Page 29 of The Oath Operation
Her eyes were drawn to the curve of Fish's broad shoulders. His back, sturdy and strong, tapered down to his narrow waist, every muscle defined and moving with a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. His muscled forearms flexed as he adjusted the straps of his backpack, the veins running beneath his skin like a map of resilience and hard work. The fabric of his shirt clung to his back, outlining the powerful muscles beneath. As he stepped over rocks and roots, his strong thighs propelled him upward with effortless power.
The man took everything in stride, including this hike. He pointed out the beauty around them with a quiet enthusiasm that contrasted with his imposing frame. His voice, deep and steady, described the views ahead, the distant mountains, the cascading waterfalls they’d soon reach, but all Jules wanted to do was reach for him.
Despite her protests and invitations, they hadn't gone past first base in this marriage. Instead of climbing higher, she'd much prefer to lie down behind one of those bushes and have her way with her husband. But that was not a part of Fish's plans today.
Jules sighed inwardly, wishing she could summon the same enthusiasm Fish had for this hike. She hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed by her lack of enjoyment. More than anything, she wanted to support him and be a part of his world, even if it meant stepping out of her comfort zone.
When they were only halfway up the trail, Fish turned and rewarded her with a kiss. His lips were soft and inviting, and for a moment, Jules forgot about the grueling hike. But instead of invigorating her, the kiss left her breathless and wanting more. The promise of more kisses at the top became her motivation. She powered through the rest of the hike, her determination fueled by the memory of his touch.
By the time they reached the summit, Jules was completely spent. Despite the hearty breakfast she'd had that morning, the steep climb had taken its toll on her body. She was sweating profusely, her skin damp and clammy, and her muscles ached with a deep, throbbing fatigue that settled into her bones. Her breath came in short, labored gasps, each inhale feeling like a struggle as she tried to fill her lungs with the thinning air at the higher elevation.
Her vision started to blur. The world around her wavered like a mirage. A pounding headache began to build at her temples, each pulse like a hammer striking her skull. She wiped at her brow with the back of her hand. It did little to alleviate the dizziness that crept over her. Her throat felt parched and dry, as if all the moisture had been sapped from her body. When she reached for her water bottle, she realized with a sinking feeling that it was empty.
Panic fluttered in her chest as she recognized the signs—she was dehydrated, and her blood sugar was dropping. Her body was struggling to keep up with the demands of the hike, and she knew she needed to address it quickly. Her heart pounded not just from exertion, but from the growing worry that she might be on the verge of a diabetic episode. She glanced at Fish, who was still pointing out the view with enthusiasm, unaware of her distress. She tried to steady herself, but the ground beneath her felt unsteady, her legs weak and trembling.
She knew she needed to rest, to rehydrate, and to get something into her system to stabilize her blood sugar before things got worse. The hike had pushed her beyond her limits, and now her body was sending clear signals that it needed attention.
"You're out?" Fish, always attentive, handed her his water bottle. "Here, take mine."
Jules took a healthy swig, immediately noticing a sweetness to it. She pulled the bottle away and looked at it suspiciously. "What’s in this water?"
"It's electrolyte water," Fish said casually. "It's a sports drink."
Her heart sank. "Oh no," she murmured, feeling a wave of nausea hit her. She bent over, clutching her stomach, and vomited.
As if on cue, her blood sugar sensor beeped loudly, signaling a problem. Panic started to set in. "Fish," she managed to say between ragged breaths, "I'm having a reaction. I pushed myself too hard and then drank the sports drink."
Fish's eyes widened in alarm, his hands hovering uncertainly. "What do you need? Tell me what to do."
Jules tried to focus, but her vision was swimming. "I might pass out. You need to—" But before she could finish, the world tilted, and darkness closed in.
ChapterTwenty-One
Jules was unresponsive in Fish's arms. The smile he loved went slack, her body limp and lifeless. This was Fish's literal worst nightmare. Panic swept through him, his heart pounding wildly. He felt like the world was closing in around him, the serene beauty of the summit now a cruel, indifferent backdrop to his despair.
He'd gone up ahead, clearing a path to the top of the mountain for his wife, and somehow she had taken fire behind him. His mind flashed back to the battlefield. His memories were vivid and haunting. He'd run ahead of his friend and fellow soldier, only to have the bullet whizz past him, missing him by mere inches, and struck his friend instead.
The wind whipped around his head now, but to Fish's mind, it sounded like the sickening thud of the impact of a body going to the ground. He'd caught Jules before her body made impact. As he pulled her close, he looked around for the culprit. When his fellow soldier had fallen, Fish had scanned the area for the enemy gunman. Spying him hiding behind a rundown building, Fish had taken aim and with one shot, he'd taken the enemy down.
But there were no crumbling structures on the summit. There was no one else hiding behind trees or bushes. They were alone on the peak. The one who'd caused Jules harm had been him.
The alarm on her arm blared loudly, its insistent screech cutting through the stillness of the morning air. Fish's mind raced, trying to figure out what to do in this scenario. But it wasn't a wound he could bandage. They weren't under fire with the need to take cover. With all his military training, he came up empty.
This wasn’t a battlefield where he knew what to do, where the enemy was clear and the mission was defined. This was Jules—his wife—lying limp and lifeless in his arms, and he had no idea how to help her.
This was his fault. He had pushed her too hard, taken her on this hike that was too much for her, and then, like an idiot, he had given her a drink loaded with sugar. He should have known better. He should have asked. He should have... done something.
His throat tightened, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked down at her, helpless and terrified. The sound of the alarm was deafening, each shrill beep a reminder of his failure, of the danger she was in. He was supposed to protect her, to keep her safe, and now she was slipping away from him, and he didn’t know how to stop it.
He felt the urge to shake her, to do something, anything, to wake her up, but he knew better than to move her too much. His hands trembled as he fumbled for her wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was there, weak but steady. It didn’t ease the dread gnawing at his insides.
He looked around frantically, searching for help, but they were alone, miles from civilization, and there was no one to turn to. No one to tell him what to do. The reality of their isolation hit him like a punch to the gut. There was no medical kit, no one with the expertise to handle this. It was just him, and he was failing.
His mind raced, trying to remember everything he knew about diabetes, but the information felt scattered and incomplete. He was so angry at himself for not knowing more, for not being prepared for this. He should have asked her more about her condition, should have been more vigilant, but he had been too complacent, too confident that he could handle anything.
But this—this was beyond him.
He tightened his grip on her, holding her close as if he could somehow will her back to consciousness. The fear was a cold hand squeezing his heart as he looked down at her face, her features still and pale. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this. Not because of his ignorance.
