I was still holding Drew's jacket when the truck came back up the beach road.
Ten minutes. That was all his five minutes had ever meant.
Paige got out first, laughing at the sand in her heels.
Paige: Oh good. She's still here.
Paige: Alina. The cooler's out of ice. Go get some.
She said it without looking at me. Like I was a number she was calling.
Across the yard, Drew laughed at something Trent said. He did not turn around.
Trent: Look at that. She's still holding his jacket.
Paige: Did you hear me? Ice. Now.
Paige: Not that cooler. The one in the truck. God, are you stupid?
I set the jacket on the log. My hands were steady. They were always steady.
Trent: Fuck me. She's actually going.
Paige: Watch this. She'll do anything you tell her.
The whole fire heard it. Nobody told her to stop.
Trent: Drew, your girl's fetching ice in the dark. That's fucking loyal.
Drew: She's good like that.
He raised his cup to me. Then he turned back to Trent.
The cooler lid was cold and wet. I reached in blind, both hands, quick.
Glass. A broken bottle neck, buried to the shoulder in ice.
The cut went across my palm, deep enough to open fast.
Blood ran down my wrist and dripped red into the ice.
Paige: Oh my god. She's bleeding in the drinks.
Trent: Fuck. There's blood in the beer, man.
Drew: Babe. What did you do?
He didn't move. He stood there with his hands up, like the blood was mine to fix.
A hand closed on my arm, hard enough to hurt.
Callum: Move.
Callum pulled me away from the cooler and the fire and all of them.
His grip was rough, and I let it be.
He shoved my hand under the tap and held it there.
Callum: Open it. All the way.
The water went pink and then red again.
He wrapped a rag around my palm and pulled it tight enough to make me hiss.
Callum: You're careless.
Alina: It was glass.
Callum: You don't reach into a cooler blind. Not in the dark. Not for them.
His voice was low and flat. It still sounded like he was angry at me for bleeding.
Alina: Paige asked.
Callum: Paige snaps her fingers and you bleed for it?
Callum: You want to be their fucking dog?
He was still holding my wrist. His thumb pressed on my pulse.
Across the yard, Drew laughed again.
Callum did not let go.