Memories I’ve worked hard to shove down come roaring to the surface again. The panic I’ve trained myself to control threatens to take over my body, constricting my lungs and sending gray dots dancing across my vision.
No. Don’t freak out. Someone out there needs help.
Repeating it like a mantra, I make my way out into the storm. Icy wind slaps my face, making my eyes water. My nose prickles as I breathe the bitter air in.
It’s a struggle to plod down the unshoveled path and over to the driveway. My left leg keeps wobbling with every step as the six-inch-deep snow pulls at my boot. But I forge forward, my gaze fixed on the twin red lights by the road.
My gaze flickers to the garage, and I debate trying to drive my car down to the road. But with the driveway covered in snow, I’m not confident I can make it. Back when I used to live in Sleepy Hollow, decades ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated. But now, withthe two-wheel-drive hybrid I keep meaning to swap for an SUV, I’m not confident I can make it.
Trudging down the long driveway, I make a mental note to go to the dealership next week. Stupidly, I thought I had more time, since it’s not even December yet. But here we are, a week before Thanksgiving, and we’re already getting our first snowstorm of the season.
By the time I get to the road, My jeans are soaked through and my face is stinging from the cold. Each step is harder than the last, and I make another mental note—get a membership at the gym so I can get back in shape again.
Glancing up and down the darkened road, I hurry across it and over to the SUV sitting cockeyed in the ditch, its exhaust billowing in giant silver clouds behind it. From the back, everything looks almost normal, but the front… That’s what I’m afraid to see.
As I approach the driver’s side door, my heart beats faster. A flash of memory hits me; as vivid and gruesome as if it just happened yesterday.
A man slumped over the steering wheel, blood all over his face, limp and silent and?—
The door opens and I shriek in surprise, tripping over my feet and falling backwards into the snow.
Feeling foolish and more than a little guilty—I’mnot the one who got into an accident—I scramble to my feet as the person starts to get out.
A beat later, my chest clutches in fear.
Not just a person.
Mike.Bleeding.
“Mike!” I rush towards him, a new kind of panic welling up inside me. “God, Mike. Are you okay? Crap. Of course you’re not okay, you’re hurt. We need to call an ambulance.” Movingon instinct, I grab his arm to steady him. “You should sit down. Crap. No. Not in the snow. The car. I’ll call?—”
I know I’m talking much too fast. But I can’t seem to stop. Seeing Mike hurt, bleeding, not knowing how bad it is…
“Darcy.” His voice is low. Rumbly.Calm. “I’m okay.”
“You’rebleeding,” I repeat. “You’re hurt. You might have a head injury.” I aim my flashlight at his face, remarking as he blinks away from the light, “See. Sensitivity to light. One of the symptoms of a concussion. You need to sit down.”
“Darcy.” Mike swipes at his face, wiping the blood onto his sleeve. “It’s just a bloody nose from the airbag. I’m okay. A little banged up and embarrassed?—”
“Embarrassed? Why?”
Even though it’s dark, I swear he actually blushes. “I wasn’t paying attention to the road. And I should know better.”
I glance at his car, the hood crumpled where it hit a medium-sized pine. Skeptically, I ask, “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” And then he puts his arm around me. “You’re shaking, Darce. It’s freezing out. You should go inside. I called the tow company, I can wait here.”
“What?” My voice rises. “Leave you out in the cold? When my house is right there? No way.”
He stares at me for a moment, as something unreadable moves in his eyes. Then he asks in an almost hesitant tone, “If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” And I loop my arm around his waist, giving him my support if he needs it. “Come on. I can make you some coffee. The fire’s going, so you can sit there to warm up.”
And if I happen to notice his body feels just as hard and muscular as it used to? It’s not like I’mtryingto feel the guy up. I’m just helping him back to the house.
Or more like, he helped me.
Because by the time we stumble into the living room, my leg is screaming in pain and I know I’m limping badly. I was trying to hide it at first, but halfway back, I knew it was unavoidable. My leg just isn’t built for that kind of activity anymore.
