Three Reckless Words: A Grumpy Sunshine Romance (The Rory Brothers Book 3)
Three Reckless Words: Chapter 25

I think it’s getting dark again.

I’ve watched the sun moving through the breaks in the leaves. It feels like watching an hourglass running out.

Out here, time means nothing and also everything.

I can barely remember if this is the first or second night.

The only thing I do know—and I really do know it—is my body hurts.

It feels like being plugged into a dull electrical current.

What started as a drumming pain became a steady, deep ache that makes it hard to think. When I blinked my sore eyes open this morning, I was damp and confused and so, so tired from having wandered around all night, totally lost.

And I do mean totally.

If there was ever a path in this part of the woods, there’s no sign of it now, buried under years of thick brush and debris. Every step I take feels like the wrong flipping way.

So yes, now it’s getting dark again.

My legs are wet spaghetti and my stomach gurgles. I really should’ve thought harder about what to pack for food instead of doubling down on dried fruit and instant oatmeal. I only had chili the first night because I thought I’d be settled by now and I didn’t want to lug around tons of cans.

I’m so tired I could pass out cold, face down in the dirt.

I blink, force myself to yawn, trying to figure out which way is up and forward, and press onward. Overhead, the rustling leaves block the last scraps of daylight.

I’m slowly resigning myself to death.

Then my stomach flips over again, threatening to heave up my guts, and I change my mind.

I’m so not ready to die.

There’s nothing I want less than to slowly run out of food and die out here, feeling my life draining away like I’m sinking in the world’s slowest tarpit.

Plus, being eaten alive, one mosquito bite at time.

Another little vampire comes for me, landing on my arm and instantly stabbing into my skin.

I never said I liked all bugs.

I grit my teeth and slap at it, but the momentum makes me wobble and I tumble back against a thick tree. Rugged bark scrapes my shoulder.

Ow.

I’m too old for this crap.

Or is it too young?

As the forest wakes up with ominous night sounds, I pause and think.

I am definitely too something for this adventure.

Too alive, maybe.

Too sheltered.

Definitely too soft.

My stomach cramps again, even worse this time. I heave from the sensation, bending over to cough up stomach bile into the brush next to me.

I haven’t eaten since last night, honestly.

There’s nothing left for me to throw up.

One more mistake among many.

I never should’ve left my nice, comfy sleeping bag and gotten more lost.

Instead of staying put and letting myself dehydrate like a normal person while I waited for another hiker to stumble across me, I just had to get thirsty. Then I had to go and drink from that little stream.

It looked clear enough, but what do I know?

Not much, apparently.

Now, my entire body rebels, determined to speed up my doom by dehydration.

God, this really might be the end.

I need to focus, though.

Just sit down. Relax. Breathe.

Doubled over, I walk over to the tree that scraped me and slump down against its trunk.

Civilization feels like a far-off dream. Did it ever exist at all?

I can’t remember what sleeping in a real bed feels like.

All I know is dizziness and pain and the never-ending chirps and humming of the forest.

My legs ache, demanding water and electrolytes, reminding me that all I’ve done today is float around in circles.

But… but if I stop now, if I shut my eyes too long and drift off, I’ll never replace my way out.

I have to keep going.

Keep moving.

Keep—

My fingers dig into moss and I blink, trying to process the info relayed by my own senses.

Somehow, I’ve gone sideways without noticing, and now my nose is about two inches from the ground.

Oh, this is bad.

The kind of hanging over the edge of a cliff bad that has me scrubbing at my face to dislodge the fear, the confusion.

Even my breathing feels erratic.

I wince and clear my parched throat, wishing I had the words to curse the people who put me here.

Holden.

My stupid parents.

Archer.

No, not him. He might’ve trampled my heart, but at least he had reasons that aren’t completely selfish.

Mostly, I want to curse myself.

There’s a deep ringing in my ears, and I suck in a long breath. Then another. No matter how much I breathe, I can’t shake the weird buzzing sound that only amplifies.

Am I on the verge of passing out?

Groaning, I push myself up, hugging the tree for support.

Come on, one, two.

One, two.

One little step at a time.

I’m plodding along like a drunken camel, but at least I’m plodding.

If I just keep on going in one direction, one shaky step at a time, I should reach the edge of the forest eventually.

Logically, that makes sense.

A Hail Mary that gives me just enough hope to bargain with the universe.

“I don’t want to die,” I rasp. Ridiculous, sure, but I have this weird urge to hear my own voice. “How do you think Archer would feel?”

My heart twists, thinking about him and Colt both.

If I never make it out of here alive, they’ll beat themselves up forever.

Archer, he’ll blame himself for chasing me out here, an unforgivable failure when all he ever wanted was to protect me.

And Colt, being the sweetie that he is… he’ll never get over being the last person to talk to me. He’ll think he could have said something to put the brakes on my stupidity.

