When I turned back in the direction I was going, I realized I’d drifted toward the edge of the path. Before I could react, the edge of one of the heavy metal benches caught me at the shin going full tilt.
The momentum sent me flying down to the ground as the pain exploded down my leg.
I just barely managed to throw my hands out to catch my fall, the snow making me skid for a foot, the hard walkway beneath scraping at my palms as I went.
Sucking in a steadying breath, I pressed back to sit on my heels, my gaze looking at the blood-stained snow uncomprehendingly for a moment.
I couldn’t feel my hands.
They were too cold.
But after a moment, I realized that the blood was from my palms from the fall.
On that thought, I cupped them, finding the snow steadily melting, diluting the red blood to a brighter shade.
“Steph!” a voice called, seeming like it was coming from far away. Everything did. Almost like I was in the middle of a very long tunnel. “Steph!” the voice called.
Then hands were grabbing me up under the arms and pulling me to my feet.
Venezio’s hand went for mine, realizing just a second before it was too late that I was bleeding.
“Fuck. Okay.” He took my wrist instead. “I’m sorry, babe, but we gotta run again.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. You’re stronger than you think.”
Then he was pulling me. And I was somehow falling into step beside him.
“Just ten more minutes,” Venezio assured me.
Ten minutes.
It might as well have been a lifetime.
Everything was numb.
My mind refused to focus on anything except how cold I was.
Just when I was sure I couldn’t take another step, we burst out of the park and onto the sidewalk.
“Here. Stand,” Venezio demanded, reaching for my hips and forcing me forward to stand over one of the ventilation grates.
Hot air blew up at me, the sensation like a million shards of glass splitting my skin.
If it weren’t for Venezio physically holding me in place, I would have moved away from the uncomfortable sensation.
Venezio’s hand flew up into the air.
A taxi slid up beside us.
Then Venezio was pushing me into the backseat, reaching for his wallet, and passing the driver a hundred. “Crank the heat up,” he demanded before mumbling off an address, then leaning down to start chafing the skin of my legs.
“‘Sss tired,” I slurred, my heartbeat hammering despite sitting still.
“No,” Venezio said, chafing my arms hard. “Stay with me, Steph. “You close your eyes, you might not wake up.”
That kind of sounded good.
