She’d run from bandits, tricked mob bosses, outrun wild animals, and rafted down rivers. But for the first time in all her archaeological adventures, Corrie felt utterly helpless.
No. Corrie was anything but helpless. She couldn’t let this animal hurt Ford. She was a motherfucking badass.
“Let him go!” she screamed, searching for something to use to fight back. A stick. A rock. Anything.
“Corrie, go! Get help!” Ford called out before throwing back his head with a loud cry as Lance fell into his body. His grunting continued as Lance stumbled, tripping over his backpack on the ground and sending both of them hurling into the river with a loud splash.
“Ford! No!”
Corrie rushed to the river’s edge, where Ford hung on to a root protruding from the riverbank, Lance clinging to his back, the waterfall rushing less than a hundred yards away. A hundred yards toward certain death.
“Help! Help!” Lance screamed, his face terrified as he pushed Ford’s head under the water trying to climb out.
She dove to the ground, pulling on Ford’s arms to help him out. But Lance used Ford’s body as a ladder, clawing to escape the rolling rapids. The pounding waterfall sent a deafening thunder through her ears, adding to the chaos and franticness.
“No! Get off him!” Corrie yelled, using her legs to kick Lance. Ford twisted beneath him, fighting to hold on to the riverbank while elbowing Lance out of the way and gasping for breath. Finally, Ford broke free from his grasp, sending Lance bobbing in the depths of the river and over the edge with a bloodcurdling scream.
Ford rested his head against the muddy riverbank, panting and exhausted from the struggle.
“Do you think he made it?” Corrie asked, still holding on to his arms.
“Honestly . . . I don’t fucking care.”
“Come on. Let me help you out.”
She used her legs to pull him out of the river, tugging under his armpits as he crawled up the bank. Once on dry land, they both collapsed. Out of breath. Out of harm’s way. Corrie stared at the blue sky poking out through the tree canopy, panting at how close they’d both come to death. All because of . . .
“Ford! The knife!” she said, shooting up to a seated position.
“Don’t worry . . . I’ve got it right here,” he said, pulling a knife from his pocket. The one Lance had pointed at her neck.
“Wait . . . I thought this was a fake.”
“No. The other was the fake. A little trick I learned from you. Besides, I needed something to do in the evenings,” he said, turning his head toward her and flashing a smirk.
She couldn’t help but smile. “Oh my God, Ford. Do you know how dangerous that was? We could have both been killed.”
“Well, I knew you’d never forgive me if I let him get away with that knife. And I’d never forgive myself if you got hurt. What else was I supposed to do?”
Her heart pounded. He’d saved her. Saved her again. Badass Mejía had needed saving by Weak Sauce Matthews, and in his mind, he’d had no other options.
“Ford . . . I—”
“We should get back,” he cut her off. “They’re going to be looking for us soon and we don’t want them to think we took off.”
He started to sit up, then cried out in pain and collapsed on the ground.
“What’s wrong? What is it?” she said, scooting closer to examine him, his arm wrapped around his waist. “Is it your arm?” she asked, seeing the blood everywhere.
But he lifted his shirt and it was so much worse. Blood pooled out of a wound in his side. “Oh my God, Ford! He stabbed you!”
As if that wasn’t obvious.
“It’s fine,” he said, sucking in a breath and closing his eyes. His lips pulled into a tight line as he tried settling his breaths. “I just need to get to camp.”
“No, Ford, it’s not fine. You’re losing a lot of blood. Here,” she said as she pulled off her shirt and bundled it into a wad to press against the wound. But Corrie was no medic. Sure, she’d found herself in enough scuffles to know her way around a first aid kit, but she’d never encountered a wound like this. Never something life-threatening.
He cried out once more when she pressed the shirt against his body. “Okay, maybe it’s not fine,” he said.
“Then come on. We need to get you back,” she said, trying to wrap his arm around her neck. But his body was like dead weight, impossible for her to lift. And he winced again.
“I can’t,” he said. “I don’t think I can move.”
“Then we’ll wait. Like you said, they’ll be looking for us soon.”
“You should go get help.”
“No, I can’t go.”
“I don’t . . . I don’t think I’m going to make it if you don’t get someone.”
“No, Ford! Don’t say that. You’ll make it,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I’m not leaving you alone out here!”
Her body trembled as she pressed firmly against his wound, willing the blood to stop. Let him live. Please, God, let him live.
“Corrie?” His voice was calm. Serene. She studied his face as he brought his hand to hers. “Corrie, I love you.”
What was this? Was he . . . was he saying goodbye?
“Ford, please just relax. Conserve your energy.”
“I want you to know,” he continued, completely ignoring her pleas, “these last few weeks have been the best weeks of my life. You brought adventure to my life. Passion. A reason to live. I’d say I’m sorry for everything I’ve done, and in many ways I am, but . . . I’m not sorry for any of those moments I had with you. And I’m not sorry that I fell in love with you.”
“Shh,” she hushed, touching his lips and chest and hands. “Quit talking like that. Quit talking like this is the end.”
“Isn’t it, though? I can’t feel the pain anymore. Not in my stomach. The only pain I have is in my heart for having to say goodbye to you.”
“No! No, Ford. You’re not leaving me!” She shot her hands on both sides of his face, forcing him to hold her gaze. “Stay with me!”
“I’ll always be with you. Part of the legend of Badass Mejía. When Weak Sauce Matthews saved her life half a dozen times,” he said with a slight chuckle, followed by a wince.
She laughed through her cries. How, even after everything, could he still make her smile? Still make her heart sing? Even in the worst of times.
“Hey . . . I saved you this time,” she said through her sniffles.
“Corrie . . . you’ve saved me in more ways than one.” He took her hand and squeezed. “Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Promise me you won’t change for anyone. Embrace who you are, because you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”
She brushed her tears away and smiled. “I promise. I love you, Dr. Matthews. I always have and I always will.”
“Same, Dr. Mejía. You won, Corrie. You won my heart and no one will ever be able to take it away from you,” he said, smiling, with a tear running from the crease of his eye.
She leaned down and pressed her lips to his, tasting his mouth for what she was sure would be the last time, then lay beside him. And as he wrapped his arm around her, she was comforted. The comfort that only he could give. He loved her for who she was—wild adventures, ridiculous antics, and all. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t the ancestor of a great Aztec warrior, or that she’d probably never get that speaker invite to the international conference. Yet she’d made him proud.