28. Marsh

TWENTY-EIGHT

Marsh

Here's the thing you need to know about Data: he's the better driver in this relationship. Always has been. He uses his turn signal regularly, and his parallel parking is a thing of beauty.

Data is a great driver—he doesn't swerve off the road and he doesn't drive into a ditch.

My heart races in my chest as I stop my car and leap out of my seat. Snow is coming down in sheets. I push past the heavy, resolute flakes and run down the side of the road, following the tire tracks to the car. His car. Off the road. It's too quiet.

"Data!" I yell with every molecule of oxygen in my janky lungs.

No response.

Blizzards are eerie because, for all the inclement weather, they don't make noise. There's no howling wind, no tapping of rain on the ground—the silence pounds in my ears.

Snow quickly shrouds his car, hiding it from the world.

"Data!" I bang on the driver-side window and brush away snow, peering inside. His sweet head rests on the steering wheel, sending a deathly chill up my spine.

I'm the funny one, and he is the strong one—that is the axis upon which our relationship exists. If anything, I should be the one in that car. He'd know what to do.

We just got back together. I can't lose him. I block all the worst-case scenarios spiraling in my head.

"Data!" I bang my fist against the window harder, so hard I worry it's going to break. I pull on the door handle, and fortunately, he didn't lock himself in.

I yank the door open. Data is hunched over the steering wheel, his face turned away from me. He almost looks peaceful.

I shake him hard. "Data! I say this with love and respect: wake the fuck up!"

He doesn't move. My throat goes dry as panic arrives to take over. I push him off the steering wheel. His face is soft, angelic, lips pouted. Eyes closed. Almost like he's asleep. I put my fingers by his mouth and nose.

The faint gusts of his breath tingle on my skin. Oh, thank goodness.

"Okay. You're alive. That's a good step. Now, we just have to wake you up." I figure it's a good idea to think out loud. The more he hears my voice, the more his brain will fight to stay conscious. Or at least, I think that's what happens. Dammit. Why did I give up on Grey's Anatomy in season three? (Oh, right. Because Izzy and George fucked. Gross.)

Data is alive but severely out of it. His eyes flutter open, then close again. I spot a spark of fight in his dark pupils.

"Don't go to sleep! Sleep is bad. Well, in this context."

I take a deep breath and think of Cher.

She won an Oscar for slapping Nicholas Cage in Moonstruck . She made a man fall completely in love with her with a single slap. Perhaps I could bring my boyfriend back to life.

The power of Cher compels you. The power of Cher compels you.

"Data, before I do this, I want to state that I am firmly against domestic violence, I love you deeply, and I'm only doing this to save your life. "

I pull my hand back. My sweaty palm trembles above his beautiful face.

Wait? What if I miss? It's probably wise to do a practice slap. I bring my hand down softly against his cheek to make sure I have the angle lined up. I can do this. I've slapped his butt a zillion times before. This is merely a different cheek.

Okay, enough dilly-dallying. I can feel snow accumulating on my ass.

"Data, I love you."

I shut my eyes, pull my hand back, and take a deep breath, which is getting harder as the panic rises in my lungs. My hand comes down, making contact with his face in a loud crack that threatens to cause an avalanche in the wintry silence. The slap reverberates in the car, echoes in my ears.

As does Data's reaction, a high-pitched yell that could shatter glass.

"What the fuck?" He rubs his cheek.

"You're alive!" I open my eyes and he scowls at me, but I'll take a scowl over passed-out nothingness.

"You slapped me!"

"You passed out. I had to resuscitate you."

"By slapping me? I swear to God, you will use any excuse to cosplay as Cher in Moonstruck , you blatant homosexual," he says.

"What? No. She didn't even cross my mind."

Data rubs his cheek, a sly smile beginning to cross his lips. "Thank you, I guess."

Behind his eyes, I spot touches of fear. He looks around at his busted car, the snow-covered trees in front of him. It begins to sink in just how close a call this was. My stomach churns with the same terror.

