. 2

DALLAS

I didn’t know whether to laugh or start apologizing.

So I did both.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” I blurted on a huff of laughter. “Jesus, I’m so sorry.”

The cutie on the stretcher flushed pink. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.”

I squeezed his hand. “No, it does. Jeremiah, I’m?—”

“Ew!” he said. “Don’t call me that.” Then he blushed even more. “I go by BJ.”

Considering the man had cherry-red lips that I’d already fantasized about inappropriately, I could understand why he had such a nickname. Still, it was unexpected.

“My dad is Jeremiah also,” he hurried to add. “So I’m Baby Jeremiah.”

“BJ,” I said with a nod. “Got it. Is your dad here, by any chance?”

He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Uh, no? He’s back home in Louisiana, presumably. Why?”

One of the paramedics answered before I could. “You’re going to need someone with you at the hospital. At least, they’ll want someone to stay with you when you’re ready to go home.”

BJ glanced between me and the paramedic, who was busy removing his ski helmet to make him more comfortable on the stretcher.

“Boyfriend or girlfriend?” I asked, selfishly curious about whether or not he was taken.

“No. No boyfriend. But I have a friend who said he’d come get me,” he said hesitantly, looking around for the guy.

His friend came rushing over with a cell phone to his ear. “BJ, shit. I’m so sorry. There’s an emergency at home, and I have to get back to Knockwood right away. I’ll get one of the guys we skied with to come be with you at the hospital. Julian, the dark-haired one, he seems nice?—”

Seems nice? He was going to leave BJ injured and reliant on strangers? I felt an unusual twist of anger in my gut. “There’s an emergency here,” I said. “With your friend. He’s hurt.”

The man grimaced. “No, I know. But my brother’s a bush pilot. He didn’t come back from a recent flight and?—”

“Go,” BJ said, waving him off. “I’ll be fine. Message me and let me know your brother’s okay.”

He moved past me to lean over BJ, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Call Parker and Julian to help. You message me to tell me you’re okay, too. I’m sorry.”

BJ was obviously putting on a brave face for his friend.

He looked vulnerable and alone. Once his friend left and the paramedics were getting ready to close the doors, I ducked into the bay one last time.

“Hey, uh… can I get your number so I can check up on you? I don’t feel right sending you off alone. ”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, catching eyes with the impatient ambulance driver over my shoulder. He rattled his number off so I could type it into my phone, and then he was gone.

Two hours later, when I’d finally helped clear the remaining skiers and resort personnel off the mountain, I pulled out my phone to text BJ.

This is Dallas from Ski Patrol. You hanging in there?

After a few minutes, my phone vibrated with a response.

BJ

Good news: only MCL sprain. Bad news: the taxi won’t be here for another forty minutes.

I stared at the phone. How the hell was he supposed to maneuver in and out of a cab without help? Not to mention I’d lived in Aster Valley long enough to know there were exactly two cabs, and neither one was as fast as a sleeping turtle. Forty minutes was optimistic.

I’ll come get you.

BJ

I don’t want to put you out.

Too late, already in the truck.

For some reason, I appreciated the chance to help him.

Helping others was something I enjoyed doing anyway; it was one of the reasons I’d chosen the job I had.

But helping BJ, who seemed like he could use a friend, was exactly the way I wanted to spend my evening.

If I could make his injury a little less of a burden, it would be time well spent.

Not to mention way more enjoyable than going home to an empty house alone.

BJ

Thanks. I really appreciate it.

When I got to the emergency room, someone directed me to the bay where he was huddled under a pile of blankets with a large leg brace propped up on pillows.

He looked pale and tired and had the glazed eyes of someone on a lot of pain medication.

“Hey,” I said softly. “You ready to go?”

He turned his head to face me, and a tear leaked out of one eye. “It hurts.”

I stepped closer and reached out to wipe it away with a thumb. “I’ll bet. Let’s get you home, okay?”

“It’s not home,” he said in a small voice. “It’s a vacation rental. I live up in Jackson Hole. I’m supposed to drive home tomorrow.”

I looked down at his right leg encased in a foam immobilizer. “I’m afraid that’s not happening. You need to get some rest and ice that bad boy. Even if it wasn’t your right leg, I’m guessing you’re going to be on some pain meds for a couple of days.”

Another tear slid out as he reluctantly nodded. “Yeah.” He blew out a breath. “Thanks for coming to get me. The only guy I really knew in town was the one who had to leave.”

