Tears pricked my eyes, frustration and fear and sadness and a slew of other emotions hit me all at once as I stood there alone in those cold woods, uselessly attempting to treat my own wound. I straightened as I dropped the sock and brought my hands to my face, giving in to the quiet sobs that racked my body. Maybe I just needed a release. I’d been doing my best to hold my emotions at bay and do what needed to be done since the crash and they simply wouldn’t be contained any longer. The sight of that angry wound across my skin had opened the floodgates, in a sense representing some inner part of me as well. Ripped open. Exposed.

“Emily.” I jolted, letting out a tiny shriek as I dropped my hands from my face and whipped my head around. Tuck was standing behind me as though he’d materialized out of thin air. His gaze moved from my tear-streaked face down to my rear. “Are you okay?”

“Obviously not! God, you scared me! What the hell? What if I was doing my business?” I said, attempting to calm my racing heart after he’d practically given me a stroke.

He stepped forward, his jaw set. “I could hear you crying. And I could tell you were injured by the way you were moving.” He nodded toward my wound. “That doesn’t look good.”

“No kidding?” I sputtered, swiping at my tears and starting to bring my pants up. “It’s the least of my problems right now.”

“Not if it gets infected,” he said. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back with something to treat that with.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, aware that I was standing still in the woods with my pants pulled down because Tuck had told me to. But the promise of something that might lessen the pain was too tempting to pass up. Tuck was back in thirty seconds with a small first aid kit in his hands, one he’d obviously tossed in that magical duffel bag of his. He set the kit on the ground and knelt down, leaning in and examining me. “It’s not so bad you need to cry about it,” he murmured as he opened the kit and took out a few items.

“I’m not crying because I’m injured,” I snapped, annoyed by his suggestion that I was still a dramatic baby. What I’d said was honest, but I hadn’t necessarily planned on admitting it. What did I care if he thought I was crying over my injury? I didn’t want to expose myself further to someone who thought I was a sellout.

Tuck leaned closer and used a cotton ball soaked in alcohol to clean my wound. I grit my teeth, squeezing my fists as he tossed one cotton ball back in the box and then soaked another.