Even poor Lyssie, the unlucky recipient of my last dumb joke.

I can’t give up.

I can’t give up for them because fighting for myself isn’t enough.

I just wish my throat didn’t feel like I’ve gargled half the Sahara, but the pain screams I’m still in this.

“Come on, pick yourself up. You’re gonna live. You’re going to survive. You have to,” I whisper. My knees aren’t playing ball, so I crawl forward, falling over a few times until my nails dig into the dirt.

I’ll never clean it out at this rate, but they’re half-destroyed, anyway, chewed to bits.

Pain becomes my mantra with every step.

Guilt becomes my courage.

The evening gloom drapes over the trees, the late summer air hanging thick and stifling. Somehow, I’m still drenched in sweat after feeling like I’ve shed half my water weight.

That frenzied buzzing in my head gets louder, more insistent, more worrisome.

Sighing, I shake my head, but that won’t make it go away.

Something lands on my arm—thicker than the mosquitos that keep plaguing me.

I squint down.

“Work, brain,” I slur.

It’s amazing how everything can hurt and feel numb at the same time. None of my senses work.

But my eyes finally focus on the small creature crawling up my arm.

…a bee?

Yes, a perfect little honeybee.

And I realize that droning buzz isn’t just in my head.

That buzzing, it’s—

Holy shit.

Bees!

My heart rockets straight to the sky, flooded with emotion.

Happiness. Relief. Awe.

I choke back a sob as I crawl on my hands and knees, closer to the buzzing sound, a lopsided smile twisting my face.

This is worth the agony. The achy limbs, the nausea, the impending death.

This is worth my very real fear of dying out here, because if I hadn’t come out all this way, I never would have known the bees made it.

Holden didn’t kill them by leaving them homeless when he scattered them to the winds.

They’re here, alive in the woods, safe and hidden.

The next sound that escapes me is guttural and raw.

I’m sobbing.

Real, rib-cracking sobs.

I curl up on the mossy ground and vent my feels in a messy explosion of sound that hurts to expel.

I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure these are the same bees from the bee boxes. There are never any guarantees bees will make it when they’re violently evicted from their old homes.

But I think these guys did.

They’re alive, busy, and so close.

Slowly, I clamber forward until I can just about make out the hive in the darkness.

It’s huge, built into a dark shape bigger than a tree. Some sort of ancient, half-collapsed shed or wooden hunting blind, I realize.

The air is thick with bees, and their loud droning echoes in my bones.

It reminds me of good things, of home, of Grandma, of Archer and his kisses, and it’s such a sweet relief I almost pass out.

But I won’t until I see them.

Closer, closer, until the noise surrounds me like dull static.

They’re dormant at night, but a few lazy blind bees tangle in my hair, landing on my arms before lifting off again.

I don’t care.

This is the miracle I needed.

Almost all the light has bled out now and we’re well into gloom and shadows.

My hand shakes as I reach the side of the shed, peeling back a piece of rotted board to take a piece of the honeycomb.

The buzzing turns deafening and the bees sound angry.

They really don’t like bandits coming for their goods at night.

Crap. I need to get out of here soon or I might win the most ironic death ever.

Even if I’m friendly, to them I’m a threat, and there’s nothing to protect me if they get riled up enough to attack.

No, they can’t see well in the dark, but a few hundred drones will replace their target if I’m right on top of them.

Grunting with effort, I work quickly, breaking off a small chunk of honeycomb to take.

“I’m sorry, guys. You know I’ll get you back someday, I promise.”

The buzzing intensifies. A few bees flit past my head like screaming bullets.

But I stagger backward, retreating, whispering more apologies.

Maybe they’re still about as exhausted as I am from having fled their hives and built up busy new ones. Or maybe it’s just the dark.

Either way, they don’t chase me into the night.

I’m clumsy, though.

It takes too long to put some healthy distance between me and the hive. Finally, after a few parting stings for my trouble, I stumble off to safety.

I set the honeycomb on my lap and rip a couple leftover stingers out of my skin.

My fingers are sausages. I have to try several times before they’re out.

Six pulsing stings add to the cacophony of pain bouncing around my body. But I have the honeycomb, and that means I have precious food that won’t upset my stomach. A little sugar, simple to digest, which hopefully means the energy to avoid passing out.

When I run my tongue cautiously across it, I make another discovery—one which means almost as much as the bees.

This has to be the purple honey.

It’s too dark to see it, but the taste gives it away even before I notice that dim telltale glow.

I spent half the summer loving this flavor. There’s something distinct about it, rich and sweet without being overwhelming. It’s almost like fine wine or chocolate, and it cleans the foul taste from my mouth.

And I realize any healing properties it has won’t magically save me, but right now I need all the help I can get.