BJ seemed so forlorn, a completely different guy than the sparkling, bubbly one I’d seen joking around with Parker and Tiller’s group in the restaurant earlier. I’d noticed them when I’d popped in to show someone the way to the bathrooms, and I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off him.

He’d caught my eye because he was bright and happy, flirty and fun… not to mention gorgeous. I’d felt a little piece of my lonely heart stretching toward him like a flower toward the sun.

But now he was hurt and tired, worn-out and stressed. And my heart went out to him in an entirely different way.

Someone came in with a wheelchair and helped him transfer from the blanket nest. He was wearing the blue scrub shorts that the ski-area hospitals seemed to order in bulk for just this reason.

I grabbed the white plastic bag with his belongings and helped him put his parka back on. His one bare leg would freeze in the time it took me to transfer him to my truck, so I shrugged out of my own parka and put it over his lap.

He murmured a quiet thanks but kept his head down while we moved out of the room and down the hall. My stomach jangled with nerves.

The nurse who was pushing the wheelchair glanced at me.

“You’re going to stay with him, right? He needs someone with him overnight.

We sent his prescription to the pharmacy on Broad Street.

It should be ready by the time you get there, and they have a drive-thru window.

Make sure he eats something, too, or those pain meds are going to do him wrong. ”

She continued to walk me through the rest, ice, compression, elevation protocol, and I decided to nod along rather than inform her about my EMT training. When we finally got to my truck and got him belted into the passenger’s seat, she spoke to BJ like he was an elderly invalid.

“Now, Mr. Tilstead ?” she shouted slowly.

BJ met my eye with a raised eyebrow that almost made me snort. “Yes, ma’am?”

“ You take it easy, okay ?”

The slight narrowing of his eyes was the only indication he was annoyed. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll sure try. I heard everything you said, and I promise not to try any more black diamonds this week. I’ll stick to the blue and green trails.”

Her eyes widened in alarm, and this time I couldn’t stop myself from laughing out loud.

“He’s kidding,” I assured her. “BJ’s hilarious.”

That one burst of snarkiness seemed to take the remainder of BJ’s energy. When I slid into the driver’s seat, I noticed he was trembling. I reached for the heater controls. “Sorry, the heat should kick on quick since I wasn’t inside long. Bear with me.”

“It’s not that. Pain meds make me shaky.” He slumped down in the seat, clearly trying to get comfortable. “They’ve told me it’s normal. I first learned it when I had my wisdom teeth out. Then I broke my arm a couple of years ago and confirmed it.”

I drove carefully out of the lot before turning toward Broad Street to pick up the prescription. “What else can I pick up for you while I’m in the pharmacy?” I asked. “Gatorade? Snacks?”

He huddled deep in his coat and shook his head. “No. I’m okay.”

He wasn’t okay. I could tell he was trying not to put me out, but I couldn’t stand the idea of leaving him high and dry.

“If I were to get you Gatorade against your will, what flavor would you want?”

The edge of BJ’s mouth quirked up. “You have to ask? And here I thought you knew me so well, Mr. ‘BJ’s hilarious.’”

I felt my face heat. “I just… I didn’t want her to…”

“I know,” he said, still smiling tiredly. “Orange. Thanks.”

I pulled in and left the truck running. BJ tried to give me back my coat, but I tucked it more tightly against his legs. “I run hot anyway,” I said. “Just sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

After grabbing his prescription and half the snacks and drinks in the place, I returned to the truck to find him frowning at his phone.

“Everything okay?”

“Oh, peachy.” He leaned his head back against the headrest and sighed. “Lost my job.” His voice sounded flat and hopeless.

“Jesus. Over the phone?”

BJ shook his head. “Not really. I messaged one of my coworkers to ask her to cover for me next week, and she said the company just announced a change of ownership.”

“How do you know the new owners won’t keep you on?” I didn’t know what he did for a living, but in my industry, a new owner wouldn’t necessarily replace the ski patrol personnel.

“I teach fitness classes at a resort up in Jackson. Chandra says they’re being acquired by a big hotel chain that’s known for gutting wellness offerings. And when I tell them I won’t be back for a few weeks…” He sighed, and it came out more like a pained groan.

“Damn, BJ. I’m sorry.” I wished I could say something else to comfort him. Remind him that sometimes good things come from hopeless situations, maybe. Or just give him a hug and show him he wasn’t alone.

But I stopped myself. He wouldn’t be the first guy to tell me I was being too Pollyanna or touchy-feely. And the truth was, I didn’t really know BJ… even if it kinda felt like I did.

When I pulled into my driveway and turned off the ignition, BJ looked around in confusion. “This isn’t my rental.”