The snow isn't stopping for us. We have to get the hell off this mountain.

Had his car rolled off the road a bit faster, things could've been much worse. I could've lost him forever. I cradle his red cheek and kiss him on the lips. We gaze into each other's eyes, and the tether between us becomes even stronger.

"I'm okay," he says, reading my mind.

"Let's go home." I kiss him again, because he's alive, because he's mine.

He scoots out of his seat. I pull him out of the car, and a yelp of pain rips from his lips as soon as he straightens his leg.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Fuck," he grits out. "My leg." He reaches for the left one, wincing. "I think I banged it hard against the steering wheel when I crashed." He squeezes his eyes shut when he takes a step forward as he tries to fight through the agony.

"Can you walk?"

"I think so."

We don't have time for "I think so." I throw his left arm around my shoulder and begin to haul us back to my car. Each step is harder than the one before. Snow comes up to my shins. My legs pull harder to take another step in and out of the snow. He tries to walk on his own, but he has to lean on me. Every muscle in my body tenses as I trudge us forward—maybe those guys who spend all their time at the gym are onto something.

"Marsh, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I got you."

"But you shouldn't be doing strenuous activity."

"I said I have you. You're light as a feather. Seriously Data, eat a fucking sandwich." I'm running on adrenaline, imbued with the deep-seated need to save the love of my life. I'd let Data down plenty in our relationship, but I'm not going to let him down here. My legs and arms quietly scream in pain. My lungs roar in my chest. But I keep going. One foot in front of the other.

I pull Data closer so I can feel his warmth and let it power me .

"I see the car!" he calls out.

I grit my teeth as I yank us up the steepest part of the hill back to the access road. My body is slowing down despite my order to keep going. It's like an overheated laptop with the fan going full blast.

Once we hit the asphalt, Data finds a pocket of strength and helps dredge us through the snow the final distance to the car. The blinding whiteness of the snowy landscape begins to darken my vision, the way a cloud passes over the summer sun.

I reach out to the car door, but my fingers just miss as I fall to the ground.

"Marsh!" The cloud darkens my vision more as my lungs struggle for air. Damn, asthma. Couldn't take one day off. Couldn't see the life-threatening scenario we were in and step aside.

My chest heaves in and out, reaching for any available air that won't come.

I have no choice but to collapse backward, my heart pounding in my ears. Snow dots my forehead. The last thing I see before darkness completely takes over my vision is Data, his gorgeous face over me. There's no better final image.

As my eyes close, I feel something enter my mouth. It's cold and plastic. The rough edges tantalize my brain.

My inhaler.

A gust of medicine hits my lungs. My eyes surge open.

Data leans over me, inhaler plugged into my mouth.

The sensation of another spritz down my throat finally snaps me out of it. Data's warm smile welcomes me back.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to slap you." He pulls me up. He grits out an expletive as he stands us up. "Although it's tempting." He shuffles backward and opens the passenger door.

With my strength slowly returning, I squeeze into the seat. He closes the door and limps to the driver's side.

A surge of relief floods my system when he gets in the car .

Data throws the car into drive and maneuvers us slowly through the snow to the main road, which thankfully is clear. I catch my breath and blink the life back into my eyes.

"I love you," I say.

"I love you too," he replies back, a twinkle in his eye that lets me know everything is going to be okay.

"For the record, I was ninety-five percent done saving you."

His lips curl up.

"And you've been saving me since the day we met."

I run my hand over his beard, another tether back to this man, who I'm never letting out of my sight again.

When he turns us onto the main road, he takes his hand off the gear shift and interlocks our fingers together. Data usually would never drive one-handed in inclement weather, but I'm glad he's making an exception.

We drive down the main road, peaceful and blanketed with snow. In the distance, Maddi's chickens squawk wildly as we pass the general store. Duffy is shoveling off and salting the front steps. He gives us a wave. We wave back with our interlocked hands.

"Not a couple anymore, my ass!" he yells as we leave Marshmallow Mountain in our rearview mirror.