Page 181 of The Illicit Play

It’s narrow and steep, and at one point, I have to drop to my ass and do a butt-shuffle routine to make it down to the bottom of the hill.

Grady coaches me through every step, quietly encouraging me and steadying my body whenever it’s practical.

Once we reach flat ground, it gets a million times easier, and even though the trail is awkward walking side by side like this, Grady keeps a steady hold on me. He’s so strong, so calm, so quietly determined.

“I would give you a piggyback, but I don’t want to jostle your ankle. I know it’s slower this way, but I think it’s less painful for you.”

Exhaustion is eating at me, and I can’t even find the energy to respond.

He glances down at my face. I can practically hear his brain running through a quick assessment, and when I stumble over my next step, he stops and winces.

“Think you can handle it if I do give you a ride? You’re flaking on me, girl, and I’m starting to worry about hypothermia.”

I give him a slow blink—silent permission to do whatever the hell he wants. I can’t think anymore. I just need him to act.

Treating me like cracked porcelain, he leans me against a tree trunk, arranging his pack to sit over his chest before crouching down and coaxing me onto his back.

He’s right about the pain in my ankle; it spikes and snips at me with every swing of my foot, but I’m too tired to care. He’s walking at a quick clip, and I close my eyes against the discomfort, gripping his shoulders and trying to keep my head upright.

I feel like everything inside me is getting slower, and by the time we reach the parking lot, I’m hoping he’lloffer to let me lie in the back of his Jeep and sleep my way home.

But the screeching of tires has me looking up, and there’s my brother, struggling out of the passenger side of Zander’s SUV.

“Blake!” he calls, pausing in obvious frustration to take a crutch off Satch, then hobbling toward me.

She’s smiling, her eyes all glassy and tearful as she watches her big-ass boyfriend lumber toward us.

Grady gently lowers me, checking my face, his forehead creasing with worry. “Hang in there, baby.”

“I’m okay,” I whisper, feeling anything but.

“Blake, thank God,” Wily whispers, pulling me against him as soon as I’m within range. “Don’t you ever fucking scare me like that again, you little shit.” He’s laughing… or maybe crying, I can’t tell.

All I know is that he’s crushing me to his chest like I matter.

“Careful with her, man,” Grady starts complaining. “She’s got a busted ankle. Let her breathe, for fuck’s sake.”

Wily lurches back, steadying me with his arm and studying my face. “She’s really pale.”

“We need to get her to the hospital. She’s dehydrated and cold, and that ankle needs looking at.”

Grady gently nudges my brother away from me and swoops me into his arms. “Come on, baby.”

“I’m coming with you guys.” Wily hobbles beside us, then turns to look for his girlfriend. “Satch?”

“Yeah, I’m right here.” She runs up behind him, nearly tripping in her haste. He reaches out an arm to steady her, and she shoots him a grateful smile before following us to Grady’s Jeep.

“Let’s take my truck. It’s got more room.” Wily glances at me. “Tell me you didn’t lose my keys, butt face.”

I pat the deep pocket on the side of my yoga pants, relief washing through me. Finally, I didn’t screw something up.

“I didn’t lose your keys, shithead,” I softly mumble and am rewarded with a deep laugh from my brother.

“I’m driving,” Satch announces, surprising everyone, and helps me wrestle the keys out of my pocket.

Grady doesn’t complain, looking at Tyrell and ordering him to drive his Jeep back to Football Frat.

Holding out his hands to catch, Tyrell takes the keys Wily digs out of Grady’s backpack, and then we fuss around the cars for a few minutes, deciding who’s gonna sit where.