Freddie's POV

She was bleeding. Profusely. I had to stop, but I couldn't. We hadn't driven far enough to be safe from the murderers.

Blood trickled down the wheel of the bike. The moon shimmered off of the red liquid, illuminating it. I don't even think a blind man would be able to look past the absolute gore that was engulfing Sam's left foot.

Slow, elongated breaths came from the girl behind me. They were only interrupted by her occasional whelping. I wanted nothing more than to ease her pain. I would have taken that bullet, if I could have.

"Agh"

"Sam, we need to get you to a hospital. I don't care what you say, that wound needs inspected."

I could feel her roll her eyes behind me. "No. We can't do that. Are you out of your mind? The doctors would turn us in in a second. Then we would be the poster children for what could happen to you if you disobey your elders and take a stand for yourself. There is no way in hell I'm going to a hospital. I would rather bleed to death."

I knew there was no arguing with a determined Sam Puckett. Instead, I revved Harvey up so much that the speedometer couldn't keep up with my pace. Eventually, the line didn't move at all, but stayed fixated at 100.

Eventually, the gunshots stopped and Sam and I had both survived the madness. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. As my pace slowed, I found what appeared to be a meadow down a dirt path that came off of the main road.

Without hesitating, I took the path. The aroma of flowers filled the air, bestowing on me an odd sense of déjà vu. As Harvey rolled to a halt, I jumped off of the bike and offered Sam my hand.

She winced as she looked at it, but I knew it was just her pain and not the repulsion of my hand that was the source of her bitter reaction.

Nevertheless, she took my hand graciously, and hopped down on her right foot. Her left foot hung in the air, drawn backwards.

"You need to lie down," I tell her. I sit her down on the grass before I shuffle around for the blanket in her bag. Clutching it like it is my personal savior, I take it out and lay it flat on the meadow earth. Sam carefully scoots her butt onto the blanket. My hand clasps the back of her neck to steady it, and I place her head on the end of the blanket.

Her right leg is bent and supporting her body, but her left leg lies limp on the ground, motionless.

Sam looks in my eyes, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to. It is as if I can feel her pain too, but I feel like watching her be in pain is worse than the actual pain would be. I mentally curse myself for not being the one in the back, the one to get shot.

I start rummaging through her bag, looking desperately for medication.

"Don't you have any oxycodone, Advil…a bandage, anything?" I ask her.

She raises a wilting arm and points at the bag, "There should be a few Band-Aids at the bottom."

I resume my rummaging of the sack, finally grasping a small box at the bottom. I pull it out. They're neon. Of course. They're also way too small.

"Sam," I whisper under my breath, "These won't work. They…won't even cover the wound. There is no skin for the adhesive segment to stick to."

Sam sighs, "Well I don't know…I have some cloth and tape."

I nod enthusiastically, "That will do. Where is it?"

"Side Pocket."

I open the pocket and find some white cloth tied together with a blue rubber band. I set it aside on the brittle blanket next to Sam and plunge deeper for the masking tape. When I have both of my wanted items, I set to work on Sam's foot, although I am a sad substitute for a professional.

I lift up her foot, setting it down gently onto my lap. I am slightly surprised by how firm and solid her muscles are. Before I do anything else, I examine her wound, making sure the bullet is not still ledged into her ankle. At one point, my fingers get too close, and I can hear Sam wince, trying to hold back the pain.

"Sorry," I mutter. "The bullet must have fallen out already, so we don't have to worry about that."

The cloth is easy to pull apart, but I can tell I will have to ration it appropriately; there are only five pieces of the soft substance. I lay the first one over the red wound, covering up the bubbling ooze. Ignoring Sam's stifled screams, I hastily tape it up, careful to not apply too much pressure.

I treated her as well as I knew how. As I was putting on the finishing touches, the blood was barely visible.

"You're really good at this."

I looked at her, smiled. "All those years of watching my mother really start to pay off after awhile."

"I never would have thought. If I would have known her crazy, over-protectiveness would save my life one day, maybe I wouldn't have made fun of you as much." Sam said.

As I finished the last bandage I said, "I don't blame you. I really hadn't thought it would either. Anyway, you're okay now."

Sam gingerly touched her ankle, winced slightly, but pulled away satisfied. "Thank you, Fredweirdo". This time when she butchered my name though, it sounded almost like she was calling me "Honey". Only Sam could manage to make an insult sound like a pet name.

"It's the least I could do."

I was getting a little tired, so I rested myself on the other end of the blanket.

"I hope you don't mind if I lay here," I say.

Sam turned on her side so that she was facing me; our eyes were barely an inch apart. "I think I'll be alright," she says.