A little glucose to keep my brain working, plus whatever enzymes are in this stuff.

I will survive.

My hands are greedy as my nausea lifts and the hunger hits again. I break off large bits of honeycomb and cram them in my mouth. Soon, I go full hangry Pooh Bear, wiping honey off my chin and licking it off the back of my hand.

No, I’m not pretty right now.

I’m determined.

Luck hasn’t been on my side lately, but this tastes a little like destiny.

I’m feeling more lucid by the minute as my body pumps glucose into my blood, more aware of my surroundings than I have been since yesterday, even as the night gets denser and the woods turn eerie.

A soft summer breeze blows through the trees. Aside from the creaking branches, it helps everything feel a little less stifling.

I should keep moving with the wind literally at my back.

“Don’t give up. Not now. Not ever,” I whisper.

Though maybe I should rest just a few more seconds to keep up my strength.

Also, now that I’m fed, I’m impossibly tired.

We’re talking bone-deep exhaustion that could send me smacking into a tree. I’m not sure I’d even notice.

I slouch down against another huge tree trunk, my feet screaming at me.

Okay, okay. Just a minute or two, then we’re moving again.

Colt would love this cool secret nest.

Archer would shake his head and warn me how dangerous it is.

The thought drops in my head like a pebble on a lake. Every time I imagine Archer and Colt, my heart twists tighter.

If they could see this place, I bet Colt would cook up a whole new biology project. Archer would hold his son back from the bees, and I’d loan Colt a bee suit to keep him safe, and then we’d hang back, holding hands while the teenager explored to his heart’s content.

Oh, that hurts.

There’s no running away from them, is there?

I can’t just zoom in and out of their lives like a lost little bee without expecting to leave a trace.

If Archer was here, you’d ask him to put a new cabin deeper in the woods, and he’d tease you for wanting him to build this deep in the forest just so you could live next to the bees.

Despite everything, a tiny smile curls my lips.

I can just imagine him, all gruff words and shining blue eyes—outwardly grumpy but really just a softie. Indulgent and sweet.

Big daddy perfection to the end.

I miss him.

I miss everything—except for the gigantic tangled mess of my family’s drama.

The mess I caused.

The smile slips off my face.

The world resumes throbbing again, my vision wavering.

I’m hugging my shoulders.

It’s weird because it’s definitely not that cold tonight.

Yet somehow, I’m shivering.

I wish I had a kiss with a bad-tempered man to warm me up.

I would not mind it if he used that mouth.

He knows what he’s doing with his tongue, and I can almost feel it now, the searing, sharp heat flowing through me. I let my head roll back.

This is what I want, what I need.

But I can’t have it.

Reality picks me up and hurls me back down.

I can’t have it because I left, and that was the right thing to do. It had to be.

If only good morals didn’t hurt so effing much.

Every time I blink, it’s like the world reassembles itself in a slightly different way.

My eyes dart around. I think I hear voices, but it’s just the trees whispering, the leaves shaking and murmuring with the wind.

Win-nie, they say.

Winnie!

I start laughing. Trees don’t talk and they certainly don’t call your name.

Even if they could, I’m not important enough for them to know me. They don’t care.

It’s a little sad.

Archer cares—or at least he did.

The little family I had, the one who adopted me—and I know I’m stretching the truth but God I don’t care—they cared plenty.

I frown because I keep pinging on the ugly truth.

I ran away from them.

I didn’t even wait for an adult conversation.

Some coping mechanism.

I’m sure Lyssie will dig me up and kill me again once she replaces out how dumb all this is.

God, I’m a mess.

Maybe it’s the fever giving me these teeth-chattering chills. Can some bad algae from a tainted stream poison your brain, too?

I go to look it up, but remember my phone’s dead. My hand falls uselessly against the ground.

No phone.

No hope.

Right.

Heat pricks along my limbs and sweat seals my clothes to my neck. I’m shivering with the heat, and it’s almost impossible to string a single coherent thought together.

The only thing that stands out in my delirious mind is Archer Rory.

I miss him so much I can almost see him standing in front of me.

And I must be terminally sick because my hallucinations look real enough to touch when he appears in front of me like a guardian angel.

Is this how it works?

Do you get to see your favorite people before you die? Even if they’re still alive?

“Hey, Archer.” I grin up at him, still tasting sticky honey on my lips.

He answers by sweeping me up in his arms and flinging me over his shoulder.

Don’t pinch me.

If this beautiful delusion is my grand finale before the lights go out, I never want to know when the fireworks end.

I never want to wake up when he holds me, cradling me, his eyes so bright with love and concern.

“Winnie, stay with me. I love you,” he whispers.

Love you too. I try to mouth back those three reckless words.

But I think I’m too far gone.

I pass out smiling, ready for the great beyond.