“It is. I’m sorry,” Mark says, sounding devastated.
I glare at him. “Why would you say that? It was Chris, wasn’t it?”
“It’s important he knows where I stand,” Mark says, though with a guilty look. “I didn’t mean for you to choke.”
My eyes water. Swallowing energy drink into my lungs isn’t a pleasant experience. “He was starting to like you,” I say.
“He’s still testing me.”
“That was a fail as far as I’m concerned,” I say.
Mark cringes. “I consider it the same, too. Here.” He offers me his water.
The only silver lining of it all was that Louis was out of earshot for Mark’s remark.
Louis drifts closer. “Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m good,” I answer, hoarse.
“I’m dead tired,” Bethany says.
Louis stands at the base of the rock, staring down at her. “Want an energy bar?” he offers.
“I’ll be sick if I do,” she says back. “Is there an elevator we can ride down?” She groans and smacks my back. “Call your brother. Tell him you need an airlift.”
“Should I?” I wonder. “He probably has the local rescue team on speed dial.”
“Come on, come on,” Louis insists. He offers his hands to her. Sighing, Bethany reaches up and he helps her to her feet.
I follow suit, wincing.
Mark’s gaze sharpens on me.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn. “It’s my muscles aching, nothing else.” There is a little else, but it reminds me of the soreness when I started using my prosthetic for the first time.
“Are you sure?” Mark eyes me. “Because I could probably carry you down if I need to.”
I snort. He’d done enough carrying me around that I don’t doubt out.
“So that’swhy you’ve been doing so much weightlifting this month,” Bethany remarks, a teasing note in her voice.
I raise an eyebrow, casting a questioning look at Mark, who raises his chin and looks unashamed. My lips fold into a smile. “Really, now? Maybe I should let you carry me down so your work doesn’t go to waste.”
We begin our descent, and I find myself stumbling a lot more. The prosthetic jolts on the uneven terrain, and I grab onto Mark often as I stumble.
Bethany casts a worried look over her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good,” I say.
Mark is worried, too, but gives me an encouraging smile when I look at him. “It’s the joint,” I explain. “I’m used to this prosthetic on flat surfaces, but the last time I was climbing down a trail, I had an actual ankle. This doesn’t have as much give or spring. It feels really awkward.” Waymore awkward than going up had been.
I stumble again and grimace at the ache in my residual limb. All the jolting is starting to hurt. I pause, take a deep breath, and face Mark.
“Piggyback?” I ask.
Mark grins. “And you made fun of me for working out.”
Mark turns away from me and crouches, holding out his arms. I climb easily onto his back and wrap my arms around his shoulders securely. He cups my thighs and stands up easily. He adjusts me and angles his head back. “Comfortable?” he asks.