When she spoke, I feel that odd sensation of butterflies filling my stomach. I hadn't felt that amazing tingly feeling since middle school.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember that time in ninth grade when you were mad at Ms. Briggs, so you put chocolate pudding in a bucket over the door so that when she walked in it would splatter all over her? Do you remember that it was me who walked in next instead?"

Sam laughed, proud of herself. "You were so mad! I'm glad that happened. You looked so cute with chocolate pudding in your hair and a bad excuse for a livid expression on your face." She stopped laughing then, looking horrified. I imagine it was because she realized she called me "cute".

"It's okay. I was just going to tell you that I really didn't mind. I thought it was really funny too."

Her hand was sluggishly itching towards me, and I could feel the warmth radiate from her hand. We were almost touching.

But she was scared.

So I let my pinky finger touch her pinky finger before it gradually moved into the small crevasse between her pinky and ring finger.

She seemed to take the hint and realize it was okay, so she moved her fingers deeper into mine until our hands were completely interlocked.

"I'm really glad you find your total utter embarrassment amusing," she says.

"Oh I haven't always," I say, defending myself. "That time you dyed all my clothes pink, I actually did want to fight you."

"Ha," Sam snorts. "Like you even stood a chance against me."

"You never know."

The rest of the conversation got lost in the night. I don't really remember what we talk about, because to anyone else it would be considered chitchat, pointless chitchat. But to me, it was everything. I want to tell Sam how I feel, but I can't bring myself to do it. She has too much on her mind; I don't want to complicate things with us.

After an hour of talking, I casually slide my arm around her and pull her close to me. Showing is always easier than telling. The blanket was wrapped around both of us, and I realized that this was the first night we were sharing the shabby old thing together.

Her head falls on my shoulder, but I am not sure if she does it on purpose.

"Sam? Are you awake?" I ask her, my lips up against her ear.

When she doesn't respond, I realize that she is asleep.

It is amazing how less absolutely terrified I am of her while she is sleeping. She closely resembles the blonde angel from my dreams, not the sarcastic bully she was to me a few weeks ago. Yet even then she had her charm.

As I am admiring her, I notice the little locket she wears around her flawless neck, the same one she was wearing the night we went to the club in Gresham. Its golden ridges are rough to the touch, worn out. Suddenly, I can't help myself. I know that Sam cannot kill me for looking while she was sleeps, oblivious to everything but her dreams.

Carefully, so I won't wake her, I snap open the locket. To my surprise, mine and Sam's initials, S and F, are engraved in the center of the heart, one on each side.

Where could she possibly have gotten this? My mind starts reeling, begging some heavenly being to tell me what was going on. Sam has been wearing this almost the entire time we have been on the road. Can she really, truly love me? Did she love me then, before our adventure?

I shakily close the locket once again. She can't know that I've peeked into it. Sam has been letting her guard down recently, but I know this will push her over the edge.

Maybe I should bring it up tomorrow, after she's well rested. Maybe I should tell her how I feel. Maybe I should give up the bet, tell her that I will stay in Texas with her. I'll stay there forever with her.

As I run my fingers through her blonde curls, I realize it would be best to wait until we actually arrive in Texas, wherever her uncle was. I know she likes the game, and I don't want to appear too weak in her eyes. But oh, how she would love that.

My eyes begin to close as I watch her steady breathing. The last thing I see before oblivion consumes me is her dainty hand intertwined with my muscular one, just inches below her jawline, which my lips almost touch.

The sun awakens me early, too early. My arm refuses to rise to lift me up, and I feel as if I had only laid down ten minutes ago.

Sam is already up, and she sits on the blanket with her arms behind her, gazing at the sunrise.

"How is your ankle?" I ask.

She turns to look at me, surprised that I am awake, "It feels better. You're still driving today, though. I hope you're okay with that."

"Oh I think I should manage. Probably less of a mortality rate if I handle the wheel," I say with a smirk.

Sam stands up, dusting dirt off of her jeans. "I'm not sure about that," she jokes.

"Where are we?" she asks.

"I have no idea."

We begin to pack up and walk back towards the bike. As we get closer and closer to the main road, we can begin to make out the lettering on a few signs.

Sam gets excited when she sees one, and theatrically points to it in the distance, "There's one! What does it say? I can't read it. Can you?"

I squint my eyes so that I can read it better. Yes, I can barely decipher it now.

"It says Carlsbad, New Mexico," I say, and my heart nearly stops.

"New Mexico?" Sam asks for confirmation, "We really came that far?"

I nod, "Must have. I was so out of it last night and worried about you that I didn't realize I drove so far. Sam. Carlsbad is in the bottom right corner of New Mexico."

She stares at me, realization dawning on her face. It is a mixture of happiness, anxiousness, and a little twinge of desolation.

I speak the words that are lingering in the air between us.

"We're right on the edge of Texas."